Raising Arizona Page #13

There is an awkward silence as Gale studies his thumb and

Evelle stares at the ceiling. Finally Evelle turns to Hi.

EVELLE:

...What's he need, his dip-tet?

HI:

I'm awful sorry boys, but when Ed

gets mad, you know, when she gets an

idea...

GALE:

Well there ain't a thing to apologize

for, H.I...

He looks at Evelle.

GALE:

...It seems pretty clear what the

situation is here.

EVELLE:

Yeah, I guess the Missus wants us to

clear out.

GALE:

Now H.I., you'll pardon me for sayin'

so, but I get the feelin' that this-

here...

His gesture seems to take in the trailer and the entire

domestic situation.

GALE:

...ain't exactly workin' out.

HI:

Well now Ed's generally a real

sweetheart, I-

GALE:

And as per usual, I wouldn't be

surprised if the source of the marital

friction was financial.

HI:

Well, matter of fact, I did lose my

job today-

EVELLE:

Come on Hi. you're young, you got

your health - what do you want with

a job?

GALE:

But look, I'd rather light a candle

than curse your darkness. As you

know, Evelle'n I never go anywhere

without a reason... and here we are

in your little domicile. We come to

invite you in on a score.

EVELLE:

A bank, Hi.

Hi is shaking his head.

HI:

Aw boys, I don't-

GALE:

I know you're partial to convenience

stores but, H.I., the sun don't rise

and set on the corner grocery.

EVELLE:

It's like Doc Schwartz says: You

gotta have a little ambition. Why we

just heard on the news how somebody

snatched off one of the Arizona

babies. Now there's someone thinkin'

big.

GALE:

And here you are sittin' around on

your butt playin' house with a -

don't get me wrong, H.I., with a

fine woman - but a woman who needs

the button-down type.

HI:

Well now that ain't really any of

your-

GALE:

Just lookahere...

He is handing Hi a folded-up picture.

EVELLE:

Picture of El Dorado, Hi.

GALE:

Though the locals call it the Farmers

and Mechanics Bank of LaGrange. Looks

like a hayseed bank and, tell you

the truth, it is a hayseed bank.

Except the last Friday of every

financial quarter there's more cash

in that bank than flies at a barbecue.

EVELLE:

And guess what day it is tomorrow?

GALE:

Ya see, H.I., it's when the hayseeds

come in to cash their farm subsidy

checks.

EVELLE:

A-One information.

GALE:

Got it in the joint from a guy named

Lawrence Spivey, one of Dick Nixon's

undersecretaries of agriculture.

EVELLE:

He's in for solicitin' sex from a

state trooper.

GALE:

Ordinarily we don't associate with

that class of person, but...

Gale chuckles.

GALE:

...he was tryin' to make brownie

points with some of the boys.

HI:

Boys, I can't -

EVIELLE:

We need someone handy with a scatter-

gun to cover the hayseeds while we

get the cash.

GALE:

Y'understand, H.I., if this works

out it's just the beginning of a

spree across the entire Southwest

proper. We keep goin' 'till we can

retire - or we get caught.

EVELLE:

Either way we're fixed for life.

Hi is still shaking his head.

HI:

Boys, it's a kind offer, but you're

suggesting I just up'n leave Ed. Now

that'd be pretty damn cowardly,

wouldn't it.

GALE:

Would it? Think about it, H.I. Seems

to me, stayin' here, y'ain't doin'

her any good. And y'ain't bein' true

to your own nature.

The camera has floated in to a close shot of Hi, staring

glumly at GALE.

TRACKING ON MOTORCYCLE NIGHT

Following it, very close, we see only its rear wheel and

fender and twin exhaust pipes, one on either side. Flame is

boiling in each exhaust pipe as the hog roars.

HIGHER TRACKING SHOT

From behind the Biker's head as he rides through the night.

With the sharp whipcrack effect he suddenly looks left,

searching. With a second whipcrack effect he suddenly looks

right, still searching.

He banks into a turn.

EXT. TRAILER

Creeping in. Late at night. We are tracking in toward the

one window that is illuminated, with a feeble yellow light.

In voice-over, Hi is composing a letter.

VOICE OVER:

My dearest Edwinna. Tonight as you

and Nathan slumber, my heart is filled

with anguish.

DISSOLVE THROUGH TO

INT. TRAILER

Creeping in on Hi 's hunched back, as he sits over the kitchen

table writing the letter. The yellow lamp sitting on the

table is the only light on in the trailer.

VOICE OVER:

...I hope that you will both

understand, and forgive me for what

I have decided I must do. By the

time you read this, I will be gone.

DISSOLVE THROUGH TO

LIVING ROOM:

Creeping in on GALE and EVELLE, sprawled on the sofa and

easy chair respectively, sawing boards.

VOICE OVER:

...I will never be the man that you

want me to be, the husband and father

that you and Nathan deserve...

DISSOLVE THROUGH TO

BACK TO HI:

Still creeping in.

VOICE OVER:

Maybe it's my upbringing; maybe it's

just that my genes got screwed up -

I don't know...

DISSOLVE THROUGH TO

INT. 7-ELEVEN

Creeping in on the pimply-faced Cashier, sitting asleep behind

the counter, a dirty magazine lying face-down, open on his

chest.

VOICE OVER:

But the events of the last day have

showed, amply, that I don't have the

strength of character to raise up a

family...

We are slowly panning over to the newspaper rack, revealing

tomorrow's headline: "WHERE IS NATHAN JR.?"

VOICE OVER:

...in the manner befitting a

responsible adult, and not like the

wild man from Borneo.

DISSOLVE THROUGH TO

ARIZONA HOME:

Creeping in on Nathan Jr. in the living room, asleep in his

ottoman armchair, lit only by the snow from the TV set he is

facing, a half-full glass of milk on the coffee table next

to him.

His robe is disheveled; his eyeglasses have slid down his

nose.

VOICE OVER:

...I say all this to my shame.

DISSOLVE THROUGH TO

TRAILER BEDROOM:

Creeping in on Ed and Nathan Jr., asleep together in the

double bed. Ed's arm is draped protectively over the sleeping

infant.

VOICE OVER:

...I will love you always, truly and

deeply. But I fear that if I stay I

would only bring bad trouble...

We start to hear the rumble of the motorcycle mix up again.

VOICE OVER:

...on the heads of you and Nathan

Jr.

DISSOLVE THROUGH TO

BLACKNESS:

Night sky. The motorcycle tire enters frame as the bike comes

to a halt. The Biker plants a jackbooted foot in the

foreground.

The engine rumbles.

VOICE OVER:

I feel the thunder gathering even

now; if I leave, hopefully, it will

leave with me.

We are craning up over the Biker's back to reveal what he is

looking at:
We are on a bluff overlooking the trailer park.

In the window of one trailer below, a yellow light glows.

VOICE OVER:

I cannot tarry...

DISSOLVE THROUGH TO

BACK TO HI:

Still creeping in.

VOICE OVER:

Better I should go, send you money,

and let you curse my name. Your

loving... Herbert.

FADE OUT:

FIRE:

Roaring at the cut. Through it we can see the Biker sitting

on the ground, legs stretched out in front of him, back

resting against his parked motorcycle, arms folded across

his chest.

Perfectly motionless, he stares at the campfire.

We are floating in toward him.

As we come closer, eventually drawing in to a close shot of

his face, we gradually realize something peculiar about his

eyes:
He seems to have none. Although his eyes are

unblinkingly open we do not see eyeballs, but only fire -

either a reflection of the campfire or something roaring -

burning-inside.

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