Cool Hand Luke Page #11

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DRAGLINE:

Take it easy now, Jabo. Them is eggs,

not them cathead biscuits.

JABO:

I know what eggs look like. I ain't

seen any around here for three years,

but I remember.

ANGLE ON BARRACKS DOOR (DAY)

as a file of men carry the still-steaming eggs in their hats

from the yard into the building.

RABBIT:

(adding on a scrap of

paper)

I've got it figured. If he eats an

egg a minute, he's got 10 minutes

left to swaller them.

CHIEF:

I just got sent five bucks from the

rodeo company.

RABBIT:

What for?

CHIEF:

A bull I fell off.

INT. BARRACKS

as the line of men reach the poker table and begin stacking

up the eggs. The Rules Committee sits around the table leaving

one side for Luke. It's all set up with towels, etc. They

are counting eggs carefully, piling them in pyramids. Dragline

picks up an egg and cracks it smartly on the table. Again

uproar...

DRAGLINE:

Awright! Stand back, you pedestrians,

this ain't no automobile accident!

ALIBI:

You're peeling his eggs!

DRAGLINE:

That's right, Mister Alibi.

SOCIETY RED:

He peels the eggs himself. That's

understood.

DRAGLINE:

You jus' may be great at hangin'

paper around the big cities, but us

country boys is not entirely

brainless. When it comes to the law,

nothin' is understood.

LOUDMOUTH STEVE:

Who made what law about peeling his

eggs?

DRAGLINE:

I'm his trainer, I'm the syndicate

what's coverin' all bets, and I'm

his official egg peeler.

SOCIETY RED:

Just wait till the hour starts, that's

all.

The champion enters and the talk dies. He's naked from the

waist. He does some side-straddle hops and deep-knee bends.

His stomach is markedly concave. He, drying himself from a

shower, walks to the fragment of mirror on the wall and combs

his hair, studies his image a second and, at last ready,

moves to the table and sits down.

LUKE:

(ingeniously)

What's goin' on?

Dragline jumps up and gives a second's rubdown to Luke's

shoulders. There is a flurry of last minute betting, and

then silence. Everybody gathered around. Luke shuffles his

feet, twitches his toes. One egg from the pile is peeled and

in front of him. Carr waits, his eyes on his wrist watch,

his other hand up in the air, and all eyes rest on that hand.

All eyes drop as the hand drops. Dragline grabs eggs and

peels them, his fingers flickering, the shells flying. Luke

picks up the peeled egg and eats it in a gulp.

CUTS OF LUKE, DRAGLINE, REACTIONS

LUKE:

He's eating very fast.

SOCIETY RED:

(keeping a written

tab)

One, two, three...

(continues counting,

throughout)

KOKO:

He's gonna lose a finger eating eggs

like that.

Dragline reaches over and pops an egg into Luke's mouth, his

pinkie extended, like tossing a tidbit into the mouth of

some animal.

FULL SHOT LUKE IN THE CENTER

The others stand around, motionless. Dragline cracks and

peels and Luke eats in a regular musical rhythm inexorable

and horrible as it is sustained. Red is checking and counting

off eggs...

SOCIETY RED:

...twenty-four. Twenty-five, twenty-

six...

LUKE:

His face bears an expression of ineffable absent pleasure as

though eggs reminded him of something a long way away.

DRAGLINE:

looking at him, neutral...

DRAGLINE:

Slow down a little.

THE GROUP:

Some chew fingernails, some stare, some mouth open, some

stand with unlighted cigarettes in their mouths, staring.

Some have eyes shut, their lips silently counting with Red.

SOCIETY RED:

...thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two.

LUKE:

He stops and stands up, stretching. His stomach bulges as

though he were pregnant. Slowly he walks across the barracks

toward the water faucet. Dragline stands looking after him,

alarmed. Luke slowly bends over and washes his mouth out,

not taking a drink. He stands, turns, walks up and down,

does some exercises. Silence, no one else moves. He walks

back, looks at the eggs, making an expression of distaste.

He turns away and does some more exercises. Gambler moves

over very close to him. Luke is going up and down, up and

down doing knee bends. Gambler tries to look into his eyes,

examine his stomach, listen to his wind. Luke sticks out his

tongue obligingly for a check. Gambler stands up.

SOCIETY RED:

Eighteen to go!

There is a flurry of last-minute betting led by Onionhead's

examination. Koko, Babalugats beside him, are the tellers.

GAMBLER:

He's had it. I'm throwin' in my last

tenner.

Sleepy appears, as does Tramp, to make beta.

BLIND DICK:

He don't look good.

DYNAMITE:

(expertly)

Man's gut can't hold more'n that.

GAMBLER:

Oh you gonna come crawlin' around

beggin' for a cold drink, Drag. Your

boy is done for!

Mechanic has been studying Luke as if he were an ailing

carburetor.

MECHANIC:

(quietly to Dragline)

If I give you a dollar and he don't

eat all fifty eggs, I get two dollars?

DRAGLINE:

Mechanic!

Dragline puts his arm around Mechanic's shoulders

affectionately.

DRAGLINE:

You're a sweet old boy and I don't

like to see you pick up no bad habits.

Better use that dollar to buy yourself

a new spark plug or something. But

as long as you done took a stand,

why don't you put some money where

your mouth is? Not no measly buck!

MECHANIC:

All I got is three-seventy-five.

DRAGLINE:

It's a bet! Koko! I gone this far,

I'm backin' mah boy all the way!

Come on, who's next? Where are the

big money men, I want to hear from

some high rollers.

Silence.

SOCIETY RED:

I believe you've got it all, Dragline.

Every nickel in camp is riding.

Dragline turns to Luke and grins. Luke instantly appears to

recover and walks casually back to the table. It should be

clear this last was a little put-on between him and Dragline

to milk the last money into bets. Luke sits and begins eating.

LUKE:

cool, confident, but as the egg is crushed in his mouth the

first real gagging feeling of total surfeit hits him. His

jaw closes and freezes. His eyes grow desperate and swivel

toward Dragline, though he doesn't dare move his head lest

he give way to nausea.

DRAGLINE:

reacts.

LUKE:

with a herculean effort, he swallows.

SOCIETY RED'S VOICE

Thirty-three.

Dragline swallows with relief. Gambler moves and looks about,

a man feeling victory within his grasp.

ALIBI:

Carr? What's the time?

CARR:

Twenty-four minutes to go.

Luke swallows another egg; sweat bursts out on his forehead.

Dragline signals to a second, Koko, to sit in for him and

peel eggs. He moves to Luke.

SOCIETY RED:

Thirty-four.

TWO SHOT LUKE AND DRAGLINE

as Dragline stands behind him, massaging his shoulders and

neck, tenderly... Luke doggedly eats eggs, one by one. Red

counts off under...

SOCIETY RED:

Thirty-nine... forty... forty-one...

forty-two...

MEANWHILE:

DRAGLINE:

Come on, boy, come on, darlin'. You

kin do her. Just let that ol' belly

sag and enjoy itself. Stay loose,

buddy. Eight more, between you and

everlasting glory. Little ol' eggs,

pigeon eggs, that's all, fish eggs

practically.

Luke almost throws up, and Dragline signals Koko to hold

up... he gets Luke of his feet and begins walking him up and

down the barracks...

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