Beloved Page #2

SETHE:

The boys wouldn't have left if Halle were

here.

BABY SUGGS:

Those boys didn't even know him. You had

six whole years of marriage to my Halle

Fathered every one of your children. A

blessing. I learned hard that a man's

just a man, but a son like that...like

Halle..now that's somebody.

Sethe's mixed feelings show all over her face. Although she

loved Halle, there is clearly something unresolved in her.

SETHE:

Just got a few more things to do, then

I'll start supper.

Sethe exits.

EXT. 124 BLUESTONE RD. - LATE DAY.

Denver is playing in the front yard by herself.

Sethe is pumping water into a bucket for clothes washing. A

gentle breeze carries a LEAF into the bucket. Sethe sees it

floating atop the water for a moment, then picks it up.

C.U. of SETHE as the image triggers a feeling - and the

feeling a memory - from long ago.

Sethe looks around her and finds she is no longer standing in

the barren field of 124...but rather-

MEMORY;

EXT. SWEET HOME - LATE DAY.

A stunning vista of the plantation SWEET HOME - sun beating

down on groves and rows of gorgeous sycamores for as far as

the eye can see. Sethe's figure dwarfed by the majestic

landscape.

Sethe looks frightened. Her breathing grows shallow. She

hears something;

THE SOUND OF A WAGON'S WHEELS - rolling over a road, growing

louder, coming towards her

INTERCUT;

C.U. OF A WAGON WHEEL MOVING RAPIDLY ON A ROAD. CAMERA PANS

UP TO THE MAN DRIVING THE WAGON - A STERN WHITE MAN WEARING A

DISTINCTIVE HAT...

SETHE TURNS away from the sycamores towards the road to see;

END OF MEMORY;

EXT. 124 BLUESTONE - LATE DAY.

A MAN driving a horse and wagon with two children in the

back, coming up Bluestone Road. He wears no hat.

Sethe breathes easily. She looks around her -the reality of

124's barren field has returned. The memory of Sweet Home's

sycamores have vanished.

Denver is playing near the road. As the wagon nears 124,

Denver looks up and smiles. The Man whips the horse hard so

as to ride past the house faster. The children stare at

Denver and 124, with horror and curiosity.

The stares of the children destroy Denver's smile. She

watches them go, then turns to hide her upset and sees her

mother watching her.

Sethe looks to Denver with empathy and impotence: wanting to

ease her daughter's pain and knowing full well she cannot.

Hurt and angry, Denver runs past Sethe, towards the woods.

EXT. WOODS - LATE DAY.

Denver runs with a purpose, knowing exactly where she is

going.

She reaches FIVE BOXWOOD BUSHES planted in a ring. The tall

bushes stretch toward each other four feet off the ground,

forming a round, emerald room in the center, seven feet high,

with walls fifty inches thick of murmuring leaves.

This is Denver's private place. She bends low and crawls

through the leaves into the center. Once there, this lonely

child wipes away her tears and tries to pull herself

together. She lays her face against the cool earth.

INT. 124 BLUESTONE RD. - NIGHT.

Denver walks to her room in her night dress. She passes the

opened door of her mother's bedroom and peeks in:

INT. SETHE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT.

Sethe kneeling by her bed, as if praying...

Beside Sethe, A WHITE DRESS KNEELS as well, with it's sleeve

around Sethe's waist. Like two friendly grown-up women,

comforting each other in prayer.

Denver tip toes away.

INT. DENVER'S ROOM - NIGHT.

Sethe enters to check on Denver, whom she thinks is asleep.

She leans over and kisses her forehead, only to discover she

is awake;

DENVER:

Mama?

SETHE:

What is it baby?

DENVER:

You think maybe when daddy comes, he

could talk to the baby ghost. Maybe make

her behave and then people won't be

scared of here no more.

SETHE:

I don't know.

DENVER:

Why won't she ever settle?

SETHE:

She's mad like a baby gets mad. You

forgetting how little it is. She wasn't

even two years old when she died. Too

little to understand.

DENVER:

For a baby she throws a powerful spell.

SETHE:

No more powerful than the way I loved her.

Hearing her mother say this, moves Denver.

DENVER:

What do you pray for Mama?

SETHE:

Oh, I don't really pray anymore. I just

talk.

DENVER:

About what?

SETHE:

Oh, about time. How some things go. Pass

on. Some things just stay.

DENVER:

What things?

SETHE:

Like, the place I was at before here -

Sweet Home. Even if that whole farm and

every tree and blade of grass on it died -

it'll still be there. Waiting. And if you

go and stand in the place where it was,

what happened there once, will happen

again.

DENVER:

If it's still there, waiting, that mean

nothing ever dies?

SETHE:

Nothing ever does. That's why I had to

get my children out. No matter what.

That's why you can never go there.

DENVER:

You never tell me all what happened. Just

that they whipped you and you run off

pregnant with me.

SETHE:

You don't need to know nothing else.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes