Midnight Express Page #10

BILLY:

Looks like a cheap hotel.

BELL:

Yeah... Only the room service is

lousy. Come on, let me show you

the tennis courts.

Helps him with ERICH to take the first steps.

THE COURTYARD. The THREE of them emerge in a thin AFTERNOON

sun, Billy now disengaging and hobbling on his own power.

ERICH:

(watching Billy

limp)

Feeling all right?

BILLY:

(still groggy)

Yeah. That guy who beat me?

(stops, slightly

puzzled)

I feel stoned.

BELL:

(grins, interjects)

'Figgers.

BILLY:

(vague, going on)

...He had a bald skull and...

BELL:

Hamidou. Chief of the Guards.

Don't f*** with him. He almost

killed an Italian dude couple months

ago. Bad news. He try anything

with you?

BILLY glances at him, understanding. Pause.

BILLY:

No... I don't remember.

Glances at ERICH.

BELL:

With these f***ing Turks, soon as

the light goes out... I keep one

hand on their feet and their feet

better not grow. You'll meet Max.

He got raped something bad down in

Section 13. That's the pits.

THE COURTYARD:

VARIOUS ANGLES The yard is 30 by 50 paces with a wall 20

feet high. Cigarette butts, orange peels crumpled news-

papers, rocks, sticks, broken glass litter the place. No

guards are on the walls; the only GUARDS are unarmed

inanimate lumps of boredom who look as helpless as the

prisoners with whom they intermingle; they have raggedy

olive green uniforms and worn boots (they make $1 a month,

augmented by bribes). On one side of the yard is a 2-story

ROGUS (cellblock) with barred windows from which Billy and

his two companions have just emerged. On the other side

of the yard is another 2-story KOGUS (the children's kogus).

The COURTYARD is colorful, almost like a bazaar, about 8O

people in it - groups of exotically dressed AFRICANS,

AFGHANS, ARABS, MALAYSIANS, EUROPEANS, and predominantly

TURKS pacing back and forth talking in little circles,

hawking wares, trading illegal currencies.

Screaming Turkish STREET URCHINS 10-14 years old, share

the space playing soccer and volleyball with a surprising

viciousness, continually hitting each other and cursing. A

bunch of them vehemently lay bets on the soccer game.

Other aspects of the prison which should become evident:

1) NOISE - continuous, Loud. Radios, Turkish music,

screaming, shouting. 2) CATS - all kinds, some of them

pets, some stray, tolerated because they kill the rats. 3)

THE PRISONERS all wear their own clothing; the foreigners

preferring jeans, clip-clops, sneakers, Sweat suits. 4)

THE HEADS of only the new prisoners are shaved, then allowed

to grow back. 5) MANY PRISONERS have physical disabilities.

Carbuncles on the back from wet mattresses. Boils on the

lymph glands around the neck, buttocks, under-arms,

sometimes SO painful the victim walks with his arms up in

the air. Arthritic in the knees, hips, ankles. Fungus on

the feet. Many limp.

ANOTHER ANGLE - THE PRISONERS glance at BILLY as he walks,

noting the beating he has taken and sizing him up, then

going on with their business.

BILLY:

The kids? Why are they...

BELL:

(snorts)

Little f***ers are thieves, rapists,

pickpockets, murderers, you name

it - they do it. Don't trust any

of 'em...

BELL's eyes follow a knot of KIDS to:

ZIAT has a window open on the FIRST FLOOR KOGUS and is

selling little cups of tea to the kids from inside where

he works a GAS STOVE. The kids push and punch each other

to get the tea faster.

BELL (OVER)

...They tell Ziat everything. He's

the squeal round here. Goes all

over the prison. Sells watered-

down tea, blankets, hash, black

money, nembutols --anything for a

buck...

ZIAT leaves the stove in the hands of an ASSISTANT and

moves down the window to a particularly gaudy AFGHANI a

fierce hawk-faced old man with a chunk of his ear missing.

He wears a colorful flowing robe, various scarves, turban,

trinkets, rings, baggy pants, and pointed curved shoes,

and makes emphatic violent gestures at ZIAT with his

mutilated THREE FINGERS. ZIAT Seems to speak something of

his language and bargains back.

BELL:

(continuous)

He was an informer on the outside

but he tried to screw the cops out

of 60 kilos of opium. Watch him,

he's a fox.

BILLY says nothing to them about the Ziat incident, sizing

him up for himself.

THE AFGHANI having concluded the deal with ZIAT reaches

deep into his layers of clothing around his crotch and

pulls out several scrofulous $10 bills which discreetly

takes in exchange for a thick wad of Turkish currency, his

eyes moving around, stopping on BILLY. A hooded look.

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