Before Night Falls Page #5

Yeah, I know what|you mean.

- Hey.|- Hola. Cmo estn?

You know what I mean?

iCoo!|Pero mira...

...and if you need|anything else,

just let me know.|I can find it for you.

What is this pig|doing here?

He's the one who|got the propane.

Grab his leg,|come on.

Psst, psst!

Oh, no, no, no.

If you let me out|of here,

it's yours.

Untie the ropes,

and I'll bring you|to Miami with me.

Come! Come!|Despierten!

El globo se va!|Baja!

See you in Times Square,|faggots!

Lzaro, take this, sell it|and try to get me some lemons,

and tea...

and some paper, please.

Sure.

That's all you need?

Yes, and whatever you want.

- Have you seen Lzaro?|- No.

He hasn't come home|in two weeks.

He's probably in the|Peruvian Embassy.

You heard about the bus|crashing through the gate?

Yes, of course I've|heard about that.

Fidel said that anybody|who wants to leave can.

There's 10,000 people there.

Now, he's mixing|the dissidents

with the criminals,|homosexuals, and mentally ill.

That's a great idea.

All you have to do is go|to the local police station

for your exit permit.

You tell them that you|have a criminal record

or that you're a homosexual,

or that you're mentally ill.

I don't believe that.

It's a trap.

Maybe.

Next.

What's your name?

Reinaldo Arenas.

State your reason|for wanting to leave.

I am homosexual.

Where do you go|to pick up men.

En la parada del Hotel Plaza,|en "El Prado," en "La Sortija. "

What position do|you like in bed?

I like it from behind,|and on my knees.

Walk!

- Walk! Walk!|- Walk.

Report to Abreu Fontan.

What are they doing?

They got a list|of everyone

they don't want|to let out.

Like who?

I don't know.

- Do you have a pen?|- No.

- Do you have a pen?|- No, sir.

Avancen, avancen,|avancen!

I don't care where I sleep.

Just promise me you won't|bring any of your friends here.

I can cook.|It's no problem.

How much is it?

$350 per month,|plus utilities.

The difference between|the communist system,

and the capitalist system,

is that when they give|you a kick in the ass

in the communist system,|you have to applaud;

in the capitalist system,|you can scream.

- Hello, Mr. Greenberg.|- Thanks.

Happy holiday.

Thank you.|Here let me help you.

The doorman...

Hey, let's go.|I've got a break.

You're writing a novel!

Laz.

What happened?

- Oh, I broke a glass.|- Hey, you're bleeding.

Leave it alone.|Laz! Laz!

I'm trying to help.

What's the matter, Rey?

You are like a milk cow|that gives milk

all the time and then|kicks over the bucket.

There's the door, doorman.

Walk through it.|Walk through it.

I don't want to|see you again.

I'm tired of living|with a moron.

You are a moron, Laz.

Please, leave the keys|on the table.

The moon bathes Death|in a light

that makes him look|like a white star

twinkling in the middle|of the backyard.

That used to be my bicycle.

Rey!

Open the door!

Rey!

Reinaldo.|Hey, Reinaldo.

How ya doing?|Come on, get up.

It's time to go.

Where?

It's time to go home.

Cuba?

No, I think you should go|to your apartment first.

Come on, I'll give|you a hand.

Here we go.

Are these your|things here?

How are you feeling?|You feeling alright?

I can't believe they're|sending you home.

Do you have any insurance?

- Yes, I do.|- I don't.

- Don't forget the plant.|- I won't.

Hello.

You got everything?

Yes.

Give me a glass...

and a straw.

Where is the straw?

- What?|- Where is the straw?

The straw, yeah.

You do it.

Laz...

I have something|to show you.

Look.

Here's "The Doorman. "

"For Lazaro, his novel. "

It just came out.

You can have|all the money.

The money?

It's my book, Rey,

you took it and now|you're going to insult me

by paying me for it?

Okay, sorry.|Thanks.

- Don't say nothing.|- Okay.

Give me a glass|with a...

This bag|is important, Laz.

You can take it.

You're going to need|it more than me.

Take it.

I want you to promise|me something, Lzaro.

I don't want to wake up|in the hospital.

Promise me.

I promise.

Sure?

Yeah.

Sure?

Hmmm?

I'm sorry.

Yes.

Give me the glass, please.

I want you to mail these.

This is for-

This is for my mother.

This is for|"The New York Times,"

Margarita and Jorge Camacho.

"Miami Herald. "

And, this is for you,|but, don't open it.

Mail this to yourself,

and then you open|in your house.

I have never met a boy|as authentic as you, Lzaro.

Never.

Read me something.

Oh, not that one.

Not that one,|where's the glass?

Not that one.

Rey.|Rey.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes