Anna Karenina Page #20

SPRING:

Dolly has had her baby. She is holding the infant, having just finished

feeding him. Kitty is with her.

DOLLY:

There. Oh, I'm sore with his feeding! Would

you like to hold him?

Dolly gives the baby to Kitty, who takes him almost unwillingly. Dolly

buttons herself. Kitty's maternal instinct won't engage. Dolly notes it.

DOLLY (CONT'D)

Well, don't hold him like a parcel . . . It's

Aunt Kitty, darling. . . . Little face . . .

little fingers . . . look at you . . . Doesn't

he make you ashamed of dwelling on your

troubles . . . ?

KITTY:

I have no troubles.

DOLLY:

That man wasn't worth the tears, believe me.

KITTY:

(IRRITATED)

I don't care about him. I don't even think

about him. Or her. Except to hate her.

DOLLY:

Then we'll never speak of it again.

Dolly relieves Kitty of the baby.

88

DOLLY (CONT'D)

There are better men waiting for you. Stiva

says . . . Kitty, my lamb, did Konstantin

Levin . . . ?

KITTY:

( FLARES)

What has Levin got to do with it? Anyway,

I'll never get married. The whole business

of . . . it's become disgusting to me . . . and

look what it's done for you! Why do they

call it love?

DOLLY:

Because it's love.

Lovingly, she settles the baby in his crib, her face filled with tender joy at

the bargain.

EXT. IDYLLIC COUNTRYSIDE--DAY

SPRING:

A lovers' idyll, by a stream on a warm day. Anna, lightly dressed, smoking

a cigarette, watches Vronsky fill his wineglass from a tethered bottle in the

stream. There is a pony trap which brought them. He comes back to sit by

her. She kisses him.

ANNA:

I want you to. I don't care about it.

VRONSKY:

You should care. You're not supposed to.

89

ANNA:

Pooh! Who says?

VRONSKY:

Everybody. Doctors.

She laughs and throws her cigarette into the stream.

ANNA:

You're squeamish. You a soldier! Would you

faint?

VRONSKY:

Anyway, someone might be watching.

Anna looks all around. Vast emptiness. She lifts a dock leaf to look under

it. She looks up at the sky.

ANNA:

But I'm damned anyway.

VRONSKY:

I'm not. I'm blessed.

Anna pushes him onto his back and straddles him.

ANNA:

You love me.

VRONSKY:

Yes.

ANNA:

Only me.

90

VRONSKY:

No.

ANNA:

Apart from Frou-Frou.

VRONSKY:

Yes.

Anna holds his face between her hands and works her body on him.

ANNA:

But me more than your horse?

VRONSKY:

Yes.

ANNA:

Are you happy?

VRONSKY:

Yes.

ANNA:

And you love me?

VRONSKY:

Yes.

ANNA:

How much?

VRONSKY:

This much.

Anna drags the front of her skirts out of her way.

91

ANNA:

This much?

VRONSKY:

Yes.

ANNA:

This much?

VRONSKY:

Yes.

ANNA:

This much?

VRONSKY:

Yes.

ANNA:

This much? And this much? And this

much?

VRONSKY:

Yes.

ANNA:

( FIERCELY)

And . . . this . . . much . . . ?

She falls on him. He strokes her hair.

Her hand comes into view, the index finger bloody. She carefully paints his

lips with it. She kisses his lips clean, and rolls off him onto her back.

92

ANNA (CONT'D)

So this is love. This.

INT. KARENIN'S STUDY, KARENIN HOUSE--DAY

SUMMER:

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