The Belly of an Architect Page #6

---

Art first, Kracklite second...

and the rest a long way down the line.

That's my child in here.

Oh, right. That's the heart of the matter.

Do you really think | you have the right to feel prostituted?

Look, I'm due in a month...

the exhibition opens in 12 days...

and you're unreliable.

I have no intention of losing this child...

or of dropping it too soon.

And I'd like it to have a future.

I'm moving out.

Where are you going?

As if it's any of your business, | which I doubt...

I'm going to stay with Caspasian.

He'll take care of me | until after the baby is born.

After that, I don't know.

Please, don't leave me now. Please.

It's too late for that, Stourley.

I said...

I just don't need you anymore.

Whatever the results | of the medical examinations...

everyone feels | that you can do no more for Boulle.

He's in safe hands.

I'm sorry, Kracklite. Very sorry.

But you've got to accept that you've lost.

The exhibition is not yours anymore.

You've got to retire.

Gracefully.

Of course, | we would like you to open the exhibition.

And then you must leave | the running of the exhibition to Caspasian.

To us.

After the opening, | why don't you go back to Chicago...

and take a well-deserved rest?

Shall I wait for you?

Monday, February 10.

Dear Etienne-Louis...

It's no good, Etienne. I've been fired.

I've been kicked out of the exhibition | I spent the last 10 years of my life planning.

It's Caspasian's fault.

He's run off with my wife, my child...

our exhibition.

But I've got an idea!

Suppose you came to open the exhibition.

Why don't you come and open it with me?

How about that? That would show them.

You could stay in my apartment.

Louisa's not there anymore. | I don't sleep too well...

but I'm sure we could manage.

Yours with respect...

Stourley Kracklite.

Architect.

Galba.

He was a miserable sort of man. | Bisexual, fancied mature slaves.

Especially if they had been a little mutilated.

All his freed men | had no fingers on their left hand.

He's dead. Died screaming.

Titus.

Started off well enough. | Soon became greedy.

Disemboweled on the Tiber steps.

He's dead. Died screaming.

Hadrian.

As you know, an architect of some repute. | He put a lot of faith in stones.

He died peacefully, | planning a temple to Wisdom.

Still, he's dead.

Nero. It's best not to talk about him.

He caused untold damage, burnt Rome.

He deserved to die.

He died screaming in a summerhouse.

And he's unknown. No name.

Still, he looks serene enough.

Let's suppose he was you.

Same fleshy face. What happened to him?

How did he die?

He died alone...

at noon, in a parked car | on Lakeshore Drive in Chicago.

Stock-market report | playing on the car radio.

He had shaved off his beard...

he was wearing an English suit...

and ltalian shoes.

-ls that what you want? | -ls that what I want?

No.

No, he died much later, aged 71. | Same age as Boulle.

He was sitting in a garden | at 4:00 in the afternoon...

facing south.

Somewhere near Rome.

He could hear the sound of water.

His 6-year-old grandson | playing in the gravel.

His wife....

His second wife...

picking orange blossoms.

A little sentimental, no?

What the hell, when you're 71, | you can afford a little sentiment.

Far from home?

Home?

A home should be no particular problem.

-A sort of late spring death? | -You prefer a late spring?

How far into late spring?

Maybe last week of May.

The first week of June.

June.

Tell me, Doctor, do you...

Tell me, Doctor, do you...

take this trouble with all your patients?

I must admit, it's not the first time.

Though, in another case, the details | may not be quite so architectural.

Still, you must admit, there is some comfort | to be had in contemplating...

the folly of so many dead, don't you think?

And more comfort still | in contemplating the continuity.

Thank you.

Sorry.

There's not much elbow room here.

What happened to this place?

Where is my sign?

Here you are.

-You all right? | -No.

I wouldn't eat those figs if I were you, lady.

They're aphrodisiacs. You don't look like | you're up to it to me, I'm sorry.

Okay, I'm sorry.

What are you calling him for? | He's not gonna do you any good.

Go on. No, wait.

I'm gonna sit down...

and I'm gonna have dinner here, okay?

'Cause, see, | my doctor says I should eat in company.

See? I have to eat in company.

My wife wants to eat in company | all the time.

In fact, my wife likes to eat company.

I like to eat company, too.

We're all the same, aren't we?

Come on, we're all the same.

We speak a different language, | but we have the same metabolism!

See, the difference is...

I'm interested in bellies.

Say, you have a belly. | There's your belly, right there, see?

I'm sorry. All right, I'll say "stomach."

"Stomach" in mixed company.

Come here. Come over here.

You have a belly, too. Here, see? | You got a belly. See?

I got a belly. I'll tell you what.

I'll show you mine, if you show me yours. | Here's mine.

There's mine, okay?

It's the same as yours, | a little larger than yours.

See, the difference is...

mine is being eaten away.

Mine is rotting away from the inside. | You understand what I'm saying?

No! I'm talking to the lady here.

Here, put your hand out. Come on, touch it.

It won't bite you. It only bites me!

It has cancer, see?

It's cancer.

See, I have cancer. Stomach cancer.

It's cancer!

You know something?

Jesus Christ himself | would have died of stomach cancer...

if you people hadn't crucified him first!

That's right!

Bravo!

Signor Kracklite.

Name?

Kracklite, Stourley Kracklite.

-Nationality? | -American.

Place of birth?

Chicago, lllinois.

Present address?

Rome.

Age next birthday?

I'm not gonna have another birthday.

Pardon?

Fifty-five.

-Married? | -Yeah.

Children?

Yeah.

Occupation?

I'm an architect.

That's all.

Thank you. You may go.

You mean, that's really all?

What else could there be?

I'm sorry that we're late. It's my fault. | I don't feel very well.

We almost didn't make it. Where's Kracklite?

I need to sit down.

Whatever else has happened, | this was always Kracklite's exhibition.

Louisa, can you find a way to help us...

and open up in his behalf?

Kracklite said a long time ago...

that you have often | officiated occasions like this:

opening supermarkets, naval ships...

and cutting the tape.

I think Caspasian should do it.

Caspasian, this is not for you.

Be content with what you've got.

Here, take it.

Thanks.

Please.

We are delighted, Signora Kracklite, | that you have agreed to do this.

Louisa, please.

We can continue to benefit | from the prestige of an American celebrity.

Without the embarrassment...

of her clown of a husband.

And so, it is with great delight...

that on Boulle's birthday...

I ask Signora Kracklite...

to declare this magnificent exhibition open.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes