Midnight Cowboy Page #19

RATSO:

Hey, what the hell you doing?

JOE:

I'm zipping your fly, what the hell

you think I'm doing?

They both smile. It isn't funny enough to laugh at. Joe

arranges the blanket, takes out a package of cigarettes,

glances at Ratso and puts it away.

EXT. TRAVELING SHOT WITH BUS - DAY

Palm trees are streaking past the window. The sun is glaring

hot. A group of kids in bare feet and straw hats wave to the

bus as it passes.

INT. GREYHOUND BUS - DAY

Ratso's eyes squint in a dazed half-sleep. Joe leans across

to pull down the shade. He hesitates a moment, watching...

... past his reflection, a group of young men on their way to

work, carrying lunch pails, dressed exactly as Joe is now

dressed...

... then Joe lowers the blind and seats himself. Ratso nods

slightly, his voice practically inaudible.

RATSO:

Thanks, Joe.

JOE:

Shee-it, you know, I got this thing

all figured out, Ratso. I mean

Rico. When we get to Miami, what

I'll do, I'll go to work. I gotta

do that, 'cause see, I ain't no

kind of a hustler. I ain't even any

goddam good as a bum. I'm a

nothing, that's what I am. So

reckon I'd better go to work and

get me a goddam job. Okay?

Joe glances at Ratso, but there is no response.

Surreptitiously, Joe takes out a cigarette, turns his face

away from Ratso and lights it, hiding it cupped in his hand

as he smokes.

JOE (CONT'D)

Yeah, guess that's what I'm gonna

do.

They ride for a moment in semi-darkness, Joe smoking, looking

at the other people on the bus, brighter without the shades

down. Joe turns, checking the blanket around Ratso, noticing

that Ratso is sitting in a peculiarly stiff, awkward

position. Joe leans over to straighten Ratso's head, blocking

our view for a moment. Then Joe leans back, frowning,

thoughtful. We still do not see Ratso's face. Joe rises

slowly, starting forward in the bus...

... passing an older couple, a schoolgirl, two ladies with

straw hats, a young man trying to read, pausing when he

reaches...

... the DRIVER, staring out at the Sunshine Parkway with the

Driver, leaning over so he won't have to speak too loudly.

DRIVER:

Yes, sir?

JOE,

My friend's dead in the back seat.

DRIVER:

Your friend's what in the back

seat?

JOE:

Dead. Dead as a doornail.

DRIVER:

Is this some kind of...

He glances at Joe, then pulls off the road and stands up.

DRIVER (CONT'D)

Okay, folks, everything's fine.

Nothing to worry about.

The passengers crane their necks as Joe follows the Driver to

the rear of the bus. The passengers at the rear are staring

ahead, trying not to see what is going on. The Driver touches

Ratso, straightens, touches his hat, but doesn't remove it.

DRIVER (CONT'D)

Is he kin to you?

Joe nods no.

DRIVER (CONT'D)

Don't you want to close his eyes?

JOE:

Close them?

DRIVER:

Just reach over and close them.

That's all.

Joe closes Ratso's eyes.

DRIVER (CONT'D)

I guess we'll just drive on, right?

Nothing else to do.

JOE:

No, sir. Not till Miami. I'll see

to burying then.

The Driver moves to the front and turns to the passengers.

DRIVER:

Just a little sickness, folks,

nothing serious. We'll be in

Miami...

(looks at watch)

... in forty minutes.

INT. GREYHOUND BUS - DAY

Joe sits stiffly, very frightened, as the bus starts on. Then

he glances at Ratso, frowning, reaches out an arm and puts it

around Ratso, settling back, staring straight ahead.

THE END:

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