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Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

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Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

beyond

How many times the word 'beyond' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

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How many times the word 'escaped' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

masses

How many times the word 'masses' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

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Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

stalactites

How many times the word 'stalactites' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

has

How many times the word 'has' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

days

How many times the word 'days' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

petite

How many times the word 'petite' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

subject

How many times the word 'subject' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

miles

How many times the word 'miles' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

cask

How many times the word 'cask' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

body

How many times the word 'body' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

walk

How many times the word 'walk' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

yeh

How many times the word 'yeh' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

listened

How many times the word 'listened' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

stalagmites

How many times the word 'stalagmites' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

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Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

up

How many times the word 'up' appears in the text?

Creator, and I say to you the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations such as I was now passing through. In company with my learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and monitor, I moved on. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE.--I REBEL AGAINST CONTINUING THE JOURNEY. As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar objects; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was oppressed by an indescribable feeling of mystery and awe that grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the mental strain. "Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my lips. Then from a distance--could I believe my senses?--from a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own voice, "Hold, hold." "Speak lower," said my guide, "speak very low, for now an effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and in a suppressed tone: "I have come far enough into the secret caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination; acquaint me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty; otherwise I shall go no farther." [Illustration: "AN ENDLESS VARIETY OF STONY FIGURES."] "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he replied, "and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, into which I have never ventured." "You speak in enigmas; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where is it?" "Your eyes have never seen anything similar; human philosophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. "It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." "But I am in Kentucky," I replied; "do you think that I propose to walk to the North Pole, man--if man you be; that unreached goal is thousands of miles away." "True," he answered, "as you measure distance on the surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time; but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining strength. I would also call to your attention that you neither hunger nor thirst." "Proceed," I said, "'tis useless to rebel; I am wholly in your power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomerated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. "Is not this salt?" I asked. "Yes; we are now in the dried bed of an underground lake." "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the earth can not evaporate." "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the water has been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." "You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the solids." "Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he; "how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed beneath the earth's surface?" [Illustration: "MONSTROUS CUBICAL CRYSTALS."] "I will confess that I have not given the subject much thought; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions bodily into the earth." "These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous views of scientific writers," he replied; "they are true only to a limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." INTERLUDE--THE STORY INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XX. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES MY PHILOSOPHY. Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I am directed to title "The End of Earth," and who, in imagination, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld and listened to the conversation of those two personages who journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient Mariner, had constrained me to listen to his narrative, as he read it aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, sometimes with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the narrative, I must say,--yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific sections were not uninteresting; the marvels of the fungus groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed underground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my credulity was overstrained. "Permit me to interrupt your narrative," I remarked, and then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down his paper. "Well?" he said, interrogatively. "I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you did, even had I been in your situation." "To what do you allude?" he asked. "The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution of salt; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the water." "You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men who have never investigated beneath the surface in these directions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a law of nature?" "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I am willing to credit your other improbable statements if you can demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." "Then," said he, "to-morrow evening I will show you that fluids seek different levels, and also explain to you how liquids may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating from them." He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until daylight, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their recollection. Late in the day I awoke. On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting or bibulous paper. "I will first show you that liquids may change their levels in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to nature's laws; however, let me lead to the experiments by a statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a common level." He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. The water assumed the position shown in Figure 11. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--A A, water in tube seeks a level.] "You have not shown me anything new," I said; "my text-books taught me this." "True, I have but exhibited that which is the foundation of your philosophy regarding the surface of liquids. Let me proceed: "If we pour a solution of common salt into such a U tube, as I do now, you perceive that it also rises to the same level in both ends." "Of course it does." "Do not interrupt me. Into one arm of the tube containing the brine I now carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not seek the same level." (Figure 12.) [Illustration: FIG. 12.--A, surface of water. B, surface of brine.] "Certainly not," I said; "the weight of the liquid in each arm is the same, however; the columns balance each other." "Exactly; and on this assumption you base your assertion that connected liquids of the same gravity must always seek a common level, but you see from this test that if two liquids of different gravities be connected from beneath, the surface of the lighter one will assume a higher level than the surface of the heavier." "Agreed; however tortuous the channel that connects them, such must be the case." "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accompanying diagram. (Figure 13.) "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal pressure of air on the surface of each." [Illustration: FIG. 13.--B, surface of brine. W, surface of water. S, sand strata connecting them.] "Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above the other, and ask you to imagine that in the lower pocket we have pure water, in the upper pocket brine (Figure 14); can you bring any theory of your law to bear upon these liquids so that by connecting them together the water will rise and run into the brine?" [Illustration: FIG. 14.--B, brine. W, water. S, sand stratum. (The difference in altitude is somewhat exaggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A syphon may result under such circumstances.--L.)] "No," I replied; "connect them, and then the brine will flow into the water." "Upon the contrary," he said; "connect them, as innumerable cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into the brine." "The assertion is opposed to applied philosophy and common sense," I said. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to be a maxim with mortals," he replied; "but I must pardon you; your dogmatic education narrows your judgment. I now will prove you in error." He took from his pocket two slender glass tubes, about an eighth of an inch in bore and four inches in length, each closed at one end, and stood them in a perforated cork that he placed upon the table. Into one tube he poured water, and then dissolving some salt in a cup, poured brine into the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the apparatus represented by Figure 16. [Illustration: FIG. 15. A A, glass tubes. F, brine surface. E, water surface.] [Illustration: FIG. 16. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D D D, bibulous paper.] Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being submerged in the liquids, producing a combination that rested upright in the cork as shown by Figure 17. The surfaces of both liquids were at once lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon the creeping liquids met by absorption in the paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently slid the tubes upon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. "Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent that the surface of the water had decreased in height as compared with that of the brine. By fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also observed that the brine in the opposing tube was rising. "I will call to-morrow evening," he said, "and we shall then discover which is true, man's theory or nature's practice." Within a short time enough of the water in the tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its surface considerably above its former level, the surface of the water being lowered to a greater degree. (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: "I do not know that this is fair." "Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above the former surface?" "Yes; but there is no porous paper in the earth." "True; I used this medium because it was convenient. There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly taking place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man believes from narrow experience, governs the flow of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier one until its surface is raised considerably above that of the light one. In the same way you can demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sulphuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light liquids into those heavier." [Illustration: FIG. 17. A A, glass tubes. B, curved glass tube. C C, rubber tubes. D, bibulous paper. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "I have seen you exemplify the statement on a small scale, with water and brine, and can not question but that it is true on a large one," I replied. "So you admit that the assertion governing the surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids are connected from beneath. In other words, your thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." "Yes." [Illustration: FIG. 18. E, water surface. F, brine surface.] "Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are also mistaken concerning their origin. The water of the ocean that runs through an open channel from the one side may flow into an underground lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) of the overlying and surrounding strata is being continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crystals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt formations through which I passed with my guide, and have recently described to you." "Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of different densities; the greater the difference in gravity between the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." "Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek unreasonable methods to explain." "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below that of the heavier." "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for this law, the only natural surface spring water on earth would be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline solutions. All the spring-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine and saline waters. Did your 'philosophy' never lead you to think of this?" Continuing, my guest argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystalline deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and ultimately produce a salt bed?" "It is possible," I replied. "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparatively fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can happen a man than to be confuted in an error. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. CHAPTER XXI. MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. "Let us jump down," said my guide. "That would be dangerous," I answered; "can not we descend at some point where it is not so deep?" "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." "I can not comprehend you; we are in the flesh, our bodies are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." "You reason again from the condition of your former life, and, as usual, are mistaken; there will be little shock, for, as I have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have you forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that without perceptible exertion you move rapidly? This is partly because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." I stood incredulous. "You trifle with me; I weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds; how have I lost weight? It is true that I have noticed the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the vitalizing power of this cavern air." "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are really consuming a comparatively small amount of energy, you would long before this have been completely exhausted. You have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, and your voice is again natural. You were prematurely aged by your brothers on the surface of the earth, in order that when you pass the line of gravity, you might be vigorous and enjoying manhood again. Had this aging process not been accomplished you would now have become as a child in many respects." [Illustration: "I BOUNDED UPWARD FULLY SIX FEET."] He halted before me. "Jump up," he said. I promptly obeyed the unexpected command, and sprung upward with sufficient force to carry me, as I supposed, six inches from the earth; however I bounded upward fully six feet. My look of surprise as I gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said: "If you can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" [Illustration: "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL."] And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed on the stony floor below. Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: "Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised meditation. "Others have been through your experience," he remarked, "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing." He smiled benignantly. [Illustration: "WE LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES."] I pondered, revolving in my mind the fact that persons had in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in ignorance of conditions about them, until their attention had been called to the seen and yet unnoticed surroundings, and they had then beheld the facts plainly. The puzzle picture (see p. 129) stares the eye and impresses the retina, but is devoid of character until the hidden form is developed in the mind, and then that form is always prominent to the eye. My remarkably light step, now that my attention had been directed thereto, was constantly in my mind, and I found myself suddenly possessed of the strength of a man, but with the weight of an infant. I raised my feet without an effort; they seemed destitute of weight; I leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength.I pinched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim of delirium; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence confronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spectral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant; a liveliness that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous exhilaration. My guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, performing these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held back; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, apparently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and vanishing in the distance, shut off the beyond. [Illustration: "FAR AS THE EYE COULD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR."] INTERLUDE.--THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER XXII. MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man-Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the custodian of this manuscript, the curious chapter relating how the underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the hollows of the earth. My French clock struck twelve of its clear silvery notes before the

sphere

How many times the word 'sphere' appears in the text?

Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

sadness

How many times the word 'sadness' appears in the text?

Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

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Crow, The Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> THE CROW The CROW by Davis Schow based on a screenplay by John Shirley Based on the comic book created, drawn, and written by James O'Barr September 14, 1992 FADE IN: EXT. CEMETERY - LATE AFTERNOON BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g. TIGHT ANGLE - FRESH GRAVE As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot. DIMITRI (O.S.) We're losing the light; let's pack it in. ANGLE - DIMITRI AND ALEXI TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic- style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky. ALEXI Snow, maybe? DIMITRI What, you gonna ski on this? He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave. DIMITRI (CONT'D) Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time. Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt. LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - FLOWERS ON GRAVES As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain. ANGLE - ELLY - RESUMING HER MOTION A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast- offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g. ELLY Guess the picnic got rained out. She looks down o.s. at -- ANGLE - SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE as Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent. RESUME CROW ANGLE - ELLY B.G. as Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's. ANGLE ON GRAVE - AS ELLY LEAVES TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it. EXTREME CLOSE-UP - CROW's EYE It blinks in its alien way. WITH THE CROW as it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument. ANGLE - ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird. ELLY Oh, scary. The bird blinks at her from the headstone. ELLY What are you, like, the night watchman? Another blink from El Birdo. CAMERA WITH ELLY - BOOMING BACK HIGH as she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city. EXT. MAXI-DOGS - TWILIGHT - RAIN CONTINUES CLOSE-UP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard. MICKEY (O.S.) What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado... ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND MICKEY ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker. MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery. ALBRECHT You gotta put the mustard underneath first. MICKEY Maybe a flood, like in the Bible. ALBRECHT Here, let me do it. He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look. ALBRECHT Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions. MOVING ANGLE - AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS MICKEY Heyyy -- it's the Elly monster. ALBRECHT How do you ride that thing on a wet street? ELLY Talent. Hi. ALBRECHT Care for a hot dog? ELLY You buying? ALBRECHT I'm buying. Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They`ve done this routine before. ELLY No onions though, okay? ALBRECHT (horror) No onions? ELLY They make you fart. Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke. MICKEY What's goin' on, Elly? ELLY I went to see a friend of mine. MICKEY Well, how's your friend? ELLY She's still dead. Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of- factness. EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT (RAIN) Thunder KABOOMS o.s. The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang! EXTREME CLOSE - THE HEADSTONE as the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW A dot of blood on its ebony beak. LOW ANGLE - HEADSTONE A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g. RESUME THE CROW as it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain. CLOSE-UP - THE BLOOD It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock. CLOSE-UP - FOOT TAPPER A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting. MEDIUM ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER as lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward. NEW ANGLE - THE FOOT TAPPER Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE as blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave. TIGHT ANGLE - THE CROW shaking off rain. Watching intently. CLOSE-UP - THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting. RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose. SKULL COWBOY POV - ERIC's GRAVE as the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone. LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) - ERIC Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. WHite shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning. ANOTHER ANGLE - FOLLOW ERIC as he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks o.s. ERIC's POV - THE SKULL COWBOY water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree. ANGLE - ERIC Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back o.s. and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy. ERIC What the hell are you? SKULL COWBOY Interested? Follow the crow. NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising. Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone. LOW DEEP ANGLE - THE CROW Taking wing in the rain, showing the way. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH: A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb. INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes. COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank. T-BIRD Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom. INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires. T-BIRD (CONT'D) You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that. He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs. T-BIRD (CONT'D) We're ready to rock. Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables. SKANK What about working girl? INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions. T-BIRD What about her? SKANK I say we leave her here to fry, man. T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously. T-BIRD No. Let's take her with us. ANGLE - THE WOMAN Her eyes bug in a terrified NO! EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street. INT. T-BIRD - TRAVELLING - NIGHT TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat. TB (pissed off) Skank, shut her the fuck up! SKank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward. SKANK Whoaaa -- T-Bird, red light, red light! EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS - NIGHT As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention. ANGLE - ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS Reacting, with a mouthful. ALBRECHT Goddammit. Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly. MICKEY Call it in? Albrecht is off and running for the corner already. ALBRECHT Yeah, do it! (to Elly) Stay right there! HOLD ON MICKEY. He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch. MICKEY (yelling after) You want I should save this for you? EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY - NIGHT The car slides to a nose-down panic stop. SKANK (O.S.) Dump her, man, dump her! The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside. ANGLE - CORNER - ON ALBRECHT Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way. ANGLE - THE WOMAN hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of CLOSE TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH. NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember. FLASH: INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S STRUGGLE The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and -- FLASH ENDS. ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND WOMAN An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them. MATCH WITH: ANGLE - THE CROW perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting. ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands. ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her. ALBRECHT Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer... The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now. WOMAN He touched me and it stopped. The pain. ALBRECHT What did you say? WOMAN I saw a ghost... Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms. ALBRECHT Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit! HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist. EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games. ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING) Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric. BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION") "CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable. ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes. ANGLE - ERIC looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from: ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE GAMES The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris. ANGLE - WITH ERIC he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls. ANGLE - THE CROW landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames. LOW ANGLE - ERIC The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery -- PUSH IN ON ERIC as his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory. ANGLE - THe CROW Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place. ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant o.s. SIRENS ERIC Fire. In the rain. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The BG music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BG SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are -- TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10 Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME. GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style - white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute. They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo. As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully -- suspiciously -- to Nwa. NGO NWA He will see me... unannounced. ANOTHER ANGLE - THE DOOR As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side. INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT The door CLOSES and the BG NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance. LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy. At the desk, Lao is startled from his contemplation of a tiny, perfect rat skeleton by Ngo Nwa's unheralded entry. The desktop is bare except for and Arcane Vietnamese fighting knife, half a meter long with an ideogrammed blade, dramatically positioned beneath an Artemide lamp. Lao rises and feigns servility. NB: The following exchange will play FAST, and entirely in VIETNAMESE. LAO (formal greeting) NWA (dismissiveness, contempt, then chastizing anger as:) Nwa INDICATES the blade with some ridicule. LAO (phony assuagement) NWA (knows it's bullshit) Lao turns, staring out the blinds, fighting for control. Deep breath. He turns back to his "master." Nwa gestures broadly at the oppulent office, indicating that Lao should be grateful, but is somehow errant NWA (respect is required) LAO (begrudging agreement) Lao sees the blade. An idea. He lifts it reverently, bears it the Nwa hilt-first in both hands, as if bestowing a thing of immeasurable worth. NGO NWA (why give me this?) Nonetheless, Nwa accepts the blade. It gleams. Hypnotic. Even Nwa has to admire it. Turns it so the blade is pointed at his sternum. His attitude indicates Lao is too far away to do anything untoward. LAO (sinister punchline) Lao spins through the air and HEEL-KICKS the blade THROUGH Nwa's chest, pinning him to the door. It's over so fast the gasp of astonishment never escapes Nwa. Lao is much more than merely treacherous, he is extremely capable. LAO (in perfect English) When I spoke of an offering, I didn't mean an offering to you. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) Grange, standing out of arm's reach in the corridor, kills both Bodyguards with a double headshot as they turn in greeting as the door OPENS. ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR - LAO, GRANGE, AND CORPSES Lao exchanges a look with his right arm; Grange nods affirmatively. GRANGE You gonna smoke his bones now, or however it is you do it? Lao smiles indulgently. He wipes the blood from the blade on the jacket of his ex-lord. Lao now bows to no one. EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - ANOTHER ALLEY - NIGHT Eric, wearing the combat boots, climbs as the crow leads him. Up. He jams his hand on a rusty wedge of metal. Ouch. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM Blood flows from the gash. He vises his fist shut. ANGLE - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE Eye-to-eye with the crow. Opens his hand. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S PALM The blood flows back into the wound, which closes itself, leaving another scar. ANGLE - ERIC Vising the rail. Speaks to the night. Almost a mantra. ERIC "My kitten walks on velvet feet, and makes no sound at all. And in the doorway nightly sits to watch the darkness fall. I think he loves the lady night..." (to crow) Am I alive? Am I dead? Something else? Something in between? CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Inscrutable. No answer here. RESUME ERIC Almost bemused. Steadier. A hint of friendliness. ERIC Thanks for sharing that. ETC. GIDEON`S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT As the T-Bird grumbles tp park curbside. Menacing. INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT A junkyard of loot and dusty discards. Junkie thievings and other people's stereos. Behind a wire-meshed security counter GIDEON reads a racing form, chain-smoking throughout the scene. He is pear-shaped, stubbled, unkempt. Food on his shirt. JINGLE of doorbells. Gideon lowers his paper to reveal Skank and T-Bird on approach. GIDEON Ahhh, jesus, the creatures of the night, here they come. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. Skank riles SKANK Hey, blow me, fat boy! Just as quick, Gideon cocks and levels a Magnum at Skank. GIDEON Blow yourself, bigmouth. T-BIRD (interposing) Whoa, hey, whoa. (hands up) Business. He lifts a small carton onto the counter. GIDEON Whatcha got? NEW ANGLE - COUNTER Transaction time. T-Bird passes items through the screen slot and Gideon gives each one cursory, doubtful inspection. T-BIRD Coupla more rings... 24k. GIDEON 18k. Crap. T-BIRD ...necklace... pearls... GIDEON Nineteen bucks at Sears. Fake, T-BIRD Leather purse... He hands though the bag rested from the woman. GIDEON What's this -- a little, ah, bloodstain, right? (doesn't matter) Fifty bucks for the box, and I'm doin' you a -- T-BIRD Yeah, I know, fatso. Do us all a favor. Make Top Dollar smile. SKANK You wouldn't want Top Dollar not to smile. Mention of Top Dollar clams Gideon efficiently up. He hands over the cash to T-Bird with a grimace. EXT. ROOFTOP - ON ERIC - NIGHT Eric stares upward at the crow as it drops like a bomber from the night sky, flying past him, skimming the roof, leading him on. Eric exhales, shrugs, feeling mocked by the bird. ERIC All right. And he takes off on a run. Only to stumble and fall. But the falls turns into a TUMBLING ROLL that lands Eric back on his feet still moving. He looks back as if to ask: "Did I do that?" and runs out of the frame. ANOTHER ANGLE - PICKING UP ERIC ON THE RUN. as he squints towards the crow and does his best to keep up. TRACK WITH HIM to the edge of the roof, heavily misted in rain. He jumps a negligible gap to the next lower roof. The next roof-top is a one-story jump down. Eric clears the jump with a WOOF of air. Keeping his eyes on the flying crow; gaining strength. His next leap is more like a broad-jump. Athletic. FAST MOVING ANGLE - THE CROW keeping airborne, keeping ahead. MOVING ANGLE - ERIC Eyes confidently on the sky as he arches out into space... UP ANGLE FROM STREET - BUILDINGS As Eric is seen to jump across the gap at least three stories up where there is no connecting building. CLOSE ANGLE - TARGET BUILDING LEDGE as Eric smashes into it, just missing, hinging at the waist, grabbing for purchase, suddenly panicked, gravity pulling him downward. ANGLE - AT ERIC FROM PHONE CABLE BRACKET Eric falls but manages to grab the bracket one-handed. He hangs for another deadly moment, then slowly, to his own astonishment, executes a one-handed pull-up that will save his ass. ERIC Gotcha. He completes the pull-up, bringing his chin level with the ledge. As he reaches for it with his other hand the bracket rips from the wall and Eric plummets, with a howl of defeat. UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S DOWNFALL It's a looooooong way down. ANGLE - ALLEYWAY as Eric lands and splits a trash can in two. A beat as we wonder if any bones are left unpulped. PUSH IN as Eric rolls from facedown to his back. TIGHT SHOT - ERIC'S FACE as he completes the roll, gasping, amazed he's still in one piece. ANGLE - TRASHCAN - ON THE CROW It flies easily down to inspect Eric as he slowly sits up, examining his hands. Frustrated and pissed off. ERIC Thanks. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW Not "your welcome", but other-worldly patience. It waits. RESUME ERIC ERIC (CONT'D) Where're we going next -- the sewer? EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Still, dark silence until Eric lands from ABOVE FRAME, feline. The crow lands simultaneously b.g., perched near a roof access door with a shaded, dim-yellow bulb. CLOSE-UP - THE CROW It just blinks at him. INT. ABANDONED STAIRWELL - NIGHT as Eric yanks open the rusty rooftop door from the outside and sweeps down the steps in a swirl of night mist ANGLE - FOOT OF STAIRS Trash and detritus all around, clogging the arteries of the building, which is old, unoccupied, forsaken. The crow lights on a scarred banister knob. Eric's footsteps come down into frame. ANGLE ON LOFT DOOR - INCLUDE ERIC A year ago this door was sealed with police barricade tape... which now sags, faded. A sticker across the jam notifies potential trespassers that this is -- was -- a crime scene. Eric slows, stops, his hand on the banister. ANGLE - THE CROW as is wafts ahead of Eric, arriving at the door first. ANGLE ON ERIC, THE DOOR, THE CROW Eric has had enough. ERIC Are we finished yet? CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND ON BANISTER sliding along, as he speaks, until it hits a cigarette burn. PUSH IN ON ERIC - TIGHT stiffening as he suffers his second -- FLASH: IMAGES and DIALOG are not linked. A rapidfire MONTAGE set in the loft, a year earlier (it is decorated for Halloween). The broken door. The stairwell is filled with cops and cop noise; lab guys bustle. Albrecht is there, making notes as a DETECTIVE steps over to him. ALBRECHT Victim's name is Shelly Webster. The guy who got tossed is, uh ...-- (checks his notebook) Albrecht grinds out his smoke on the banister. FLASH ENDS. RESUME ERIC ON THE STAIRS. He sits down hard, hurting from the flash. His eyes seek the crow. He completes Albrecht's line: ERIC "Draven, Eric." EXT. THE PIT - NIGHT LOW DOLLY of Elly's little combat boots moving toward the entryway of the pit. MUSIC gradually UP LOUDER O.s. as she nears. ANGLE - ELLY IN DOORWAY Luridly-lit. A grown-up's place. A burly BOUNCER appraises her, his tone jokey. He knows Elly. BOUNCER Hey! You got any ID? ELLY Very funny. Ha. Ha. Oh my, sides. The Bouncer jerks a thumb. Go on in. INT. THE PIT - NIGHT A grungy sawdust-floored shot-and-beer joint packed tight with urban BURNOUTS rushing to drink their lives away. Hammering MUSIC and rude whorehouse lighting. Each predator straining to be badder than the next. TRACK THROUGH this maze at Elly's eye level until we reach DARLA, waitressing her heart out, the drug mileage on her obvious. ELLY Mom --? DARLA I told you you're not supposed to come in here. ELLY (a quick lie) I lost my key. Disgustedly -- goddamn kids -- Darla fishes up a key and slaps it into Elly's hand. FUNBOY (O.S.) Hey, Darla -- before we die of old age, how about it --? DARLA (to Elly) Out. Now. I gotta work. RACK PAST Darla and MOVE IN CLOSE on a corner table -- where sit Funboy, Skank, T-Bird and a black, vested muscle gypsy, TIN-TIN. INT. LOFT - NIGHT As Eric shoves the door open from the outside. The lock, popped from the frame, spins on the wooden floor. The barrier tape whisps and dust roils. Dark, chilly, damp. A rat's nest of disuse. PULL BACK THROUGH THE BROKEN PICTURE WINDOW as Eric enters. Glass blown out. Shards poking. Jagged. NEW ANGLE - AS ERIC WALKS IN He scans the loft. Sees reflecting golden eyes near the floor. ERIC'S POV - FLOOR NEAR WINDOW A white, long-haired cat walks into a pool of night light. ANGLE - ERIC AND THE CAT He kneels. Extends his hand. The cat nears; likes Eric. CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND. as the cat makes contact. Sudden white jolt - a FLASH. FLASH: we HEAR Eric strumming his Strat o.s. We see what he saw: Shelly, holding the cat. FLASH ENDS. UP ANGLE - ERIC Wincing. Recovering from the flash. He purposefully gathers the cat into his arms and braces for more, harder, stronger... FLASH: A MAN and a WOMAN make love on a big bed amidst a hundred points of candlelight. Shelly and Eric, once upon a time. FLASH ENDS. REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way. CLOSE-UP - ERIC vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding. ERIC No! Don't look! No! No! He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through the masonry wall. FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they collapse on the bed. FLASH ENDS. ANGLE - ERIC slowly pulling his arm out of the wall. ERIC (whispering) Stop it. His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like a drowning man. ANGLE - GABRIEL watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD. INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots. FUNBOY (O.S.) Let's have some fun. Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down. T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy. T-BIRD You first. TIN-TIN You're outta your fuckin' mind. Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank. T-BIRD No. I'm not the lunatic. He is. Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's face, cocking. SKANK Fuck you, T-Bird. Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face. T-BIRD I love you too, you madman. They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks, Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass. FUNBOY Hey, pussycat. INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric. ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches

script

How many times the word 'script' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

nothing

How many times the word 'nothing' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

aright

How many times the word 'aright' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

lived

How many times the word 'lived' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

around

How many times the word 'around' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

hot

How many times the word 'hot' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

seemed

How many times the word 'seemed' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

never

How many times the word 'never' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

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Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

strangely

How many times the word 'strangely' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

distorted

How many times the word 'distorted' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

down

How many times the word 'down' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

voices

How many times the word 'voices' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

spend

How many times the word 'spend' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

west

How many times the word 'west' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

recrossing

How many times the word 'recrossing' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

nearer

How many times the word 'nearer' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

heard

How many times the word 'heard' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

large

How many times the word 'large' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

hawthorn

How many times the word 'hawthorn' appears in the text?

Curdie went on his way rejoicing. And so the day went on, and the evening came, and in the middle of a great desolate heath he began to feel tired, and sat down under an ancient hawthorn, through which every now and then a lone wind that seemed to come from nowhere and to go nowhither sighed and hissed. It was very old and distorted. There was not another tree for miles all around. It seemed to have lived so long, and to have been so torn and tossed by the tempests on that moor, that it had at last gathered a wind of its own, which got up now and then, tumbled itself about, and lay down again. Curdie had been so eager to get on that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast. But he had had plenty of water, for many little streams had crossed his path. He now opened the wallet his mother had given him, and began to eat his supper. The sun was setting. A few clouds had gathered about the west, but there was not a single cloud anywhere else to be seen. Now Curdie did not know that this was a part of the country very hard to get through. Nobody lived there, though many had tried to build in it. Some died very soon. Some rushed out of it. Those who stayed longest went raving mad, and died a terrible death. Such as walked straight on, and did not spend a night there, got through well, and were nothing the worse. But those who slept even a single night in it were sure to meet with something they could never forget, and which often left a mark everybody could read. And that old hawthorn might have been enough for a warning--it looked so like a human being dried up and distorted with age and suffering, with cares instead of loves, and things instead of thoughts. Both it and the heath around it, which stretched on all sides as far as he could see, were so withered that it was impossible to say whether they were alive or not. And while Curdie ate there came a change. Clouds had gathered over his head, and seemed drifting about in every direction, as if not "shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind," but hunted in all directions by wolfish flaws across the plains of the sky. The sun was going down in a storm of lurid crimson, and out of the west came a wind that felt red and hot the one moment, and cold and pale the other. And very strangely it sung in the dreary old hawthorn tree, and very cheerily it blew about Curdie, now making him creep close up to the tree for shelter from its shivery cold, now fan himself with his cap, it was so sultry and stifling. It seemed to come from the death-bed of the sun, dying in fever and ague. And as he gazed at the sun, now on the verge of the horizon, very large and very red and very dull--for though the clouds had broken away a dusty fog was spread all over him--Curdie saw something strange appear against him, moving about like a fly over his burning face. It looked as if it were coming out of his hot furnace-heart, and was a living creature of some kind surely; but its shape was very uncertain, because the dazzle of the light all around it melted its outlines. It was growing larger, it must be approaching! It grew so rapidly that by the time the sun was half down its head reached the top of his arch, and presently nothing but its legs were to be seen, crossing and recrossing the face of the vanishing disc. When the sun was down he could see nothing of it more, but in a moment he heard its feet galloping over the dry crackling heather, and seeming to come straight for him. He stood up, lifted his pickaxe, and threw the hammer end over his shoulder: he was going to have a fight for his life! And now it appeared again, vague, yet very awful, in the dim twilight the sun had left behind him. But just before it reached him, down from its four long legs it dropped flat on the ground, and came crawling towards him, wagging a huge tail as it came. CHAPTER XI. LINA. It was Lina. All at once Curdie recognised her--the frightful creature he had seen at the princess's. He dropped his pickaxe, and held out his hand. She crept nearer and nearer, and laid her chin in his palm, and he patted her ugly head. Then she crept away behind the tree, and lay down, panting hard. Curdie did not much like the idea of her being behind him. Horrible as she was to look at, she seemed to his mind more horrible when he was not looking at her. But he remembered the child's hand, and never thought of driving her away. Now and then he gave a glance behind him, and there she lay flat, with her eyes closed and her terrible teeth gleaming between her two huge fore-paws. After his supper and his long day's journey it was no wonder Curdie should now be sleepy. Since the sun set the air had been warm and pleasant. He lay down under the tree, closed his eyes, and thought to sleep. He found himself mistaken however. But although he could not sleep, he was yet aware of resting delightfully. Presently he heard a sweet sound of singing somewhere, such as he had never heard before--a singing as of curious birds far off, which drew nearer and nearer. At length he heard their wings, and, opening his eyes, saw a number of very large birds, as it seemed, alighting around him, still singing. It was strange to hear song from the throats of such big birds. And still singing, with large and round but not the less bird-like voices, they began to weave a strange dance about him, moving their wings in time with their legs. But the dance seemed somehow to be troubled and broken, and to return upon itself in an eddy, in place of sweeping smoothly on. And he soon learned, in the low short growls behind him, the cause of the imperfection: they wanted to dance all round the tree, but Lina would not permit them to come on her side. Now Curdie liked the birds, and did not altogether _like_ Lina. But neither, nor both together, made a _reason_ for driving away the princess's creature. Doubtless she _had been_ a goblins' creature, but the last time he saw her was in the king's house and the dove-tower, and at the old princess's feet. So he left her to do as she would, and the dance of the birds continued only a semicircle, troubled at the edges, and returning upon itself. But their song and their motions, nevertheless, and the waving of their wings, began at length to make him very sleepy. All the time he had kept doubting every now and then whether they could really be birds, and the sleepier he got, the more he imagined them something else, but he suspected no harm. Suddenly, just as he was sinking beneath the waves of slumber, he awoke in fierce pain. The birds were upon him--all over him--and had begun to tear him with beaks and claws. He had but time, however, to feel that he could not move under their weight, when they set up a hideous screaming, and scattered like a cloud. Lina was amongst them, snapping and striking with her paws, while her tail knocked them over and over. But they flew up, gathered, and descended on her in a swarm, perching upon every part of her body, so that he could see only a huge misshapen mass, which seemed to go rolling away into the darkness. He got up and tried to follow, but could see nothing, and after wandering about hither and thither for some time, found himself again beside the hawthorn. He feared greatly that the birds had been too much for Lina, and had torn her to pieces. In a little while, however, she came limping back, and lay down in her old place. Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him. When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes. Then he turned looking for Lina. She rose and crept to him. But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see. And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick. "Poor Lina!" said Curdie; "you got all those helping me." She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him. Then it flashed upon Curdie's mind that perhaps this was the companion the princess had promised him. For the princess did so many things differently from what anybody looked for! Lina was no beauty certainly, but already, the first night, she had saved his life. "Come along, Lina," he said; "we want water." She put her nose to the earth, and after snuffing for a moment, darted off in a straight line. Curdie followed. The ground was so uneven, that after losing sight of her many times, at last he seemed to have lost her altogether. In a few minutes, however, he came upon her waiting for him. Instantly she darted off again. After he had lost and found her again many times, he found her the last time lying beside a great stone. As soon as he came up she began scratching at it with her paws. When he had raised it an inch or two, she shoved in first her nose and then her teeth, and lifted with all the might of her strong neck. When at length between them they got it up, there was a beautiful little well. He filled his cap with the clearest and sweetest water, and drank. Then he gave to Lina, and she drank plentifully. Next he washed her wounds very carefully. And as he did so, he noted how much the bareness of her neck added to the strange repulsiveness of her appearance. Then he bethought him of the goatskin wallet his mother had given him, and taking it from his shoulders, tried whether it would do to make a collar of for the poor animal. He found there was just enough, and the hair so similar in colour to Lina's, that no one could suspect it of having grown somewhere else. He took his knife, ripped up the seams of the wallet, and began trying the skin to her neck. It was plain she understood perfectly what he wished, for she endeavoured to hold her neck conveniently, turning it this way and that while he contrived, with his rather scanty material, to make the collar fit. As his mother had taken care to provide him with needles and thread, he soon had a nice gorget ready for her. He laced it on with one of his boot-laces, which its long hair covered. Poor Lina looked much better in it. Nor could any one have called it a piece of finery. If ever green eyes with a yellow light in them looked grateful, hers did. As they had no longer any bag to carry them in, Curdie and Lina now ate what was left of the provisions. Then they set out again upon their journey. For seven days it lasted. They met with various adventures, and in all of them Lina proved so helpful, and so ready to risk her life for the sake of her companion, that Curdie grew not merely very fond but very trustful of her, and her ugliness, which at first only moved his pity, now actually increased his affection for her. One day, looking at her stretched on the grass before him, he said,-- "Oh, Lina! if the princess would but burn you in her fire of roses!" She looked up at him, gave a mournful whine like a dog, and laid her head on his feet. What or how much he could not tell, but clearly she had gathered something from his words. CHAPTER XII. MORE CREATURES. One day from morning till night they had been passing through a forest. As soon as the sun was down Curdie began to be aware that there were more in it than themselves. First he saw only the swift rush of a figure across the trees at some distance. Then he saw another and then another at shorter intervals. Then he saw others both further off and nearer. At last, missing Lina and looking about after her, he saw an appearance almost as marvellous as herself steal up to her, and begin conversing with her after some beast fashion which evidently she understood. Presently what seemed a quarrel arose between them, and stranger noises followed, mingled with growling. At length it came to a fight, which had not lasted long, however, before the creature of the wood threw itself upon its back, and held up its paws to Lina. She instantly walked on, and the creature got up and followed her. They had not gone far before another strange animal appeared, approaching Lina, when precisely the same thing was repeated, the vanquished animal rising and following with the former. Again, and yet again and again, a fresh animal came up, seemed to be reasoned and certainly was fought with and overcome by Lina, until at last, before they were out of the wood, she was followed by forty-nine of the most grotesquely ugly, the most extravagantly abnormal animals imagination can conceive. To describe them were a hopeless task. I knew a boy who used to make animals out of heather roots. Wherever he could find four legs, he was pretty sure to find a head and a tail. His beasts were a most comic menagerie, and right fruitful of laughter. But they were not so grotesque and extravagant as Lina and her followers. One of them, for instance, was like a boa constrictor walking on four little stumpy legs near its tail. About the same distance from its head were two little wings, which it was for ever fluttering as if trying to fly with them. Curdie thought it fancied it did fly with them, when it was merely plodding on busily with its four little stumps. How it managed to keep up he could not think, till once when he missed it from the group: the same moment he caught sight of something at a distance plunging at an awful serpentine rate through the trees, and presently, from behind a huge ash, this same creature fell again into the group, quietly waddling along on its four stumps. Watching it after this, he saw that, when it was not able to keep up any longer, and they had all got a little space ahead, it shot into the wood away from the route, and made a great round, serpenting along in huge billows of motion, devouring the ground, undulating awfully, galloping as if it were all legs together, and its four stumps nowhere. In this mad fashion it shot ahead, and, a few minutes after, toddled in again amongst the rest, walking peacefully and somewhat painfully on its few fours. From the time it takes to describe one of them it will be readily seen that it would hardly do to attempt a description of each of the forty-nine. They were not a goodly company, but well worth contemplating nevertheless; and Curdie had been too long used to the goblins' creatures in the mines and on the mountain, to feel the least uncomfortable at being followed by such a herd. On the contrary the marvellous vagaries of shape they manifested amused him greatly, and shortened the journey much. Before they were all gathered, however, it had got so dark that he could see some of them only a part at a time, and every now and then, as the company wandered on, he would be startled by some extraordinary limb or feature, undreamed of by him before, thrusting itself out of the darkness into the range of his ken. Probably there were some of his old acquaintances among them, although such had been the conditions of semi-darkness in which alone he had ever seen any of them, that it was not likely he would be able to identify any of them. On they marched solemnly, almost in silence, for either with feet or voice the creatures seldom made any noise. By the time they reached the outside of the wood it was morning twilight. Into the open trooped the strange torrent of deformity, each one following Lina. Suddenly she stopped, turned towards them, and said something which they understood, although to Curdie's ear the sounds she made seemed to have no articulation. Instantly they all turned, and vanished in the forest, and Lina alone came trotting lithely and clumsily after her master. CHAPTER XIII. THE BAKER'S WIFE. They were now passing through a lovely country of hill and dale and rushing stream. The hills were abrupt, with broken chasms for water-courses, and deep little valleys full of trees. But now and then they came to a larger valley, with a fine river, whose level banks and the adjacent meadows were dotted all over with red and white kine, while on the fields above, that sloped a little to the foot of the hills, grew oats and barley and wheat, and on the sides of the hills themselves vines hung and chestnuts rose. They came at last to a broad, beautiful river, up which they must go to arrive at the city of Gwyntystorm, where the king had his court. As they went the valley narrowed, and then the river, but still it was wide enough for large boats. After this, while the river kept its size, the banks narrowed, until there was only room for a road between the river and the great cliffs that overhung it. At last river and road took a sudden turn, and lo! a great rock in the river, which dividing flowed around it, and on the top of the rock the city, with lofty walls and towers and battlements, and above the city the palace of the king, built like a strong castle. But the fortifications had long been neglected, for the whole country was now under one king, and all men said there was no more need for weapons or walls. No man pretended to love his neighbour, but every one said he knew that peace and quiet behaviour was the best thing for himself, and that, he said, was quite as useful, and a great deal more reasonable. The city was prosperous and rich, and if anybody was not comfortable, everybody else said he ought to be. When Curdie got up opposite the mighty rock, which sparkled all over with crystals, he found a narrow bridge, defended by gates and portcullis and towers with loopholes. But the gates stood wide open, and were dropping from their great hinges; the portcullis was eaten away with rust, and clung to the grooves evidently immovable; while the loopholed towers had neither floor nor roof, and their tops were fast filling up their interiors. Curdie thought it a pity, if only for their old story, that they should be thus neglected. But everybody in the city regarded these signs of decay as the best proof of the prosperity of the place. Commerce and self-interest, they said, had got the better of violence, and the troubles of the past were whelmed in the riches that flowed in at their open gates. Indeed there was one sect of philosophers in it which taught that it would be better to forget all the past history of the city, were it not that its former imperfections taught its present inhabitants how superior they and their times were, and enabled them to glory over their ancestors. There were even certain quacks in the city who advertised pills for enabling people to think well of themselves, and some few bought of them, but most laughed, and said, with evident truth, that they did not require them. Indeed, the general theme of discourse when they met was, how much wiser they were than their fathers. Curdie crossed the river, and began to ascend the winding road that led up to the city. They met a good many idlers, and all stared at them. It was no wonder they should stare, but there was an unfriendliness in their looks which Curdie did not like. No one, however, offered them any molestation: Lina did not invite liberties. After a long ascent, they reached the principal gate of the city and entered. The street was very steep, ascending towards the palace, which rose in great strength above all the houses. Just as they entered, a baker, whose shop was a few doors inside the gate, came out in his white apron, and ran to the shop of his friend the barber on the opposite side of the way. But as he ran he stumbled and fell heavily. Curdie hastened to help him up, and found he had bruised his forehead badly. He swore grievously at the stone for tripping him up, declaring it was the third time he had fallen over it within the last month; and saying what was the king about that he allowed such a stone to stick up for ever on the main street of his royal residence of Gwyntystorm! What was a king for if he would not take care of his people's heads! And he stroked his forehead tenderly. "Was it your head or your feet that ought to bear the blame of your fall?" asked Curdie. "Why, you booby of a miner! my feet, of course," answered the baker. "Nay, then," said Curdie, "the king can't be to blame." "Oh, I see!" said the baker. "You're laying a trap for me. Of course, if you come to that, it was my head that ought to have looked after my feet. But it is the king's part to look after us all, and have his streets smooth." "Well, I don't see," said Curdie, "why the king should take care of the baker, when the baker's head won't take care of the baker's feet." "Who are you to make game of the king's baker?" cried the man in a rage. But, instead of answering, Curdie went up to the bump on the street which had repeated itself on the baker's head, and turning the hammer end of his mattock, struck it such a blow that it flew wide in pieces. Blow after blow he struck, until he had levelled it with the street. But out flew the barber upon him in a rage. "What do you break my window for, you rascal, with your pickaxe?" "I am very sorry," said Curdie. "It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock. I couldn't help it, you know." "Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands?" "Look at your friend's forehead," said Curdie. "See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone." "What's that to my window?" cried the barber. "His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't." "But he's the king's baker," said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger. "What's that to me? This is a free city. Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all. I'll have the price of my window out of you, or the exchequer shall pay for it." Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket. "I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber. "Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another." "Give me that stone," said the barber. Curdie gave it to him, and the barber threw it over the city wall. "I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie. "No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?" Curdie stooped and picked up another. "Give me that stone," said the barber. "No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do." The barber took Curdie by the collar. "Come, now! you pay me for that window." "How much?" asked Curdie. The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered. "No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter." "Well, to be certain," said Curdie, "I'll give him a half." For he doubted the baker as well as the barber. "Perhaps one day, if he finds he has asked too much, he will bring me the difference." "Ha! ha!" laughed the barber. "A fool and his money are soon parted." But as he took the coin from Curdie's hand he grasped it in affected reconciliation and real satisfaction. In Curdie's, his was the cold smooth leathery palm of a monkey. He looked up, almost expecting to see him pop the money in his cheek; but he had not yet got so far as that, though he was well on the road to it: then he would have no other pocket. "I'm glad that stone is gone, anyhow," said the baker. "It was the bane of my life. I had no idea how easy it was to remove it. Give me your pickaxe, young miner, and I will show you how a baker can make the stones fly." He caught the tool out of Curdie's hand, and flew at one of the foundation stones of the gateway. But he jarred his arm terribly, scarcely chipped the stone, dropped the mattock with a cry of pain, and ran into his own shop. Curdie picked up his implement, and looking after the baker, saw bread in the window, and followed him in. But the baker, ashamed of himself, and thinking he was coming to laugh at him, popped out of the back door, and when Curdie entered, the baker's wife came from the bakehouse to serve him. Curdie requested to know the price of a certain good-sized loaf. Now the baker's wife had been watching what had passed since first her husband ran out of the shop, and she liked the look of Curdie. Also she was more honest than her husband. Casting a glance to the back door, she replied,-- "That is not the best bread. I will sell you a loaf of what we bake for ourselves." And when she had spoken she laid a finger on her lips. "Take care of yourself in this place, my son," she added. "They do not love strangers. I was once a stranger here, and I know what I say." Then fancying she heard her husband,--"That is a strange animal you have," she said, in a louder voice. "Yes," answered Curdie. "She is no beauty, but she is very good, and we love each other. Don't we, Lina?" Lina looked up and whined. Curdie threw her the half of his loaf, which she ate while her master and the baker's wife talked a little. Then the baker's wife gave them some water, and Curdie having paid for his loaf, he and Lina went up the street together. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOGS OF GWYNTYSTORM. The steep street led them straight up to a large market-place, with butchers' shops, about which were many dogs. The moment they caught sight of Lina, one and all they came rushing down upon her, giving her no chance of explaining herself. When Curdie saw the dogs coming he heaved up his mattock over his shoulder, and was ready, if they would have it so. Seeing him thus prepared to defend his follower, a great ugly bull-dog flew at him. With the first blow Curdie struck him through the brain, and the brute fell dead at his feet. But he could not at once recover his weapon, which stuck in the skull of his foe, and a huge mastiff, seeing him thus hampered, flew at him next. Now Lina, who had shown herself so brave upon the road thither, had grown shy upon entering the city, and kept always at Curdie's heel. But it was her turn now. The moment she saw her master in danger she seemed to go mad with rage. As the mastiff jumped at Curdie's throat, Lina flew at his, seized him with her tremendous jaws, gave one roaring grind, and he lay beside the bull-dog with his neck broken. They were the best dogs in the market, after the judgment of the butchers of Gwyntystorm. Down came their masters, knife in hand. Curdie drew himself up fearlessly, mattock on shoulder, and awaited their coming, while at his heel his awful attendant showed not only her outside fringe of icicle-teeth, but a double row of right serviceable fangs she wore inside her mouth, and her green eyes flashed yellow as gold. The butchers not liking the look either of them or of the dogs at their feet, drew

