Cat People Page #2

They start up the stairs.

INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE IRENA'S APARTMENT - AFTERNOON

MED. SHOT. Irena has inserted the key in the lock of her

door. She turns it, but before she opens the door, she looks

up at Oliver.

OLIVER:

What's the matter?

IRENA:

Nothing.

OLIVER:

But you looked at me in such a

funny way.

IRENA:

I've never had anyone here. You're

the first friend I've met in

America. I know lots of people in

business...editors, secretaries,

other sketch artists...you know.

But you might be my first real

friend. That's why I looked at

you.

(pauses)

OLIVER:

(seriously)

Thank you.

Irena swings the door wide open. Through the doorway a

little bit of the room can be seen. Prominently displayed

is an odd equestrian statuette.

It is the figure of a man in armor, carved out of gray

stone. The man wears a regal chaplet on his head and is

mounted on a magnificent horse. Around the base of the

statue is a circle of flames, while the rider holds high

above his head a sword upon which is impaled the figure of

a writhing cat. Irena takes a step into the room and stands

waiting for Oliver to follow her, then turns to look back

at him. He has become aware of the perfume in the room.

OLIVER (cont'd)

Mm. Nice.

IRENA:

That's Lalage.

OLIVER:

Lalage?

IRENA:

The perfume I use. I like it,

perhaps too well. Maybe I use too

much of it, living alone like this.

OLIVER:

Oh, I like it all right. It's hard

to describe...not like

flowers...it's like something warm

and living.

As he goes on into the room, she closes the door.

DISSOLVE OUT:

DISSOLVE IN:

INT. IRENA'S LIVING ROOM - TWILIGHT

MED. CLOSE SHOT of statuette. The figure is silhouetted

against a window dim with twilight. As the CAMERA HOLDS on

the statuette, a light appears in a bay window across the

street, bringing the figures of horse, king, and cat into

dramatic focus. Over the shot we hear Irena's voice humming

"Berceuses du Chat" by Stravinsky.

The CAMERA PANS to show Irena and Oliver seated together on a

couch near the window. Because of the dim light in the room

they can barely be seen. Oliver is listening to her sing. She

ends her song, and they sit quietly for a moment. Suddenly,

as sometimes happens, there is a lull in the traffic outside.

In this momentary stillness, this stillness in which a great

city seems to catch its breath, Oliver hears the sound of

distant roaring, muffled and yet full of savage

reverberation.

OLIVER:

(looking toward Irena)

What's that?

IRENA:

It's the lions in the zoo. One can

hear them here often. Many people

in this building complain. The

roaring keeps them awake.

OLIVER:

And you don't mind it?

IRENA:

No. To me it's the way the sound

of the sea is to others, natural

and soothing. I like it.

She looks out the window, then turns back to Oliver.

IRENA (cont'd)

Some nights there is another sound.

The panther. It screams... like a

woman. I don't like that.

Oliver strikes a match to light his cigarette. He looks at

Irena's face in the dancing match light. She smiles at him.

IRENA (cont'd)

I hadn't realized how dark it was

getting.

She rises and goes over to a lamp. She speaks in a sighing

breath of ecstasy.

IRENA (cont'd)

I like the dark. It is friendly.

She turns on the lamp. Now, in the light, we see her

apartment � a nicely proportioned living room with a little

fireplace set under a neat Georgian mantel. Doors at either

end of the room lead off into small bedrooms. Behind a

fantastic three-part screen on which is painted the long,

sleek figure of a black leopard against a background of

jungle foliage, is concealed the two-burner stove, tiny sink,

and old-fashioned icebox which make up the kitchenette. In

the other corner, under the wide window, are a drawing board

and a desk, littered with crayons, brushes, bottles of

discolored water, and papers. On one side of the wall, in

neat frames, hang three of Grandville's amusing studies of

cats dressed as humans. Over the mantel hangs a beautiful

reproduction of Goya's sinister portrait of Don Manuel Osorio

do Zunlga and the cats. In front of Oliver, on the coffee

table, are the remnants of their tea. Irena comes down to

pick the tray up to take it into the kitchenette. Oliver

starts to help her, but she stops him.

IRENA (cont'd)

No, no. Sit still, please.

She begins to dump the ash trays and collect the saucers and

cups. Oliver smokes contentedly. Irena carries the tray

behind the screen. Oliver snuffs out the cigarette and picks

the statue up, holding it for a moment in his hand.

IRENA (cont'd)

(coming out from behind

screen; eagerly)

Are you admiring my statue?

OLIVER:

(who does not like it at

all)

Not exactly. Who's it supposed to

be?

IRENA:

King John.

OLIVER:

King John? The Magna Carta and

stuff?

IRENA:

Oh, no. King John of Serbia. He

was a fine king. He drove the

Mamelukes out of Serbia and freed

the people.

OLIVER:

But why have this around?

IRENA:

Perhaps you have in your room a

picture of George Washington or

Abraham Lincoln?

OLIVER:

(still unconvinced)

Aren't there some better statues of

him -- some without that cat thing?

IRENA:

Yes. There are beautiful statues

of King John. There is one in

Belgrade, where his face shines

with goodness. But this statue

reminds me of my home, the little

village where I was born. This is

the statue that stands in the

square.

OLIVER:

But what does it mean? Why is he

spearing that cat?

Irena turns, her back to the fireplace mantel. In her hand

is the statue of King John. Above her, to one side, the three

cats in the Goya portrait glare from the shadowed background.

IRENA:

It's not really a cat. It's

meant to represent the evil ways

into which my village once had

fallen. You see, the Mamelukes

came to Serbia long, long ago,

and they made the people slaves.

But my village was too little,

too far away in the mountains.

They left it alone. For five

hundred years my little village

was cut off from the Mother

Church. At first the people were

good and worshipped God in a true

Christian way. But, little by

little, the people changed. When

King John drove out the Mamelukes

and came to our village he found

dreadful things. The people bowed

down to Satan and said their

Masses to him. They had become

witches and were evil. King John

put some of them to the sword and

burned some of them in fires.

(pauses, drops her voice

a little)

But some --the wisest and the

most wicked -- escaped into the

mountains.

(looks at Oliver) )

Now, do you understand?

Oliver comes over beside her near the mantel.

OLIVER:

I still don't see what it has to do

with you.

Irena looks down at the statue of King John. There is a

haunting look of memory in her eyes.

IRENA:

Those who escaped � the wicked ones

-- their legend haunts the village

where I was born. The past

remains...

She breaks off suddenly, conscious that she has spoken too

much and too frankly. A little ormolu clock on the mantel

strikes the hour. It is six. It is obvious that Irena

welcomes the interruption and she glances down at her own

wrist watch. Oliver takes the hint. He starts toward the

door.

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