A Serious Man Page #15

BEDROOM:

Larry enters to look down at Danny’s back. Beyond him F Troop flickers on the TV.

Larry

Danny! We’re sitting shiva! Danny! We’re sitting shiva!

DON MILGRAM’S OFFICE

Larry has his head down on his arms on Don’s desktop.

Don

She’s retained Barney Silver at Tuchman, Marsh. This is a,

uh—this is an aggressive firm, Larry.

Larry

(muffled)

Uh-huh.

Don

These are not pleasant people. Judith is free of course to

retain whoever she. . . I take it you don’t talk to her?

Larry raises his head, squinting.

Larry

It’s hard. I think she emptied our bank account. I tried to

ask her about it, very civilly.

Don

Mm.

Larry

She, uh. . .

Don

Yeah, yeah you better open an account in your name only,

put your paychecks in there from here on out. Til we know

where we stand.

Larry

Can I?

Don

Oh, absolutely!

Larry

That’s not, um, dishonest?

Don

Oh, absolutely! You, uh—

Larry

I hate to say this, but I think she’s also been sneaking cash

out of my wallet.

Don

Oh boy. Well, yes, this is definitely, um, adversarial. The

first thing we—are you all right?

Larry is shaking. His eyes are squeezed shut. His mouth is twisting into strange shapes.

. . . Larry!

Now sounds come out: weeping sounds, punctuated by choking from Larry’s effort to

suppress the sobs.

. . . Larry! It’s okay! There’s no need for that!

Larry nods as he weeps and strangles, waving a hand in the air, signaling that he is all

right and will speak when able.

. . . Larry, we can get through this thing!

THE OFFICE:

Minutes later.

Larry sits panting but composed, a glass of water in front of him.

After a long beat:

Don

Have you seen the Rabbi?

Through his deep breaths:

Larry

I talked to Nachtner.

Don

Was he helpful at all?

Larry gives a helpless shrug.

Don rolls his eyes.

Don

What—did he tell you about the goy’s teeth? You should

talk to Marshak.

Larry

They told me. . . Marshak. . . doesn’t do. . . pastoral work

any more. He just—congratulates the bar mitzvah boy

every week.

Don

That’s too bad. A very wise man, Marshak.

Larry sadly shakes his head.

Larry

Getting old.

Don

Very old.

Larry

No, me.

Don

Larry, you’re fine. It’s a bump in the road.

BLEGEN HALL:

Larry walks into the outer office clutching his briefcase. The secretary is at her

typewriter but holding the phone, one hand covering its mouthpiece.

Secretary

Dick Dutton. Columbia Record Club.

Larry

Not now.

LARRY’S OFFICE

Larry has the phone to his ear. He listens for a beat.

Larry

Does he ever come to the phone? If I came in—. . . How

about at Rabbi Marshak’s convenience? Uh-huh. . . Uh-

huh. . . Well, could I give you my number at the Jolly

Roger?

CLASSROOM:

We are close over Larry’s shoulder as he scribbles symbols onto the chalkboard.

Larry

. . . and that means. . . so that. . . from which we derive. . .

His glances back toward the class show him to be wearier, baggier-eyed, more haggard

than ever. And there is something odd about his posture.

He makes his writing smaller and smaller so as to finish before hitting the right edge of

the chalkboard.

. . . and also. . . which lets us. . . and. . .

Wider as he finishes and straightens up, revealing that he has been stooping to write

across the very bottom of the board.

The equation covers every inch of the classroom-wide three-paneled chalkboard. Larry

is an off-balance figure at the right edge of frame.

Reverse on the class: staring.

. . . Okay?

Larry claps chalk dust from his hands.

. . . The Uncertainty Principle. It proves we can’t ever

really know. . . what’s going on.

A bell sounds. The students shake off their stupor and rise. Larry projects over the

wallah:

. . . But even you you can’t figure anything out, you’ll still

be responsible for it on the mid-term.

The students disperse to reveal one person still seated:

Sy Ableman.

He wears a prayer shawl and yarmulka.

Larry does not seem surprised to see him.

. . . Did you follow that?

Sy Ableman

Of coss. Except that I know what’s going on. How do you

explain.

Larry

Well, it might be that, in, you know, in olam ha-bah—

Sy Ableman

Excuse me. Not the issue. In this world, Larry.

He nods at the chalkboard.

. . . I’ll concede that it’s subtle. It’s clevva. But at the end

of the day, is it convincing?

Larry

Well—yes it’s convincing. It’s a proof. It’s mathematics.

Sy Ableman

Excuse me, Larry. Mathematics. Is the art of the possible.

Larry’s brow furrows.

Larry

I don’t think so. The art of the possible, that’s. . . I can’t

remember. . . something else. . .

I don’t think so. The art of the possible, that’s. . . I can’t

remember. . . something else. . .

Sy Ableman

I’m a serious man, Larry.

Larry

I know that. So if I’ve got it wrong, what do I—

Sy Ableman holds up one hand to silence him.

Sy Ableman

So simple, Larry. See Marshak.

Larry

I know, I want to see Marshak! I want to see Marshak!

They told me that—ooph!

Without our having seen him rise or cross the room Sy Ableman has arrived to body-

slam Larry into the chalkboard. Now he grabs Larry by the hair and whips his head

against the equation. He slams Larry’s head again and again, making the chalkboard

chatter and the fringes on his own tallis dance.

Sy Ableman

See Marshak! See Marshak! I f***ed your wife, Larry! I

seriously f***ed her! That’s what’s going on! See

Marshak!

LARRY:

Close on his eyes opening. His head is on a pillow. Dull early light. A hissing sound.

Larry looks blearily into the depth of the motel room.

On the vanity table just outside the bathroom door sits Uncle Arthur’s cyst evacuator,

humming and hissing. Its waggling hose snakes through the cracked-open door.

MEZUZA:

On a doorpost.

A hand enters to knock. A long beat. The person knocking gives up and his footsteps

start to go away just as the door opens to reveal an attractive woman—the sunbathing

neighbor, now wearing plaid shorts and a white blouse.

start to go away just as the door opens to reveal an attractive woman—the sunbathing

neighbor, now wearing plaid shorts and a white blouse.

Reverse:
Larry, frozen halfway down the stoop, head turned back up toward the door.

Woman

Mr. Gopnik.

Larry

Oh. Hello, Mrs. Samsky. I knocked, and then thought you

weren’t here. I, uh. . .

Mrs. Samsky’s voice is soft and breathy:

Mrs. Samsky

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