O Brother, Where Art Thou? Page #10

COOLEY:

Stairway to heaven, Pete.

The two henchmen fit the noose over Pete's neck. Cooley licks

his lips. His dog slobbers.

COOLEY:

We shall all meet, by and by.

PETE:

Goddamnit!

Cooley holds up one hand. The two men pause in fitting the

noose.

Pete is sobbing:

PETE:

Godfer gimme!

Thunder crashes.

BACK OF A HAYTRUCK

Everett and Delmar sit disconsolately on a haybale as the

stakebed truck bounces along a rough country road. They are

both ill-kempt and heavily bruised.

Though still an undammable river of verbiage, Everett now

seems to be talking out of weary habit, not conviction:

EVERETT:

Believe me, Delmar, he would've wanted

us to press on. Pete, rest his soul,

was one sour-assed sonofabitch and

not given to acts of pointless

sentimentality.

Delmar doggedly shakes his head.

DELMAR:

It just don't seem right, diggin' up

that treasure without him.

We distantly hear picks ringing and male chanting. Hollow-

eyed, Everett tries to convince himself as much as Delmar:

EVERETT:

Maybe it's for the best that Pete

was squushed. Why, he was barely a

sentient bein'. Now, soon as we clean

ourselves up, get a little smell'um

in our hair, we're just gonna feel a

hunnert per cent better about

ourselves and about...

His voice trails away as he looks out at the road.

They are passing a line of chained men in prison stripes and

duck-billed caps wielding pickaxes and shovels at the side

of the road. Guards bearing shotguns amble back and forth.

As he stares at the line of men Everett tries to pick up his

thread:

EVERETT:

...and about... life in general...

The prisoners look like phantoms in the heat and dust.

EVERETT:

Jesus. We must be near Parchman Farm.

The men, giving throat to a dolorous chain-gang chant, do

not look up at the passing haytruck.

Everett is haunted:

EVERETT:

Sorry sonsabitches... Seems like a

year ago we bust off the farm...

The last man in line swings his pick and, as he grows smaller,

looks up. Everett stares.

It is Pete.

Lone and lorn, he returns Everett's slack-jawed stare until

heat ripples and the truck's dusty wake dissolve him away.

Everett blinks.

EVERETT:

Pete have a brother?

DELMAR:

Not that I'm aware.

Everett shakes his head as if to clear it.

EVERETT:

Heat must be gettin' to me.

The truck rattles on.

TOWN SQUARE:

Ithaca, Mississippi. On a bunting-covered stage a pencil-

necked man with round rimless glasses addresses a crowd of

rustics.

The pencil-neck is identified on posters as 'Homer Stokes,

Friend of the Little Man', and, in life as in the pictures,

he shakes a broom over his head. A midget in overalls stands

next to him.

STOKES:

And I say to you that the great state

a Mississippi cannot afford four

more years a Pappy O'Daniel - four

more years a cronyism, nepotism,

rascalism and service to the

Innarests! The choice, she's a clear

'un:
Pappy O'Daniel, slave a the

Innarests; Homer Stokes, servant a

the little man! Ain't that right,

little fella?

The midget enthusiastically seconds:

MIDGET:

He ain't lyin'!

STOKES:

When the litle man says jump, Homer

Stokes says how high? And, ladies'n

jettymens, the little man has

admonished me to grasp the broom a -

ree-form and sweep this state clean!

The midget waves his little midget broom in time with Stoke's

waves.

STOKES:

It's gonna be back to the flour mill,

Pappy! The Innarests can take care a

theyselves! Come Tuesday, we gonna

sweep the rascals out! Clean gummint -

yours for the askin'!

He beams amid cheers and then, as three girls in gingham

frocks run out to join him:

STOKES:

An' now - the little Wharvey gals!

Whatcha got for us, darlin's?

The oldest girl is about ten.

LITTLE GIRL:

'In the Highways'!

STOKES:

That's fine.

The haytruck has pulled into the square and Everett and Delmar

are climbing out.

Everett stares at the stage.

EVERETT:

Wharvey gals?! Did he just say the

little Wharvey gals?

Delmar shrugs. For some reason, Everett is enraged:

EVERETT:

Goddamnit all!

Onstage, the three girls are singing in untrained but

enthusiastic harmony:

GIRLS:

In the highways, In the hedges...

Everett stomps toward the stage, fighting his way through

the crowd. Puzzled, Delmar follows.

DELMAR:

You know them gals, Everett?

Everett reaches the stage and climbs up into the wings just

as the song ends. The midget starts buck-dancing to a fiddle

tune as the three little girls, filing off, notice Everett.

YOUNGEST:

Daddy!

MIDDLE:

He ain't our daddy!

EVERETT:

Hell I ain't! Whatsis 'Wharvey' gals? -

Your name's McGill!

YOUNGEST:

No sir! Not since you got hit by a

train!

EVERETT:

What're you talkin' about - I wasn't

hit by a train!

MIDDLE:

Mama said you was hit by a train!

YOUNGEST:

Blooey!

OLDEST:

Nothin' left!

MIDDLE:

Just a grease spot on the L&N!

EVERETT:

Damnit, I never been hit by any train!

OLDEST:

At's right! So Mama's got us back to

Wharvey!

MIDDLE:

That's a maiden name.

YOUNGEST:

You got a maiden name, Daddy?

EVERETT:

No, Daddy ain't got a maiden name;

ya see -

MIDDLE:

That's your misfortune!

YOUNGEST:

At's right! And now Mama's got a new

beau!

OLDEST:

He's a suitor!

EVERETT:

Yeah, I know 'bout that.

MIDDLE:

Mama says he's bona fide!

This worries Everett:

EVERETT:

Hm. He give her a ring?

YOUNGEST:

Yassir, big'un!

MIDDLE:

Gotta gem!

OLDEST:

Mama checked it!

YOUNGEST:

It's bona fide!

MIDDLE:

He's a suitor!

EVERETT:

Hm. What's his name?

MIDDLE:

Vernon T. Waldrip.

YOUNGEST:

Uncle Vernon.

OLDEST:

Till tomorrow.

YOUNGEST:

Then he's gonna be Daddy!

EVERETT:

I'm the only damn daddy you got! I'm

the damn paterfamilias!

OLDEST:

Yeah, but you ain't bona fide!

EVERETT:

Hm. Where's your mama?

Stokes is announcing from the stage:

STOKES:

And now let's fetch back the Wharvey

gals to sing 'I'll Fly Away'.

The girls call over their shoulders as they run back onstage:

MIDDLE:

She's at the five and dime.

YOUNGEST:

Buyin' nipples!

WOOLWORTH'S

The faces of a six-year-old girl and her four-year-old sister

light up.

GIRLS:

Daddy!

Next to them is a two-year-old girl with a string wrapped

around her waist. The other end of the string is held by a

woman in her thirties with a haggard, careworn face. The

woman also holds a babe-in-arms.

Everett, entering, goggles at the infant.

EVERETT:

Who the hell is that?!

WOMAN:

Starla Wharvey.

EVERETT:

Starla McGill you mean! How come you

never told me about her?

SIX-YEAR-OLD

'Cause you was hit by a train.

EVERETT:

And that's another thing - why're

you tellin' our gals I was hit by a

train!

WOMAN:

Lotta respectable people been hit by

trains. Judge Hobby over in Cookeville

was hit by a train. What was I

supposed to tell 'em - that you was

sent to the penal farm and I divorced

you from shame?

EVERETT:

Well - I take your point. But it

leaves me in a damned awkward position

vis-a-vis my progeny.

A man in a straw boater joins them.

BOATER:

'Lo Penny... This gentleman bothering

you?

EVERETT:

You Waldrip?

BOATER:

That's right.

Everett sniffs and, catching a scent, squints.

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