Kafka Page #9

They confront each other, Kafka trying not to cringe too

baldly. Scary shadows around the bizarrely-angled stairway.

KAFKA:

-- She didn't think Eduard

committed suicide.

(then)

Any more than I do.

(then)

She was convinced of it.

Pause.

INSPECTOR:

I'm going to say something, and

I hope it's quite clear because

I won't be repeating it.

People treat Kafka like a child. And other people seem big

to him anyway. The Inspector leans his face very close.

INSPECTOR:

We don't have to hunt for criminals.

We're drawn towards them. The

guilty show us the way.

He leaves Kafka alone on the top landing.

CUT:

CONTINENTAL COFFEE HOUSE - NIGHT

Kafka comes in, looks around, doesn't see his friends

anywhere. But at the bar, at his usual perch, is Bizzlebek,

the coffee house habitu�.

BIZZLEBEK:

Where are your friends?

Kafka turns and looks at him.

KAFKA:

Good question. Who are my friends ...

would also be of interest.

CUT:

TABLE:

Bizzlebek sits listening to Kafka's tale of woe.

KAFKA:

(staring into steaming

coffee cup)

Gabriela was right -- it's

easier for me to understand suicide.

I'm a practicing suicide.

BIZZLEBEK:

(slightly mocking

as ever)

-- In what sense?

Kafka stares at men and women around the coffee house --

couples, holding hands, kissing.

KAFKA:

Bachelorhood is just the slow

form. The bachelor doesn't sew

seeds. Only the moment matters.

The space he occupies grows

smaller and smaller -- until the

only space right for him is his

coffin.

Pause.

BIZZLEBEK:

These strange stories you write --

they come naturally, do they?

KAFKA:

Naturally? -- that's not the word

I would have chosen.

BIZZLEBEK:

(seriously)

Where do you get your ideas?

(quickly)

Only joking -- I'm just joking.

(laughing)

Let's go to a brothel then,

Kafka, come on.

KAFKA:

I haven't got the energy. I

mean, I have to conserve my energy.

BIZZLEBEK:

Why do you work in that hideous

insurance office? -- dealing with

people who fall off ladders. Now

take me -- I make my living as a

stone mason. It's not my art --

but it's the tools of my art. You

could be -- a journalist.

Kafka shakes his head sadly. He's obviously heard

argument before.

KAFKA:

That would be even worse -- it would

be a compromise.

BIZZLEBEK:

Success or nothing?

KAFKA:

No -- not even success. My writing

is not for making a living -- it's

for living. Not for other people,

it's for me.

He stares at a woman who reminds him slightly of Gabriela --

a sexy woman and the man with her treating her as a sexy

woman.

KAFKA:

... I'm the exile. Gabriela was

right about that too.

CUT:

CHARLIE CHAPLIN - EVENING

Being chased around a table by a big bearded man in

flickering black-and-white.

AN AUDIENCE:

Watching, laughing. A great sea of grinning teeth and teary

eyes.

Except one. Kafka sits grimly alone near the back. But

suddenly he's not alone -- the Bearded Anarchist has sat down

in front of him -- and now turns round, startlingly.

BEARDED ANARCHIST

We have another theory.

And the Pockmarked Anarchist is suddenly sitting beside him.

POCKMARKED ANARCHIST

We may have attached too little

importance to the reason Eduard

was summoned to the Castle to begin

with.

And the Youthful Anarchist is behind him, thrusting his head

suddenly forward.

YOUTHFUL ANARCHIST

-- To correct a small discrepancy,

you may recall.

The Solemn Anarchist is on Kafka's other side -- but he just

watches the movie.

POCKMARKED ANARCHIST

-- Ah, but what if it wasn't?

BEARDED ANARCHIST

-- Small.

YOUTHFUL ANARCHIST

-- What if it was a large

discrepancy?

Kafka's head keeps turning around as they speak.

POCKMARKED ANARCHIST

Yours is a very powerful and important

firm -- it has a lot at stake.

BEARDED ANARCHIST

Perhaps Eduard was closer than he

knew to discovering it and so had to

be silenced.

YOUTHFUL ANARCHIST

-- Or he was even more an innocent

victim than that -- he was chosen to

bear the blame if the crime was

uncovered by anyone else.

POCKMARKED ANARCHIST

-- The crime so scandalous that the

poor young clerk committed suicide

rather than own up to it.

KAFKA:

That's mad.

POCKMARKED ANARCHIST

-- Oh, yes, it's mad.

The Solemn Anarchist suddenly laughs -- probably at Charlie

Chaplin.

KAFKA:

-- You said so yourself the firm

is large and powerful. If the

discrepancy really was something

big, Eduard's responsibility would

still have to be small. No poor

young clerk could find himself in

such a fix.

POCKMARKED ANARCHIST

(sarcastic grunt)

When a scapegoat is needed, my

friend ...

BEARDED ANARCHIST

We have to know what he was working

on at the time of his death.

KAFKA:

He worked on routine claims. His

visit to the Castle was probably as

minor a mission as he said it was.

POCKMARKED ANARCHIST

Why are you so aggressively

unimaginative? Eduard is no longer

the only casualty.

KAFKA:

Then why haven't I been --

YOUTHFUL ANARCHIST

-- Kidnapped or murdered? Because

your connection with Eduard was

obvious and above board -- not as

easily misconstrued.

BEARDED ANARCHIST

-- Not secretive, therefore not

suspicious.

POCKMARKED ANARCHIST

-- Gabriela, on the other hand, had

made an enemy of this man Burgel.

KAFKA:

(head turning, exasperated)

Oh, Burgel! Gabriela was having an

affair with Eduard. They were both

members of this group. If any

crime's been discovered and people

are paying for it, I'd look to

yourselves!

POCKMARKED ANARCHIST

The loyal civil servant. I suppose

you'll deny that shortchanging the

workers to whom compensation is due

is standard company policy.

BEARDED ANARCHIST

It wouldn't surprise us if the

discrepancy was between medicines

sent and medicines received.

YOUTHFUL ANARCHIST

-- People die for such discrepancies.

Kafka's head is spinning -- and the Solemn Anarchist suddenly

looks at him.

SOLEMN ANARCHIST

(the hoarse voice of the

restaurant bomber)

We must have a look at Eduard's

file.

cut:

STORAGE SECTION - DAY

Kafka follows the KEEPER OF THE FILES along labyrinthine

alleys between shelves packed with files. Walls are obscured

by columns of documents tied together, piled on top of each

other. There's Hardly room to move. Stacks of files are

everywhere, balancing precariously, even falling from time to

time, from sheer Pressure in all directions.

KEEPER:

(vexed)

"Raban" -- that'll be nearly at

the back of the alphabet.

KAFKA:

It usually is.

KEEPER:

(snaps at him)

I'm not obliged to give you access,

you know -- not without authorization --

but I'll make an exception this one

time.

They turn down another row, walking further, turning again.

Kafka keeps flinching as thick bundles of documents CRASH

down around him, narrowly missing him.

KEEPER:

(oblivious to the

danger)

I'm overworked as it is.

(finds the right

section)

"Raban" did you say?

KAFKA:

Yes. Isn't it there?

The Keeper of the Files is rifling through folders -- causing

others to fall out onto Kafka who tries to catch them.

KEEPER:

(pauses)

Wait a minute. "Raban?" Where

have I heard that name?

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