Smoke Page #5

AUGGIE:

(Still smiling)

You'll never get it if you don't slow down,

my friend.

PAUL:

What do you mean?

AUGGIE:

I mean, you're going too fast. You're hardly

even looking at the pictures.

PAUL:

But they're all the same.

AUGGIE:

They're all the same, but each one is different

from every other one. You've got your bright

mornings and your dark mornings. You've got

your summer light and your autumn light. You've

got your weekdays and your weekends. You've

got your people in overcoats and galoshes,

and you've got your people in shorts and

T-shirts. Sometimes the same people,

sometimes different ones. And sometimes the

different ones become the same, and the same

ones disappear. The earth revolves around the

sun, and every day the light from the sun hits

the earth at a different angle.

PAUL:

(Looks up from the album at AUGGIE)

Slow down, huh?

AUGGIE:

Yeah, that's what I'd recommend. You know how

it is. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, time

creeps on its petty pace.

Close-ups of the photo album. One by one, a single picture occupies the

entire screen. AUGGIE'S project unfolds before us. One picture follows

another:
the same place at the same time at different moments of the

year. Close-ups of different faces within the close-ups. The same

people appear in different pictures, sometimes looking into the camera,

sometimes looking away. Dozens of stills. Finally, we come to a

close-up of Ellen, PAUL'S dead wife.

Close-up of PAUL'S face.

PAUL:

Jesus, look. It's Ellen.

The camera pulls away. AUGGIE leans over PAUL'S shoulder. We see PAUL'S

finger pointing to Ellen's face.

AUGGIE:

Yeah. There she is. She's in quite a few from

that year. She must have been on her way to

work.

PAUL:

(Moved, on the point of tears)

It's Ellen. Look at her. Look at my sweet

darling.

Fade out.

11.INT:
NIGHT. PAUL'S APARTMENT

We see PAUL scribbling furiously in his legal pad, lost in his work.

Behind him, we see ten or twelve index cards pinned to the wall. The

cards are covered with writing. One of them reads: "The woman with

brown hair and blue eyes." Another one reads: "The mind is led on, step

by step, to defeat its own logic." A third one reads: "Remember the

Alamo."

PAUL stands up from his desk, goes over to the wall, pulls off one of

the cards, and studies it as he returns to his desk. An instant later,

he begins writing again.

The intercom buzzer sings loudly in the other room. PAUL continues to

work, oblivious to the noise. The buzzer sounds again. PAUL puts down

his pen.

PAUL:

(Under his breath)

Sh*t.

(He stands up from his chair, walks

to the other room, and presses the

"talk" button on the intercom)

Who is it?

VOICE FROM THE INTERCOM

Rashid.

PAUL:

Who?

VOICE FROM THE INTERCOM

Rashid Cole. The lemonade kid, remember?

PAUL:

Yeah.

(Without much enthusiasm)

Come on up.

(Pushes "door" button the intercom)

PAUL walks to the door and opens it, peering into the hall as he waits

for RASHID to arrive. A moment later, RASHID appears -- dressed as

before, the backpack slung over his shoulder. He appears awkward, ill

at ease.

PAUL:

I didn't expect to see you again.

RASHID:

(Making the best of it)

Same here. But I had a long talk with my

accountant this afternoon. You know, to see how

a move like this would affect my tax picture,

and he said it would be okay.

PAUL studies him with a mixture of bafflement and curiosity, but

doesn't answer. RASHID puts down his bag and begins looking around the

apartment. After a moment:

PAUL:

That's it. Just the two rooms.

RASHID:

(Continuing to study

his new surroundings)

This is the first house I've been in without a

TV.

PAUL:

I used to have one, but it broke a couple of

years ago and I never got around to replacing

it.

(Pause)

I'd just as soon not have one anyway. I hate

those damn things.

RASHID:

But then you don't get to watch the ball games.

You told me you were a Mets fan.

PAUL:

I listen on the radio. I can see the games just

fine that way.

(Pause)

The world is in your head, remember?

RASHID:

(Smiles. Continues to walk around. Sees

a small pen-and-ink drawing hanging on

the wall above the stereo cabinet: the

head of a small child. He stops to

examine it)

Nice drawing. Did you do that?

PAUL:

My father did. Believe it or not, that little

baby is me.

RASHID:

(Studying the drawing more carefully.

Turns to look at PAUL, then turns

back to the drawing)

Yeah, I can believe it.

PAUL:

It's strange, though, isn't it? Looking at

yourself before you knew who you were.

RASHID:

Is your father an artist?

PAUL:

No, he was a schoolteacher. But he liked to

dabble.

RASHID:

He's dead?

PAUL:

Twelve, thirteen years ago.

(Pause)

Actually, he died with his sketch pad open on

his lap. Up in the Berkshires one weekend,

drawing a picture of Mount Greylock.

RASHID:

(Studying the picture, nodding

his head. As if to himself)

Drawing's a good thing.

PAUL:

Is that what you do? Draw pictures?

RASHID:

(Smiles)

Yeah, sometimes.

(Shrugs, as if suddenly embarrassed)

I like to dabble, too.

12.INT:
DAY. PAUL'S APARTMENT

Two hours later. We see PAUL writing at his desk in the workroom. After

a moment, he stands up and opens the double doors a crack. From PAUL'S

POV:
we see RASHID sitting at the table in the main room, head resting

on his arms, asleep. The backpack is still where he put it down in the

previous scene.

