O Brother, Where Art Thou? Page #2

The cloudy eyes of the old man stare sightlessly down the

track as the seesaw handle rises and falls through frame.

OLD MAN:

...I cannot say how long this road

shall be. But fear not the obstacles

in your path, for Fate has vouchsafed

your reward. And though the road

may wind, and yea, your hearts grow

weary, still shall ye foller the

way, even unto your salvation.

The old man pumps - reek-a reek-a reek-a - as all contemplate

his words.

Loud and sudden:

OLD MAN:

IZZAT CLEAR?

The men start, then mumble polite acknowledgement.

The railroad tracks wind to the setting sun. Reek-a reek-a

reek-a - the flatcar rolls, in wide shot, toward the golden

horizon.

FADE OUT:

DAY:

A hot dusty road leading up to a lone farmhouse.

The three men walk, clanking and abreast.

DELMAR:

How'd he know about the treasure?

EVERETT:

Don't know, Delmar-though the blind

are reputed to possess sensitivities

compensatin' for their lack of sight,

even to the point of developing para-

normal psychic powers. Now clearly,

seein' the future would fall neatly

into that ka-taggery. It's not so

surprising, then, if an organism

deprived of earthly vision-

PETE:

He said we wouldn't get it! He said

we wouldn't get the treasure we seek!

Everett grows testy:

EVERETT:

Well what does he know - he's an

ignorant old man! Jesus, Pete, I'm

telling you I buried it myself, and

if your cousin still runs this-here

horse farm and has a forge and some

shoein' impediments to restore our

liberty of movement-

Bang! A rifle shot kicks up dust in front of the men.

CHILD'S VOICE

Hold it rah chair!

The front of the farm house shows only a harshly shaded front

porch and a dark screen door.

The screen door swings open and a child emerges on to the

porch and steps down into the sunlight, holding a gun almost

bigger than he is. The grimy-faced boy, about eight years

old, wears tattered overalls.

CHILD:

You men from the bank?

PETE:

You Wash's boy?

CHILD:

Yassir! And Daddy tolt me I'm to

shoot whosoever from the bank!

He pokes his rifle at the three men, who raise their hands.

DELMAR:

Well, we ain't from no bank, young

feller.

CHILD:

Yassir! I'm also suppose to shoot

folks servin' papers!

DELMAR:

Well we ain't got no papers.

CHILD:

Yassir! I nicked the census man!

DELMAR:

There's a good boy. Is your daddy

about?

THE BACK OF THE HOUSE

Wash Hogwallop, a sour-looking bald man, sits near a rusted

bathtub in a yard littered with ancient car parts and farm

implements overgrown with weeds. He is whittling artlessly

at a stick.

He glances up as the three convicts clank around the corner,

then returns to his whittling.

WASH:

'Lo, Pete. Hooor yer friends?

EVERETT:

Pleased to make your acquaintance,

Mister Hogwallop. M'name's Ulysses

Everett McGill.

DELMAR:

'N I'm Delmar O'Donnell.

PETE:

How ya been, Wash? Been what, twelve,

thirteen year'n?

Still looking sourly at his whittling:

WASH:

You've grown chatty.

He tosses the stick aside and sighs.

WASH:

I expect you'll want them chains

knocked off.

THE HOGWALLOP KITCHEN

The four men and little boy sit around the kitchen table

eating stew. A Sears Roebuck catalogue on the boy's chair

brings him to table height. The cons are now rid of their

chains and are dressed in ill-fitting farmer's wear.

WASH:

They foreclosed on Cousin Vester. He hanged himself a year

come May.

PETE:

And Uncle Ratliff?

WASH:

The anthrax took most of his cows.

The rest don't milk, and he lost a

boy to mumps.

PETE:

Where's Cora, Cousin Wash?

Wash glances at the little boy.

WASH:

Couldn't say. Mrs. Hogwallop up and

R-U-N-N-O-F-T.

EVERETT:

Mm. Must've been lookin' for answers.

WASH:

Possibly. Good riddance, far as I'm

concerned...

The three men slurp their stew.

WASH:

I do miss her cookin' though.

DELMAR:

This stew's awful good.

WASH:

Think so?

He sniffs dubiously at his spoon.

WASH:

I slaughtered this horse last Tuesday;

'm afraid she's startin' to turn.

LIVING ROOM:

Later. The four men sit about listening to a big box radio.

Wash is whittling once again; Everett dips his comb into a

pomade jar and carefully works on his hair; Pete is digging

around with a toothpick; Delmar dreamily waves one hand in

time to the music.

The music ends.

ANNOUNCER:

Well, that's the last number for

tonight's 'Pass the Biscuits Pappy

O'Daniel Flour Hour.' This is Pappy

O'Daniel, hopin' you folks been

enjoyin' that good old-timey music,

and remember, when you're fixin' to

fry up some flapjacks or bake a mess

a biscuits, use cool clear water and

good pure Pappy O'Daniel flour for

that 'Pass the Biscuits, Pappy'

flavor. So tune in next week folks,

and till then whyncha turn to your

better half and sing along with Pappy:

'You are my sunshine, my only

sunshine...'

Everett clears his throat.

EVERETT:

Well, guess I'll be turning in...

He screws the lid back on the pomade.

EVERETT:

Say, Cousin Wash, I guess it'd be

the acme of foolishness to inquire

if you had a hairnet.

WASH:

Got a bunch in yon byurra. Mrs.

Hogwallop's, matter of fact.

Hepyaseff; I won't be needin' 'em.

THE THREE MEN:

Sleeping in a hayloft. Everett wears a hairnet over his

painstakingly arranged hair.

Pete snores on the inhale. Delmar whistles on the exhale.

A spotlight plays over the hayloft ceiling and a voice booms:

BULLHORN VOICE:

All right boys, itsy authorities.

The three men rouse themselves.

BULLHORN VOICE:

We gotcha surrounded. Just come on

out grabbin' air!

Everett shrugs his shoulders and peeks down into the barnyard.

EVERETT:

Damn! We're in a tight spot!

From high we see a foreshortened lawman holding a bullhorn

surrounded by armed deputies.

Next to the man with the bullhorn, a tin-starred sheriff

watches impassively through mirrored sunglasses, a bloodhound

drooling at his side.

MAN WITH BULLHORN

And don't try nothin' fancy - your

sitchy-ation is purt nigh hopeless.

DELMAR:

What inna Sam Hill...?

EVERETT:

Pete's cousin turned us in for the

bounty!

PETE:

The hell you say! Wash is kin!

An unamplified voice echoes up from the yard:

VOICE:

Sorry Pete! I know we're kin! But

they got this Depression on, and I

gotta do fer me and mine!

Pete screams down from the hayport:

PETE:

I'M GONNA KILL YOU, JUDAS ISCARIOT

HOGWALLOP! YOU MIS'ABLE HOSS-EATIN'

SONOFABITCH! YOU-

RAT-A-TAT-A-TAT- Everett pulls Pete down as a tommy gun spits

lead into the hayloft.

EVERETT:

Damn! We're in a tight spot!

Pete is enraged:

PETE:

Damn his eyes! Pa always said never

trust a Hogwallop-COME'N GET US,

COPPERS!

BULLHORN VOICE:

So be it! You boys're leavin' us no

choice but to smoke you out.

EVERETT:

Oh no! Lord have mercy!

Men approach the barn with torches.

DELMAR:

What do we do now, Everett?

EVERETT:

Fire! I hate fire!

PETE:

YOU LOUSY TIN-WEARIN' MOTHERLESS

BARNBURNIN' COCKROACHES-

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