Dogville Page #5

I thought you were implying

that I was trying to exploit the town.

Wishful thinking.

This town is rotten from the inside out,

and I wouldn't miss it,

if it fell into the gorge tomorrow.

I see no charm here, but you seem to.

Admit it you've fallen for Dogville.

The trees, the mountains,

the simple folk.

And if all that ain't got you fooled yet,

I bet the cinnamon has.

That damned cinnamon

in those gooseberry pies.

Dogville has everything that you ever

dreamed of in the big city.

You are worse than Tom.

How do you know what I dreamed of?

You're from the city yourself, aren't you?

That was a long time ago.

I am not that stupid anymore,

I found out that people are the same all over.

Greedy as animals.

In a small town they're just a bit

less successful.

Feed 'em enough they'll eat

till their bellies burst.

That's why you wanted to get rid of me...

because you can't stand that I remind

you of what it was you came here to find.

I'm telling you for the last time

to get out of my home.

Moses don't like you.

And I don't like you.

The kids are going crazy enough

from their ma's teachin'.

Thank you, Grace!

[Narrator] The two seeks had passed far too quickly.

Grace had enjoyed herself.

All she could say was that

she was fond of them all,

including the folk who had greeted her

with reluctance and hostility.

Even though she might not have won everybody

over completely or even half way, as Tom put it,

She cared for Dogville and she had shown

the town her face, her true face.

But was that enough?

During Jack McKay's long lecture that evening

she had found herself in a heart-searching mood.

Whether heart-searching or

concern for her future was the cause,

the result was that the otherwise so lovable

Grace indulged in a pretty shady piece of provocation.

So you agree that the windows of St. Bridget's,

at the first time you saw them,

didn't live up to their reputation.

I don't think it is the position of the church itself.

Maybe it's the light in Los Angeles and

the mosaic glass in those windows they kind of collide,

I remember thinking that.

I think we've talked long enough about

the way we remembering seeing things.

Don't you?

Why don't we talk about something

that we can see right now?

There is not much to see around here.

Wretched town.

Why don't we talk about the view?

I don't go out much.

The sun and my skin.

Yesterday I was walking in Chuck's apple trees.

If you go right up to the edge of the cliff

you just manage to peer round Ben's garage

and you get a view of your house

from the side facing the gorge.

I didn't realize that there was windows behind there.

Huge windows.

There must be a wonderful view.

Would you mind if I opened them?

You're no fool, Miss Grace.

You're no fool.

You probably see that those curtains

are hard to open.

Sorry!

And obviously concluded that it's because

they're not used very often.

But the view's good, entrancing even.

So, ask me, why a man who loves the light

hang these heavy curtains?

Yes, I'm blind.

Not weak sighted, not myopic: blind.

So please go

and let me be that on my own.

Is Switzerland they call it the Alpengulen.

That's the light that reflects

from the highest peaks

after the sun goes down behind the mountains.

But now it's gone.

[Narrator] It was in complete silence

that the people of Dogville turned up for the meeting

at the mission house

two weeks to the day since the beautiful

fugitive had come to town.

Grace was standing beside Tom,

watching them convene,

and knew inside herself that this might well be

the last time she would see these now so familiar faces.

She had at least two of them against her,

and even one would have been too many.

Welcome good people of Dogville.

Two weeks.... two weeks have passed

and it is time for your verdict.

Is it right that she should be here while we talk?

Well, Mrs. Henson, when Grace first came

she made no attempt to hide her weakness from us.

So I think it is only right we be as open

with her, tell her to her face if we want her to leave.

No, Mrs. Henson is right.

Nobody should be prevented from

speaking their mind out of politeness.

I'll wait at the mine.

And if the vote says that I should leave,

then I'll take the path across the mountains, while it's still light.

And the things I've borrowed, if you could,

return them to everybody.

Of course!

Nobody has to see me before I go.

Martha, if you will just ring the bell

then I'll understand.

I don't ... how do...

am I gonna ring the bell?

Just ring it for every vote that lets me stay.

I will count. And if it doesn't reach

fifteen, then I'll leave.

Tom is anxious to speak in her behalf,

but I think he's had his allotted time.

We know his view. We respect it.

And now he must respect ours.

[Narrator] Grace pulled her bundle out from

under the bureau to change into her own clothes,

only to discover that somebody had been

in it and left a loaf of bread.

Next to it was a folded sheet of paper.

It was a map Tom had drawn.

He had known where the bundle was

and had put it there.

It showed the path across the mountain.

And all the dangerous spots were

furnished with witty horrific little sketches.

But there was more.

Several people had the same idea.

They had eased gifts into the bundle for her.

Jason's beloved little penknife lay there,

all polished and shiny.

And a pie from Ma Ginger and Gloria.

And some clothing and matches, and a hymnal.

Grace opened it at number 18, where Martha

always had trouble with fingering.

And between the pages lay a dollar bill

Martha alone could not have afforded it.

Grace had friends in Dogville.

That was for sure.

Whether they were few or many did not matter a jot.

Grace had bared her throat to the town

and it had responded with a great gift:

with friends.

No gangster could deprive her of this

meeting with the township,

no matter how many guns in the world.

And should the strokes of the bell did not reach 15,

she knew now that she meant something to the town

and that her stay had been of significance.

Not much, perhaps, but nevertheless,

a trace she had left.

And the first in her young life

in which she took pride.

Grace stiffened as the bell began its toll.

Fourteen. Grace counted.

So McKay must have voted for her after all,

and if so, why not Chuck, too?

Everyone?

- Chuck!

- Chuck!

Everyone.

I think they like you here.

[Narrator] The period of spring and early summer

proved a happy one for Grace.

Martha rang the hours,

conducting her through the day.

So she could serve as eyes for McKay,

a mother for Ben,

friend for Vera,

and brains for Bill...

And one day it had occurred to Grace

to tread the pedals herself so to get Martha to agree

to play a couple of paper notes,

just to empty the bellows naturally

so that they wouldn't be left under pressure

and thus be spoiled.

And now they had tacitly agreed that

as long as it was Grace who trode the pedals,

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