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DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

blades

How many times the word 'blades' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

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DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

sight

How many times the word 'sight' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

leg

How many times the word 'leg' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

choppers

How many times the word 'choppers' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

gone

How many times the word 'gone' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

blast

How many times the word 'blast' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

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DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

crawford

How many times the word 'crawford' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

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DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

begins

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DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

lifting

How many times the word 'lifting' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

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DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

stop

How many times the word 'stop' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

door

How many times the word 'door' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

mute

How many times the word 'mute' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

flash

How many times the word 'flash' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

under

How many times the word 'under' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

glimpse

How many times the word 'glimpse' appears in the text?

DAY Elsewhere, Elias stands silently, listens to the forest. In the distance the firefight can hardly be heard. His helmet gone, his hair hanging free, he is at his best now - alone. He hears it. Somebody running through the jungle, about 100 yards, boots on leaves, coming towards him. He begins to move lateral to the sound. His steps unheard, better at this than the enemy. THREE ENEMY FIGURES now appear, crouched and moving very fast with light equipment through the mist. Elias swerves up in immediate foreground, his back to us, FIRING. All three Figures fall. A quick glimpse of Elias, not bothering to stop, moving to his next position. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes, moving through the jungle, reacts to the fire, resetting his course. Like a hunter stalking a deer. Suddenly there's more firing. Then silence - EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY TWO MORE ENEMY lie dead in the jungle. A rustle of movement, then a CRY - chilling, jubilant, a war cry. A pair of feet moving lightly over the jungle. A glimpse of Elias. In his full glory. Roaming the jungle, born to it. EXT. BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes fixing on him, moving. EXT. ELIAS' JUNGLE - DAY An NVA SOLDIER, jungle-whiskered, dirty, smart, crouches, listens, looks to his PARTNER. What are they fighting here? The First One mutter something sharp and they split fast in the direction they've come. They get about six steps when Elias suddenly rises up from the bush, not ten yards in front of them, his shots ripping into them, driving the surprised life from them. Elias is gone. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - DAY Elsewhere, another three NVA stop, turn and flee back from where they came. EXT. JUNGLE CHURCH - DAY Chris and Rhah get Crawford back to the church grounds, lay him down. No activity around them. Chris plunges back into the jungle where they left Barnes. RHAH Taylor! EXT. ELIAS AND BARNES' JUNGLE - DAY Barnes moving, stops, listens. Something is running towards him. But it's hidden by the bush. He brings his rifle up smooth and quick, waits, then as the bush parts, Elias is standing there. Looking at Barnes. Barnes sees him, starts to lower his rifle, but then stops. He raises it back an inch, sights it. Pause. A cold searing look of hatred coming over his face. In that moment, Elias understands. Quick as a deer, he makes his move, trying to plunge back into the bush. Barnes fires. Once, twice, three times - the blast rocking the jungle. Elias jerking backwards into the bush, mortally wounded. Bird cries. A crime against nature. Barnes calmly lowers his rifle, and walks away from it. EXT. CHRIS' JUNGLE - DAY Chris, cutting through the jungle, hears the shots. He stops, listens. Someone is moving through bush towards him, leaves and foliage shaking. Chris tightens, raises his rifle. Barnes steps through into his sight - sees him. Chris lowers his rifle. Barnes walking past him as if he weren't even there. BARNES Elias is dead. Join up with the platoon. Move it. CHRIS (shocked) He's dead! Where? ... You saw him? BARNES Yeah. Back about 100 metres. He's dead, now get going, the gooks are all over the fuckin' place. Moving on quickly. Chris has no choice but to follow, looking back one more time. EXT. CHURCH GROUNDS - JUNGLE - DAY TWO CHOPPERS are coming into a LZ in front of the Church. The two platoons, Second and Third, reinforcing, are being evacuated as quickly as possible, one load (6-8 men, depending on the wounded) after other. The choppers are spraying dust all over the place. A scene of chaos, radio talk layering it. Doc is out of supplies, making do with improvised bandages, etc. WOLFE MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT. Lerner goes by, horribly wounded on a makeshift litter, into the chopper, Doc attending, holding the IV. Chris catching a glimpse of him, waiting to get on the chopper, turning to look as: Hoyt and Sgt.Warren, both wounded, are hurried aboard on litters. The chopper lifting off. Chris and others now running to the corpses of Flash, Morehouse, and Fu Sheng lying under dirty ponchos, their boots sticking out. The ponchos are blown away in a burst of wind off the chopper blades, revealing their faces - dirt stuffing their eyes and mouths, waxen figures. Chris and the others lifting them and carrying them towards the next chopper now coming in. They throw the bodies on. Tubbs and Crawford, both wounded, now move past Chris, into the chopper. Chris running back, with King carrying a litter - their eyes falling on: Barnes talking with Wolfe and Ace, making signals under the roaring sounds of the chopper. Shaking his head. No. No Elias. Chris and King looking at each other, mute. They numbly start loading Big Harold, minus his leg, onto the stretcher. The Third Chopper is down now, waiting, roaring blades silhouetting off the face of the cathedral. A ROCKET BLAST suddenly goes off not too far from the chopper, incoming fire. The DOOR GUNNER signaling for them to hurry, laying out fire. INT/EXT. CHOPPER - JUNGLE - DAY Chris and King hustling Big Harold's 250 pounds into the chopper. Climbing in with him. Wolfe, Barnes, Ace running in with them. The perimeter is bare. Chris' eyes flitting over Barnes as he jumps in. The chopper lifting off as another explosion rocks the area. The Door Gunner sees something, opens up. Big Harold, cursing, looks chalky but hog happy as he manages a glance down at the jungle. His right leg is gone. Tears are rolling out of his eyes. KING Man, you gonna be in Japan this time tomorrow, Big Harold. BIG HAROLD Yeah, I'se lucky dis time, what's a leg to get the fuck outta here ... (at the NVA) Eat ma shit, you motherfuckers! He sinks back, sick. Chris' eyes sudenly fix on something. He can't believe it. He shoves King, points. King sees it. Both stunned. Barnes is looking. So's Lt.Wolfe, so's Ace. So's the Door Gunner. Elias is coming out of the jungle. Staggering, blood disfiguring his face and chest, hanging on with all his dimming strength, looking up at them - trying to reach them. Chris shakes Wolfe, his words drowned out by the roar. The Chopper Captain looking down, dips. His co-pilot pointing. The NVA are coming out of the jungle, closing on the spot where Elias is. Incoming rounds are hitting the chopper. The Door Gunner maniacally firing. Barnes looking down at the man, can't believe it. Elias is on his last legs now, obviously being hit by the incoming fire of the NVA. He falls to his knees, still stretching upwards for life. The Chopper Captain shakes his head at Wolfe. The Chopper dips one more time firing at the NVA, low and fierce over the jungle. Chris looking back in horror. Elias crucified. The NVA coming out now by the dozens from the treeline. Elias crumbling to the ground. Obviously dead or dying. HELICAPTAIN ON RADIO ... we still got one on the deck. Bring the gunships in. Barnes drawing in. Chris looking at him in revulsion. He knows. Barnes sees his look, ignores it, all of them sitting there silent, living with that final horrifying image of Elias. EXT. UNDERGROUND HUTCH - BASE CAMP - NIGHT The 'heads' are assembled - what's left of them. Rhah, King, Francis, Doc, Adam, a quiet black kid, and Chris, who is impassioned tonight. CHRIS He killed him. I know he did. I saw his eyes when he came back in ... RADIO VOICE (puffing on his bowl) How do you know the dinks didn't get him. You got no proof man. CHRIS Proof's in the eyes. When you know you know. You were there Rhah - I know what you were thinking. I say we frag the fucker. Tonight. He looks to King who puffs on a joint, his eyes red. KING I go with dat, an eye for an eye man. DOC Right on, nothing wrong with Barnes another shot in the head wouldn't cure. RHAH (to Chris) Shit boy you been out in the sun too long. You try that, he'll stick it right back up your ass with a candle on it. CHRIS Then what do you suggest big shot? RHAH (to Chris) I suggest you watch your own asses cause Barnes gonna be down on ALL OF 'EM. FRANCIS How you figger that? RHAH Shit man - Human nature. Flashes the old knuckle - 'HATE'. KING Then you jes gonna forget 'bout Elias and all the good times we done had? Right in here. RHAH He dugged his own grave. DOC (correcting) He dug it. RHAH He DUGGED it too. CHRIS Fuck this shit! RHAH You guys trying to cure the headache by cutting off the head. 'Lias didn't ask you to fight his battles and if there's a Heaven - and god, I hope so - I know he's sitting up there drunk as a fuckin' monkey and smokin' shit cause HIS PAINS HE DONE LEFT DOWN HERE. Baaaaaaaaa! (a vehement movement of his head) CHRIS You're wrong man! Any way you cut it Rhah, Barnes is a murderer. KING Right on. RHAH I remember first time you came in here Taylor you telling me how much you admired that bastard. CHRIS I was wrong. RHAH (snorts) Wrong? You ain't EVER been right - 'bout nothing. And dig this you assholes and dig it good! Barnes been shot 7 times and he ain't dead, that tell you something? Barnes ain't meant to die. Only thing can get Barnes ... is Barnes! Barnes stands there, silhouetted in the trap door, looking down at the men who are stunned to see him here. He steps down into the hutch, his face now lit by candle light. A bottle of whiskey in his hand, drunk, ugly, sweating, but as always, with dignity, possessive of his silence. He feels their fear in the silence, enjoys it. BARNES (soft) Talking 'bout killing? He totters slightly as he circles the outer edge of the hutch. No one talks. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all experts? Y'all know about killing? He takes the bowl from Adams, smokes it. BARNES (CONT'D) You pussies gotta smoke this shit so's you can hide from reality? ... (smokes again) Me I don't need that shit. I AM reality. Confronting Chris, he moves on, taunting them all. BARNES (CONT'D) There's the way it oughta be and there's the way it is. 'Lias he was full of shit, 'Lias was a crusader - I got no fight with a man does what he's told but when he don't, the machine breaks down, and when the machine breaks down, WE break down ... and I ain't gonna allow that. From none of you. Not one ... Walks past Rhah, past King, throws the pot bowl into the dirt of the floor. BARNES (CONT'D) Y'all loved Elias, want to kick ass, I'se here - all by my lonesome, nobody gonna know. Five you boys 'gainst me? (pause, very soft) Kill me. Almost an appeal - naked, intense. Rhah, Francis, Doc look away. King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes. Chris waits, his anger on the rise. Barnes takes a swigger from the whiskey, then turns away contemptuously. BARNES (CONT'D) I SHIT on all o' you. CHRIS KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! Chris slams into Barnes, rushing him off his feet. Pounding his face, solid blows. KING AND OTHERS Get that mother, babe, go ... Kick his ass, kill that cocksucker!!! But Barnes is too quick and very strong and takes the blows, getting outside Chris' arm, twisting and flipping him in a wrestler's grip - throwing him hard onto his back on the dirt floor. The expression of the Men watching slumps, their hopes dashed. Barnes springs around on Chris, straddles him, one hand pushing his face back, hits him hard. Once. Twice. Chris grimaces, groans, helpless now. A flick of sound. A knife whipped out of Barnes' boot and pressing against Chris' throat. Chris bleeding from the nose and mouth. Rhah suddenly spinning into action, fast now, realizing what Barnes intends to do. RHAH EASY BARNES, EASY MAN!!! Barnes is on the verge - about to kill again. Chris waiting. Rhah coaxing him, moving closer. RHAH (CONT'D) You'll do dinky dau in Long Binh Barnes. Ten years - kill an enlisted. Ten years, Barnes, just climb the walls. DON'T DO IT ... Barnes' eyes tremble in the candle light, his scars ugly, a spasm clenching and locking his facial muscles. Then suddenly he is calm again, very calm. We sense a man of enormous self-control. Suddenly he flicks his knife across Chris, leaving a mark below his left eye. Chris gasps. Looking up at Barnes rising off him. The boots alongside his face. The Men looking on, the tension lowering. BARNES (contemptuous) Death? What do you guys know about it? He walks out. Quietly. EXT. AIR SHOTS - JUNGLE, CHURCH - DAY Chris sits at the very edge of a Huey Chopper, bandana around his forehead, long hair blowing in the wind, Barnes' mark below his eyes, slicked out now like a jungle veteran, looking down at the VILLAGE where the massacre occurred. The Village is still a smoking ruin, a few peasants and water buffalo straggling like ants to reconstruct. Bunny, next to Chris, pops his gum, indifferent. Barnes, next to him, shifts, reads a map. Rodriguez is praying, his mouth moving without audible words, getting ready for the drop. King is making last minute adjustments in his pack. Bunny now nudges Chris, points. The Church in the Jungle where Elias was killed is visible. An outline of the Cemetery. Uncomfortable memories play over Chris' face. CHRIS (V.O.) They sent us back into the valley the next day - about 2,000 metres from Cambodia - into a battalion perimeter. Alpha Company had been hit hard the day before by a sizeable force and Charlie Company had been probed that night. There were other battalions in the valley, we weren't the only ones but we knew we were going to be the bait to lure them out. And somewhere out there was the entire 141st NVA Regiment. The BATTALION PERIMETER now breaks in the clear ahead. Smoke grenades of various colors are being popped on the cleared LZ. It's not big, its radius 200 yards, heavily sandbagged, deeply dug, rolls of barbed wire protecting it, radio antennas sprouting from the CP - and surrounded on all four sides by jungle. The First Chopper rocking down, whipping up dust clouds. Chris jumps out, moving out fast as the Second Chopper starts in. EXT. BATTALION CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK At the Battalion CP, the Major confers with Captain Harris and two other Captains. Two NVA PRISONERS are sitting on their knees, interrogated by Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and a U.S. Sergeant, their hands tied. The Scout slaps the shit out of the NVA. EXT. PLATOON CP - PERIMETER #3 - DUSK All this is watched from a distance by Ace and Doc and Lt.Wolfe at the Platoon CP. Ace and Doc are digging the foxhole, the ace of spades in Ace's helmet band, sharing the information with Tony and Francis. ACE ... they caught 'em last night pulling some shit on Charlie Company. They found maps on 'em, man - got a friend at Battalion says they had every fuckin' foxhole here fixed on it. Distances, treelines, our claymores, trip wires, everything? I shit you not. DOC Shit, so what the fuck are we doing here? Why don't we move ... (no answer) Bad vibes, man, I got bad vibes here. Where are the new guys they provided us anyway. TONY I heard we's in Cambodia right fuckin' NOW. FRANCIS You kidding man ... Rhah comes up, a walking stick in hand, huge pirate kerchief on his head, semi-naked. RHAH You wanted to see me sir? WOLFE Jackson, looks like you got Elias' squad now. RHAH Squad? I didn't know we was still referring to this platoon in terms of squads sir. (with a snicker for Ace and Doc) WOLFE (indicating a rough drawing in the dirt) These two holes are yours ... RHAH Begging your pardon Lieutenant but my holes are far enuff apart you could run a regiment through there and nobody'd see them - I got five live bodies left ... WOLFE I don't want to hear your problems, Jackson. You'll get new men any day. Time being you make do like everybody else. RHAH Hey Lieutenant I didn't ask for this job, I ... WOLFE (leaves) I don't want to hear about it Jackson. RHAH (amazed, looking off at him) You don't want to hear about it? WOLFE (turns) That's right. I don't want to hear about it 'cause to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit okay ... I just don't give a shit anymore. RHAH (shrugs, to himself) Right ... WOLFE (passing Ace digging the CP hole) This is one time we could sure use Elias. ACE (to Doc) 'Some people say I'm wishy washy. Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't.' EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK On the edge of the perimeter, King puts out his claymore, unraveling it back towards his FOXHOLE, intersecting MEN form the Third Platoon, who file out on a night ambush, skirting the trip wires, demoralized, silent. Eye exchanges, but no words. Chris sits on the foxhole watching the ambush go out, smoking a joint by himself, depressed. King comes in with the claymore wires, attaching them to their detonators. Their foxhole - as are all of the Platoon's - is positioned just inside the treeline bordering the LZ, so that they are quite isolated from the center of the perimeter where they first landed. KING Glad I ain't going with 'em. Somewhere out dere man is de Beast and he hungry tonight ... Man, what a bummer. Ten days and a wakeup and I'm still dealing wid this shit - fuckin' etcetera and ad infinitum man ... The LAST SOLDIER in the file recedes into the foliage. KING (CONT'D) (noticiing Chris' silence) What's the matter wid you? ... How come you ain't writing no more? You was always writing something home. Looks like youse half a bubble off, Taylor. He doesn't answer, makes a futile gesture. KING (CONT'D) What about your folks? That grandma you was telling me about? ... Chris shakes his head. KING (CONT'D) Girl? Chris' eyes answer negatively. KING (CONT'D) Must be somebody? CHRIS ... there's nobody. KING (shifts, uncomfortable) You been smoking too much shit babe. Gotta control that. Takes a man down ... I remember when you first come out to the bush, you was straight as a ... CHRIS Who gives a shit! He shifts, annoyed, prepares his grenades along the sand bags. King shrugs, preparing his meal, sings himself a snatch of song, a good natured man. KING (soft) 'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two although I may be laughing loud and hardy deep inside I'm blue ...' CHRIS Y'ever get caught in a mistake King and you just can't get out of it? KING Way out of anything, man. Just keep your pecker up, your powder dry, the worm WILL turn. How many days you short? CHRIS Not just me ... it's the way the whole thing works. People like Elias get wasted and people like Barnes just go on making up rules any way they want and what do we do, we just sit around in the middle and suck on it! We just don't add up to dry shit. KING Does a chicken have lips? Whoever said we did, babe. Make it outta here, it's all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man - gravy. Oh shit, superlifer! O'Neill comes up, jerks his thumb at King. O'NEILL Get your gear together, King, your orders just come through. KING (speechless) You jokin' me man? ... shit, you ain't kidding! Cocksucker. Oh wowww ... the lifers made a mistake, they cuttin' me some slack, they cutting me some slack Taylor! (dances) O'NEILL Collect your shit and move out King. You got 10 minutes make the last chopper. Cee ess em oh or your ass is mine. (to Taylor) Francis is coming over. (hurries off) King packing up, double time. Chris comes over, helps him, trying to share his happiness but not succeeding. CHRIS Hey that's great King, that's great ... you take it on home for me, you tell 'em King ... got your address right? You know where you can reach men, man. Anytime! KING I gotta didi man. Don't wanna miss that chopper. I'll send you a postcard. After I get me some. I'll send you some tapes too man. This new guy Jimi Hendrix man, whew ... you okay Taylor? Just 'member take it easy now, don't think too much, don't be a fool, no such thing as a coward cause it don't mean nuthin. Jes keep on keepin' on. Okay my man ... Chris, fighting his depression, slaps hands with King. A brief moment, they look at each other. A friendship that was forever and is now over. They both sort of know they'll never see each other again. CHRIS I'll walk you out ... Francis coming up, hauling his pack. EXT.PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Rodriguez positions his M-60, brings up his ammo belts (no loaders left). Tony eating, nervous, watches him, shakes his head. TONY Rumor goin' round is they got tanks. Soviet shit, T- 34's ... (pause) Hey Rodriguez, don't you ever say nothing? RODRIGUEZ (a thick Mexican accent) What do you want me to say, it's all the same ol' shit. Tony shrugs, back to his food. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - JUNIOR'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On another foxhole, Barnes in full pack checks the soles of Junior's bare feet. Bunny and O'Neill looking on. Junior is moaning as if he's dying, overdoing it by a mile. BARNES So what's the problem? O'NEILL Says he can't walk. BARNES Shit. Get your boots on Martin, next time I catch you putting mosquito repellant on your fuckin' feet I'm gonna courtmartial your nigger ass. JUNIOR (cracks) DEN COURTMARTIAL ME MOTHERFUCKAH, bust my ass, send me to fucking Long Binh, do your worst but I ain't walking no more. De white man done got his last klik outta me. Get some chuck dude to hump this shit. BARNES (suddenly soft) Get me that centipede, O'Neill. O'Neill is puzzled. What centipede? O'NEILL Sarge? BARNES Yeah that long hairy orange and black bastard I found in the ammo crate. I'm gonna put it in this asshole's crotch, see if he can walk. Junior's eyes bulge with suspiscion and sudden terror, his demeanor totally alert now. O'NEILL (understanding) Oh yeah, right away Sarge. JUNIOR No! Wait! I'll walk, fuck you I'll walk, I don't need this shit! I don't need this shit! BUNNY Fucking pussy, fuck it Sarge, I gotta have him on my hole? Barnes going. O'Neill catching up with him. O'NEILL Uh ... Bob. Like to speak to you. Take a minute. BARNES (stops) Yeah, what is it? O'NEILL (shuffles, reluctant) Bob, I got Elias' R&R ... It's coming up in 3 days. Going to Hawaii. See Patsy. (pause, no reaction from Barnes) I never asked you for a break, I was hoping you ... you'd send me in on the chopper with King ... what do you say Chief? (a friendly punch) BARNES I can't do that for you, Red ... We need every swinging dick in the field. Sorry bout that ... (starts to go) O'NEILL (pleads) Hey Bob, come on! Talk to me hunh, it's your friend Red, I'm only asking you for three days chief ... BARNES I'm talking to you Red and I'm telling you no. Get back to your position. O'NEILL (grabs him, desperate) Bob, I gotta bad feeling about this, I ... I'm telling you I got a bad feeling, man, I don't think I'm gonna make it .. y'know what I mean? BARNES (quietly) ... everybody gotta die sometime Red ... Get back to your foxhole. A look in his eyes. Very remote, very cold, silencing O'Neill. Barnes walks off. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - BATTALION LZ - DUSK At the LZ, King runs out, gets on the last SUPPLY CHOPPER with some other men. It lifts off, swirling dust, the last rays of daylight. Chris watches from a Battalion CP area, waves back - the chopper sound receding in the horizon, the comparative silence of the jungle now creeping up on the perimeter. He turns and starts back to his foxhole. A man is watching him. He's sitting on a sandbag, face in shadow. It startles Chris, something about him. Something different. A deep West Virginia drawl. SMOKING MAN Got a light? CHRIS Uh sure ... Goes over reluctantly, flicks his lighter, cupping it from the wind. The flame catches a sudden, uneasy expression in Chris' face as he sees the Smoking Man. We come around and see what Chris sees in the light of the flame. A face that smiles at him like a death's head, a large ugly blister on his mouth, whiskered, pale - but smiling. A sick man wouldn't smile like this, but he is smiling too intimately, as if he knows Chris from way back. But he doesn't. Or does he? Perhaps it was the man Chris first saw at the airstrip when he came in-country. The same expression of evil, of a man who has seen too much and died, but still lives. Chris feels an unnatural fear passing through him. The Man stands, sucking on his cigarette, stretches. He is thin and very tall, towering over Chris. SMOKING MAN ... later. He goes. Chris watches him, wondering. The man never looks back, a leisurely, confident stroll. In that moment, there is an EXPLOSION from way out in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile. Then another, then small arms fire. Chris looks, knows. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - RHAH'S FOXHOLE - DUSK On his foxhole, Junior listening to the distant firing. Bunny is introspective - talking to Junior as if he were his best friend, although they have nothing in common. BUNNY ... y'know some of the things we done, I don't feel like we done something wrong but sometimes y'know I get this bad feeling. Not all that shit the Chaplain's jamming up our ass 'bout the Good Lord ... just a fucking bad feeling, y'know what I mean? Don't know why. I told the Chaplain the truth is I really like it here. You do what you want, nobody fucks with you. Only worry you got's dying and if dat happens you won't know about it anyway. So what the fuck ... (chuckles) Junior looks at him like he's really crazy. Back to the distant firing. JUNIOR (pissed now) Fuck! I gotta be on this hole with YOU man. I just know I shouldna come! Bunny finds it funny, laughs. BUNNY Don't you worry bout a thing Junior, you with Audie Murphy here, my man ... EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is talking urgently into the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha! Send me a grid. Send me a grid, over! A young inexperienced VOICE screams back into the radio amid intense background FIRING filtered by radio and sounding disembodied. RADIO VOICE We're pinned down sir, they're in the fucking trees! The trees - HARRIS OK, Three Alpha, calm down now, son. I'm gonna get you a fire mission ASAP. Smoke'll be first ... RADIO VOICE (panic) Lieutenant's dead sir, radioman look dead sir, I don't know where the map is Captain! They're all around us sir. They're moving! Hundreds of em! I can hear em talking gook!!! Jesus Christ! HARRIS (calming him) ... Just spot the smoke son and tell me where to shift. We'll get you out of there. Just hang tough and tell me where the rounds hit, over. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - PLATOON CP - DUSK At the Platoon CP, Barnes stands, legs akimbo, watching the jungle, anticipating the coming fight as overhead we now hear the 155 SHELLS whistle from a 10-mile distance - passing above them - then pounding down into the jungle in the near distance. Barnes turns, glances at Wolfe, smiles. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - COMPANY CP - DUSK At the Company CP, Captain Harris is back on the radio. HARRIS Bravo Three Alpha six. How bout those rounds son? Can you adjust fire? (waits) Three Alpha, if you can't talk, just key the handset twice over. (waits) Silence, then a vague MURMURING - becoming clearer and clearer. It's in Vietnamese. The radio is then bashed in, the sound like thunder in the Captain's ear. He looks at his RTO, both of them shocked. EXT. NVA JUNGLE - NIGHT/DUSK In the Jungle itself, the ENEMY is moving. Flurries of movement and sound, blurred visuals. Hands taping a piece of cloth to a tree, moving on - revealing a luminous arrow pointing left ... Figures moving past it. Hands unraveling a thin wire waist-high, backwards. Hands sliding along another wire. We now see a moving helmet with a luminous plaque on the back of it, leading a file up the wire. To a Jump-off point about 50 yards outside the U.S. perimeter. Figures crouch. Whispers. Movement. A pen flashlight on a drawing of the foxhole positions. The NVA moving out in several directions at once. EXT. PERIMETER #3 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - NIGHT On their foxhole, Chris and Francis wait anxiously. Overhead

steps

How many times the word 'steps' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

ice

How many times the word 'ice' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

fine

How many times the word 'fine' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

feared

How many times the word 'feared' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

waited

How many times the word 'waited' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

couche

How many times the word 'couche' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

dispara

How many times the word 'dispara' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

endeavour

How many times the word 'endeavour' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

life

How many times the word 'life' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

desk

How many times the word 'desk' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

perfume

How many times the word 'perfume' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

errand

How many times the word 'errand' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

tent

How many times the word 'tent' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

luggage

How many times the word 'luggage' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

gucci

How many times the word 'gucci' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

walking

How many times the word 'walking' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

soothingly

How many times the word 'soothingly' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

teller

How many times the word 'teller' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

tiny

How many times the word 'tiny' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

clothes

How many times the word 'clothes' appears in the text?

Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as good as mine. MARGE What does that mean? RIPLEY Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the next day I'm not, one day we're all one family, the next day he wants to be alone. You tell me. MARGE Is that what he said - he wanted to be alone? RIPLEY He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked me to deliver this. He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume. MARGE Thanks. he knows I love this, although why it couldn't have waited... RIPLEY Errand number one - deliver Marge's perfume. Errand number two, pack some clothes and his precious saxophone. MARGE (alarmed) How long's he staying for? RIPLEY Search me. I guess we're abandoned. EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING. Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty, forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning. INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING. As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks back into the kitchen area. MARGE There was a letter from Dickie in with my perfume. You realize it's more than a few days? He's thinking of moving to Rome. She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts fresh ice into her glass. MARGE (cont'd) The thing is, the night before he left, we talked about moving, together, going North - and I suppose I put some pressure on him, about getting married, I just might have scared him off. There's a side to him, when our heads are on the pillow, I know no-one else sees it, which is really tender. (unravelling) I think I should come with you to Rome and just confront him. Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence. MARGE (cont'd) He hates being confronted. RIPLEY I think you're right. INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY. RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH: INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY. DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER. Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl. ALDO Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf. RIPLEY (walking away) Thank you. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY. The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone. RIPLEY Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes. Grazie. He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased. The telephone rings. RIPLEY (cont'd) Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd like to leave a message. Yes. Please call Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand. INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY. A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone. RIPLEY He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a message - Got your call. Dinner tonight sounds fine. Ripley. (listens as it's read back) Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank you. INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY. Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks. RIPLEY I'd like these to have my initials - embossed, I don't know the word in Italian ...embossed? GUCCI ASSISTANT Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf. There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE! Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside, alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello. MEREDITH (entering the shop) Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao. EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY. Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe. MEREDITH But you're going skiing with us Yankees, aren't you? RIPLEY What? MEREDITH At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie Miles and - RIPLEY (interrupting, astonished) How did you know that? MEREDITH Everybody knows Freddie Miles. RIPLEY (unsettled) Is Freddie in Rome? MEREDITH Now? I don't think so. But I've met him, of course, and we've chatted and I know about you and Marge and Mongi and what an unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you were a rat and I thought to myself now I know why he travels under R. RIPLEY I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So the rat's here now, in Rome. MEREDITH Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if - RIPLEY Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. I feel like I've been handed a new life. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head inside the office. MEREDITH The truth is if you've had money your entire life, even if you despise it, which we do - agreed? - you're only truly comfortable around other people who have it and despise it. RIPLEY I know. MEREDITH I've never admitted that to anyone. INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY. Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him. She takes her money, turns to him. He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber. RIPLEY I don't want too many large bills. Nobody will change them. INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY. Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against Ripley. MEREDITH Show me the other one again. (the Tailor obliges) I like them both. RIPLEY I'll take them both. Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside, Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices the open sax case, peers inside. MEREDITH (O/S) I know you're a jazz fiend but do you absolutely hate the Opera? I've been trying to give my tickets away, it's tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be dragged... She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by him, the romance she feels to be in the air. RIPLEY (emerging) You could drag me. INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME. On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria before the duel with Onegin. Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next. Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing, kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion... Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced. INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME. The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval drinks). RIPLEY Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. JOAN Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. RIPLEY There's room for a whole libretto on Freddie's chest. JOAN (laughs) I'm sure we've met. They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks. JOAN (cont'd) I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy. RIPLEY Thanks, yes, I think we did. JOAN One minute you people are children and the next you're getting tattooed. INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT. Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is beside them. MARGE (as if she's seen a ghost) Oh my God. Tom. RIPLEY Marge, how are you? What are you doing in Rome? MARGE Is he here? Are you with Dickie? RIPLEY No. (to Smith-Kingsley) Hello, I'm Tom Ripley. PETER Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie. MARGE (works out what's strange) No glasses. He fishes out the glasses. RIPLEY (to Peter) Ditto. PETER Where are you hiding him? He's impossible, isn't he? MARGE Is he really not here? RIPLEY Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera tattooed on his chest. MARGE You were going to Venice. PETER Yes, what happened? I heard you were desperate to come. I was looking forward to rowing you around. RIPLEY I am. I really am. And I've been travelling. I just can't seem to get that far north. PETER Well hurry, before we sink. (reaches into his jacket) Should I give you my telephone number in Venice? RIPLEY Thanks. The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to Ripley, sees Meredith. PETER Look there's Meredith thingy - who's that, Marge? - they're in textiles... Meredith - (embarrassed at not remembering) God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in her house...! MARGE I don't know her. (to Ripley) He hasn't called, he's hardly written, just these cryptic notes. You don't just dump people. The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return. PETER Will we see you later? RIPLEY I can't later. PETER And tomorrow? RIPLEY Tomorrow's possible. Do you know Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna? PETER I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time? RIPLEY Ten thirty? PETER We'll be there. RIPLEY Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow. (to Peter) It's really good to meet you. INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT. Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her. RIPLEY Let's go. MEREDITH I thought you were enjoying yourself? RIPLEY Let's take a Carozza and look at the moon. MEREDITH You're crazy! It's freezing out there. He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting dangerously near as they approach their seats. RIPLEY C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the two of us. MEREDITH (quite taken) Okay then, you're crazy. EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT. Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber. Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge. MEREDITH Don't worry. Really. Don't worry. RIPLEY You're such a pal to understand. It's as if Marge is here now - I look at you and I see her face - and I can't, whatever I'm feeling towards you - I just can't... MEREDITH No, I absolutely understand. Of course. RIPLEY Otherwise you'd be fighting me off. MEREDITH Beating you away. EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME. They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go inside, then looks at him. MEREDITH Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say goodbye in the daylight, properly? So it's not just this, it's too...you should always save pain for daylight... RIPLEY Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in the morning at Dinelli's. MEREDITH (fluttering) I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps? RIPLEY Exactly. 10.30 - (instantly correcting himself) 10.15. He gets back into the carozza. It moves off. EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING. Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps, among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her. MEREDITH Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue. PETER Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue. MARGE Hello. Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes. PETER Join us, won't you? We're just waiting for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did we see you at the Opera last night? MEREDITH I won't actually, although I think this might - are you waiting for Dickie? PETER Well no, as it happens, although... MARGE (stunned at the mention of his name) Dickie? Do you know Dickie? MEREDITH You were at the Opera? Well, that explains - yes I was there. I was there with Dickie. MARGE (to Peter) I told you! I knew it! MEREDITH (moving over to them) Marge, I don't know you, so I have no right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I think you'll find he's coming home to you. MARGE (proprietorial) How would you know that? MEREDITH He told me everything. I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm going to go now, I think. Unless he meant us to meet - which would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? PETER No, we're meeting another friend. Tom Ripley. MARGE Do you know Tom? MEREDITH Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course, but no, I didn't meet him. The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates she's leaving. MEREDITH (cont'd) Not for me. No, grazie. Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her. MEREDITH (cont'd) I hope I didn't complicate matters, but nothing, nothing untoward happened, nothing to prevent you from welcoming him back, from marrying him...Goodbye. Goodbye Peter, please don't get up. Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his element, lying and believing in his lie. RIPLEY Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers. Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp when they can make you line up for three. Have you been waiting long? PETER Not at all. Morning Tom. RIPLEY Hi. (to Marge) Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost... MARGE Dickie was at the Opera last night. RIPLEY I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't drag Dickie to - MARGE He was there with someone. So I suppose she must have dragged him - that's not fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think Dickie's coming home. (to Peter) I'm going to go home. RIPLEY Really? That's swell. No, I was just - you're way ahead of me! Great! PETER We think he's had a change of heart. (to Marge) So we should be celebrating. MARGE I hope so. PETER (to Marge) That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith said - (to Ripley) Meredith's the American girl I saw last night, I know her, at the Opera, she's been seeing something of Dickie - RIPLEY My God. PETER But the point is Dickie - well we know this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses her and apparently he's come to his senses... RIPLEY It's fantastic. (to Peter) I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand this, but anytime Dickie does something I feel guilty. INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY. Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley explores, relishing the decor. SIGNORA BUFFI Accendo il riscaldamento. (I'll turn the heating on.) RIPLEY (mimes playing sax) Mi piace suonare. (I like to play music.) SIGNORA BUFFI (shrugs) Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace? (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So, do you like it?) INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas. There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a glass, pours himself a drink. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON. Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous. RIPLEY Hello? FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie? RIPLEY Who is it? FREDDIE (O/S) It's Freddie. Let me in. RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint. FREDDIE (O/S) Dickie, come on, it's me. Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the door. RIPLEY Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley. FREDDIE (confused, not pleasantly) Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you? RIPLEY Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it? FREDDIE I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm. If you said he was still at lunch I'd believe you. Incredible. The guy has disappeared off the face of the earth. RIPLEY I guess. FREDDIE The landlady - as far as I could tell, the landlady said he was here right now. RIPLEY He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I can't think why you would imagine Dickie would hide from you. FREDDIE Because he's been hiding from me - what happened at Christmas? RIPLEY What about Christmas? FREDDIE He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't get a cable or a call or a note or, frankly, a fart. Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers. RIPLEY (O/S) Of course, he's been very involved in his music, hasn't he? I think his theory is, you know, you have to go into a cocoon before you can become a butterfly. FREDDIE Which is horseshit. Have you heard him play that thing? (gesturing at the sax on its stand) He can't. RIPLEY (O/S) (casually) How did you find him? It's such an out of the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink? FREDDIE No thanks. (explaining his detective work) Some kid at the American Express Office. (he starts to explore) Are you living here? Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano. RIPLEY (returning, flinching) No. No, I'm staying here for a few days, in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob - FREDDIE (O/S) Did this place come furnished? It doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so bourgeois. Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust. RIPLEY You should watch that! FREDDIE In fact the only thing which looks like Dickie is you. RIPLEY Hardly. FREDDIE Have you done something to your hair? Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room. RIPLEY Freddie, do you have something to say? FREDDIE What? I think I'm saying it. Something's going on. He's either converted to Christianity - or to something else. RIPLEY I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the Corso. FREDDIE Is it on "delle Croce, just off the Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you? Last time you didn't know your ass from your elbow, now you're giving me directions. That's not fair, you probably do know your ass from your elbow. I'll see you. AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back to the door, opens it and looks over the rail. INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY. FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley can't make out the text but there's some discussion about Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY. Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches in, he launches into his interrogation. FREDDIE Ripley? There's someth - - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE. Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor. THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF. EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT. It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat. RIPLEY (mimicking Freddie's voice) Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her husband's saying. EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT. The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car, Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body. He slows near a clump of trees. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING. Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it, finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand. ROVERINI Dickie Greenleaf? RIPLEY Yes? ROVERINI Inspector Roverini. Can we come in? INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING. Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently. ROVERINI It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did Signor Miles leave yesterday? RIPLEY I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd both taken on far too many drinks - but it was dark, it was certainly dark when I walked him down to his car. ROVERINI So Signor Miles drove away and you did what? RIPLEY I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks. I've suffered all day. Who found him? Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian. ROVERINI Senta. We have to ask you to stay in Rome. RIPLEY Yes, if it's going to help, certainly. ROVERINI So, the Doctor, he has to make the - (looks at Baggio) - come se dice? RIPLEY Postmortem? ROVERINI Yes, exactly, but his first, his first conclusion was that Signor Miles was killed not later than seven o'clock yesterday evening. RIPLEY Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he drove off in his car. ROVERINI No. EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING. Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an Italian, runs up concerned. EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY. Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter. Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no mood for pleasantries. MARGE Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY Marge, when did you get here? MARGE Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie? RIPLEY I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't. MARGE I tried again, waiting here, watching for him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look for Dickie I find you. (focusing on Ripley's cuts and bruises) What happened to your face? RIPLEY Dickie did it. MARGE (suddenly tense) Dickie? RIPLEY My face! There was an argument. I said some things I shouldn't have. About you. About the appalling way he's treating you, all of us. And the next thing I know he's launched himself at me. (he pulls the scooter off the stand) Are you getting on? MARGE What? RIPLEY Get on. I'll take you to him. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY. Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars. Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley, startled, drives straight past the entrance. EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY. Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused. MARGE Where does Dickie live? RIPLEY We passed it a few blocks back, where the police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not going to incriminate Dickie - MARGE Perhaps I shouldn't go either. RIPLEY (thinking hard, distracted) No, well go if you want to, but don't talk to the Police about my face - they find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he could've hit Freddie. (sincerely) Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you later. And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK and roars towards the Palazzo. EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON. Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS, LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside. INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS. As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him. RIPLEY Can we go up? Do you mind? ROVERINI Of course. What happened to your face? RIPLEY My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by photographers. He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow. RIPLEY (cont'd) (agitated) The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm feeling hounded - do you think you could not give out my address? ROVERINI Never. We've had many requests and, of course, we say no - even to your fianc e. RIPLEY I really don't want to see anybody. ROVERINI Even your fianc e...? RIPLEY Even her. ROVERINI What about Thomas Ripley? RIPLEY What about Ripley? Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment. He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can barely wait for Roverini to catch up. INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON. Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him. ROVERINI You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo, is that right? Ripley is appalled. He smiles. RIPLEY Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That was months ago. ROVERINI November, I thought. RIPLEY Was it? Did you speak to Tom? ROVERINI November 7th is my information. RIPLEY I don't remember the exact date. ROVERINI And when did you last see Signor Ripley? RIPLEY A few days ago. ROVERINI Does he stay with you here? RIPLEY No! ROVERINI No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a little boat is found in San Remo full of rocks, and the owner tells the Police it was stolen on November 7th. We look at hotel records and we see oh! Dickie Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then our boatman remembers two Americans taking a boat. RIPLEY It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence. There must be fifty hotels in San Remo, there must have been a hundred people renting a boat on that day. ROVERINI 31 people. RIPLEY 31 people. Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky. ROVERINI That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge Sherwood. RIPLEY (appalled, defeated) Let her in, what's the difference? Let her in. (Baggio is on his way to the door.) No, actually, no, I'd like it very much if you would ask her to come back later. Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out. RIPLEY (cont'd) Thank you. ROVERINI (watching him) May I ask...why would you speak to your friend and not your fianc e? RIPLEY I think I just said. Ripley was handling some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley want to marry me. Nor did he ask me every day if I would marry him. And when. ROVERINI Do you have a photograph of Signor Ripley? RIPLEY I'm not in the habit of carrying around photographs of my male friends. ROVERINI Now I think I have upset you. My English perhaps is coarse. RIPLEY It is a little coarse, yes. ROVERINI Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley since San - RIPLEY I have! ROVERINI You have, yes. RIPLEY No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask her! and if I could remember which hotel he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom was staying at the Goldoni. ROVERINI Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A coincidence. (he gets up to leave) I look forward to our next meeting when I will be more careful with my English and persuade you to play me your saxophone. Alto. RIPLEY Absolutely. ROVERINI (suddenly turning) I have a witness who thinks they saw two men getting into Mr Miles' car. She wants to identify you in a - confronto - line-up. (ominously) Tomorrow then? RIPLEY (thrown, scrabbling) Tomorrow. Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the stairs. ROVERINI (O/S) Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I really don't think he wants to see anyone. Ripley

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How many times the word 'chevaux' appears in the text?