13.INT:
DAY. PAUL'S APARTMENT

8:
00 in the morning. PAUL is sitting at the dining table drinking

coffee. He looks at his watch, puts down the cup, walks to the workroom

door, opens it, pokes head inside. Shot of RASHID asleep on the floor;

shot of the typewriter and legal pad on the desk. PAUL closes the door,

sighs, returns to the other room and pours himself another cup of

coffee. Looks at his watch. Close-up of the watch: dissolve from 8:05

to 8:
35. PAUL puts down the cup, stands up, walks to the workroom door,

knocks.

PAUL:

Time to wake up.

(Waits, listens, knocks again)

Hey, kid, time to wake up.

(Waits, listens, knocks again)

Rashid!

(Opens door. RASHID is

groggily opening his eyes)

Up and out. I have to work in here. The slumber

party is over.

RASHID:

(Sitting up, rubbing his eyes)

What time is it?

PAUL:

Eight-thirty.

RASHID:

(Appalled by early hour)

Eight-thirty?

PAUL:

You'll find juice and eggs and milk in the

refrigerator. Cereal in the cupboard. Coffee

on the stove. Take whatever you want. But it's

time for me to get started in here.

RASHID stands up, embarrassed. He is dressed in underpants only. He

rolls up the sleeping bag and pushes it to one side, then he gathers up

his clothes and hustles out of the room.

14.INT:
DAY. PAUL'S APARTMENT

Twenty minutes later. PAUL is sitting at his desk, staring at his

typewriter. A loud noise comes from the other room: the clatter of

dishes being put into the sink. PAUL stands up, walks to the door,

opens it. He sees RASHID, now fully dressed, picking up the telephone

next to the bed. He sees RASHID'S knapsack opened; a brown paper bag is

sitting next to it. He watches RASHID dial a number.

RASHID:

(In a low voice)

May I speak to Emily Vail, please? Yes, thank

you, I'll wait.

(Silence, three or four beats. RASHID

fiddles with a pillow on the bed)

Aunt Em? Hi, it's me. I just wanted you to know

I'm okay.

(Pause, as he listens. The response from

the other end is an angry one)

I know, I'm sorry.

(Pause, as he listens)

I just didn't want you to worry about me.

(Silence, as he listens. Begins to show

irritation with Aunt Em's hostility)

Just cool it, okay? Take it easy.

(Click on the other end. He stares at the

receiver for a moment, then hangs up)

PAUL closes the door quietly. RASHID does not know he has been

observed. Cut back to PAUL in workroom. He sits down at his desk,

thinks for a moment, then begins typing.

15.INT:
DAY. PAUL'S APARTMENT

Several hours later. With the sounds of PAUL'S typing continuing to

come from the workroom, we see RASHID stand on a chair next to the

bookcase in the larger room and deposit the brown paper bag behind the

books on one of the upper shelves.

16.INT:
NIGHT. PAUL'S APARTMENT

A shot of RASHID asleep in PAUL'S bed. Lying next to him on the bed is

an open, half-read copy of one of PAUL'S books: The Mysterious

Barricades by Paul Benjamin.

Cut to a shot of PAUL sleeping on the floor of the workroom.

17.INT:
DAY. PAUL'S APARTMENT

PAUL is in his workroom, sitting at his desk, typing. We see more index

cards pinned to the wall. PAUL hears a loud crash from the other room.

He pops up from his desk, exasperated, then walks to the door and opens

it. Shot of the other room: RASHID is standing there, looking down at

broken dishes.

PAUL:

(Irritated)

Jesus, do you make a lot of noise. Can't you

see I'm trying to work?

RASHID:

(Mortified)

I'm sorry. They just... they just slipped out

of my hands.

PAUL:

A little less clumsiness around here would be

nice, don't you think?

RASHID:

(Growing defensive)

I'm a teenager. All teenagers are clumsy. It's

because we're still growing. We don't know

where our bodies end and the world begins.

PAUL:

The world is going to end pretty soon if you

don't learn fast.

(Pause. PAUL reaches into his pocket and

pulls out his wallet, then removes a

twenty-dollar bill)

Look, why not make yourself useful? I'm just

about out of smokes. Go around the corner to

the Brooklyn Cigar Company and buy me two tins

of Schimmelpenninck Medias.

(Hands the bill to RASHID)

RASHID:

(Taking the bill)

Twenty dollars is a lot of money. Are you sure

you can trust me with it? I mean, aren't you

afraid I might steal it?

PAUL:

If you want to steal it, that's your business.

At least I won't have you around here making

noise.

(Pause)

It might be worth it.

RASHID, visibly hurt by PAUL'S remark, puts the money in his pocket.

For once, he is unable to come up with a quick retort.

RASHID walks out of the apartment. PAUL watches the door slam. Slight

pause, then he bends down and starts picking up the broken dishes.

18.INT:
DAY. PAUL'S APARTMENT

The workroom. A few minutes later. PAUL returns to his desk and begins

to type. Almost immediately, the ribbon jams. He lets out a groan, then

opens the typewriter to inspect the damage.

19.EXT:
DAY. THE BROOKLYN CIGAR CO., AS SEEN FROM ACROSS THE STREET

Eight o'clock in the morning. We see AUGGIE on the corner, getting

ready to take his daily photograph. Cut to the corner as seen through

the lens of the camera. Hustle and bustle, people on their way to work.

Automobile traffic, buses, delivery trucks. We hear the shutter click.

The picture freezes.

20.INT:
DAY. PAUL'S APARTMENT

The workroom. PAUL is sitting at his desk, writing. A loud crash from

the other room punctuates the silence. He jumps in his chair.

PAUL:

(Groans)

Sh*t.

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