Days of Heaven Page #3

25EXT. ROCK

Bill lifts a big rock. Abby applauds. Ursula

kneels down behind

him. Abby pushes him over backwards.

26EXT. BARN

Ursula gasps as Abby tumbles off the roof of the

barn and falls through the air screaming:

ABBY:

Urs!

She lands in a straw pile.

27TIGHT ON ABBY AND BILL

Bill takes Abby by the hands, spins her around

until she is thoroughly dizzy, then grasps her across the

chest.

BILL:

Ready?

She giggles her consent. He crushes her in a bear hug until

she is just on the verge of passing out, then lets her go.

She sinks to the grass, in a daze of sweet intoxication.

28EXT. LANTERN - NIGHT

Bill looks deeply into Abby's eyes by the light

of a lantern that night. They have made a shallow cut on

their thumbs and press them together mixing their blood like

children.

BILL:

You're all I've got, Abby. No, really,

everything I ever had is a complete piece of garbage except

you.

ABBY:

I know.

They laugh. He bends to kiss her. She pulls away.

BILL:

Sometimes I think you don't like men.

ABBY:

As individuals? Very seldom.

She kisses him lovingly.

29EXT. WHEAT FIELDS - DAWN

The sun peers over the horizon. The wheat makes

a sound like a waterfall. It stretches for as far as the eye

can see. A PREACHER has come out, in a cassock and surplice,

to offer prayers of thanksgiving.

PREACHER:

"... that your days may be multiplied, and the

days of your children, in the land which the Lord swore unto

your fathers to give them, as the days of' heaven upon the

earth."

The harvesters spit and rub their hands as they wait for the

dew to burn off. They have slept in their coats. The dawn

has a raw edge, even in summer.

30TIGHT ON WHEAT

Chuck looks to see if the wheat is ready to

harvest. He shakes the heads; they make a sound like paper.

He snaps off a handful, rolls them between his palms, blows

away the chaff and pinches the kernels that remain to make

sure they have grown properly hard.

Tiny sounds are magnified in the early morning stillness:

grasshoppers snapping through the air, a cough, a distant

hawk.

He pops the kernels into his mouth, chews them up, and rolls

the wad around in his mouth. Satisfied, he spits it out and

gives a nod. The Preacher begins a prayer of thanksgiving.

Two ACOLYTES flank him, one with a smoking censer, the other

with a crucifix.

All repeat the "Amen." Benson makes a tugging signal with

his arm. A Case tractor--forty tons of iron, steam-driven,

as big and as powerful as a locomotive--blasts its whistle.

This is the moment they have been waiting all year for.

31OTHER FIELDS - SERIES OF ANGLES

A SIGNALMAN with two hand flags passes the

message on from the crest of a nearby hill. In the far-flung

fields of the bonanza other tractors answer as other crews

set to work.

Abby and Bill join in, Bill reaping the wheat with a mowing

machine called a binder, Abby propping the bound sheaves

together to make bunches or "shocks."

A cloud of chaff rises over the field, melting the sun down

to a cold red bulb.

Abby is well turned out, in a boater and string tie, as

though she were planning any moment to leave for a picnic.

Bill, too, dresses with an eye to flashy fashion: Tight dark

trousers, a silk handkerchief stuck in the back pocket with

a copy of the Police Gazette, low-top calfskin boots with

high heels and pointed toes, a shirt with ruffled cuffs, and

a big signet ring. While at work he wears a white smock over

all this to keep the chaff off. It gives him the air more of

a researcher than a worker.

The harvesters itch madly as the chaff gets into their

clothes. The shocks, full of briars, cut their hands; smut

and rust make the cuts sting like fire. Nobody talks. From

time to time they raise a chant.

Ursula, plucking chickens by the cookhouse--a shack on

wheels-- steals a key chain from an unwatched coat.

Benson follows the reapers around the field in a buggy. He

keeps their hours, chides loafers, checks the horses, etc.

The harvesters are city people. Few of them are trained to

farming. Most--Abby and Bill are no exception--have contempt

for it and anybody dull enough to practice it. Tight control

is therefore exercised to see that the machines are not

damaged.

Where the others loaf whenever Benson's back is turned, Bill

works like a demon, as a point of pride.

32CHUCK AND BENSON

Lightning shivers through the clouds along the

horizon. Chuck looks concerned. Benson consults a windsock.

BENSON:

Should miss us.

CHUCK:

They must be having trouble over there, though.

Abby, passing by, lifts her hat to wipe her face. As she

does her hair falls out of the crown. Women are rare in the

harvest fields. One so beautiful is unprecedented.

CHUCK:

I didn't know we had any women on.

BENSON:

(surprised)

I thought she was a boy. Should I get rid of

her?

CHUCK:

No.

33MONTAGE

A COOK stands on the horizon waving a white flag

at the end of a fishing pole. Ursula bounds through the

wheat blowing a horn.

Benson consults the large clock strapped to the back of his

buggy, then fires a smoke pistol in the air.

Their faces black with chaff, the hands fall out in silence.

They shuffle across the field toward the cookhouse, keeping

their feet close to the ground to avoid being spiked by the

stubble.

34EXT. COOKHOUSE - STUBBLE FIELD IN B.G.

The COOKS, Orientals in homburgs, serve from

planks thrown across sawhorses. The hands cuff and push each

other around as they wash up. The water, brought up fresh in

wagons from the wells, makes them gasp. An ice wagon and a

fire truck are parked nearby.

Most sit on the ground to eat, under awnings or beach

umbrellas dotted around the field like toadstools. The

Belvedere is visible miles away on the horizon.

Bill is carrying Abby's lunch to her when a loutish DUTCH

MAN makes a crack.

DUTCHMAN:

Your sister keep you warm at night?

Bill throws a plate of stew at him and they are quickly in a

fight. No fists are used, just food. The others pull them

apart. Bill storms away, flicking mashed potatoes off his

shirt.

35EXT. GRAIN WAGON - STUBBLE FIELD IN B.G.

Bill and Abby sit by themselves in the shade of

a grain wagon. Demoralized, Abby soaks her hands in a pail

of bran water. Bill inspects them anxiously. They are

swollen and cracked from the morning's work.

ABBY:

I ran a stubble under my nail.

BILL:

Didn't you ever learn how to take care of

yourself? I told you to keep the gloves on. What can I do if

you don't listen?

Bill presses her wrists against his cheek, ashamed that he

can do nothing to shield her from such indignities. In the

b.g. a MAN with a fungo bat hits flies to SOME MEN with

baseball gloves.

BILL:

You can't keep on like this.

ABBY:

What else can we do?

She nods at the others.

ABBY:

Anyway, if they can, I can too.

BILL:

That bunch? Don't compare yourself to them.

She flexes her fingers. They seem lame.

BILL:

You drop off this weak. I can make enough for us

both. It was a crime to bring you out here. Somebody like

you.

(pause)

Right now, what I'm doing, I'm just dragging you

down.

(pause)

Maybe you should go back to Chicago. We've got

enough for a ticket, and I can send you what I make.

He seems a little surprised when she does not reject this

idea out of hand. Perhaps he fears that if she ever did go

back, he might never see her again.

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