The Cider House Rules Page #3

LARCH:

What *else* could I have showed you,

Homer? The only thing I can teach

you is what I know! In every life,

you've got to be of use.

Homer and Larch split off and disappear into two different

operating rooms. As he goes, Homer mumbles to himself, "Of

use, of use, of use."

INT. OPERATING ROOM - DAY

Larch and Angela are preparing the ether for DOROTHY, a not

visibly pregnant woman. The sounds of labor across the hall

can be heard Over.

LARCH:

(holds the cone)

Have you ever had ether, Dorothy?

DOROTHY:

Once, when they took out my appendix.

ANGELA:

(looks for scar)

No one's touched your appendix.

DOROTHY:

Whatever it was... the ether made me

sick.

LARCH:

It won't make you sick this time,

Dorothy--not the way I do it, just a

drop at a time.

DOROTHY:

I can't pay for this, you know--I

got no money.

LARCH:

One day, Dorothy, if you have any

money, a donation to the orphanage

would be very much appreciated.

ANGELA:

Only if you can afford it.

LARCH:

(holds the ether bottle)

Try to think of nothing, Dorothy.

Angela puts the cone over Dorothy's mouth and nose; Larch

drips the ether on the cone. A newborn wails in the other

O.R. Over.

INT. DELIVERY ROOM - DAY

Homer has delivered CARLA. A newborn baby is screaming in

Edna's arms. Homer is attending to Carla, who is panting.

HOMER:

That was good, Carla--that was

*perfect*. Everything's fine.

CARLA:

I don't wanna see it!

EDNA:

You don't have to see it, dear. Don't

worry.

CARLA:

I don't even wanna know what sex it

is--don't tell me!

HOMER:

We won't tell you, Carla. You're

going to be okay.

EDNA:

Your *baby's* going to be okay, too.

CARLA:

I don't wanna know!

Larch pops into the delivery room; he peers at the baby.

LARCH:

He's a big boy!

CARLA:

Let me see him, for Christ's sake--I

wanna see him.

Edna shows the baby to Carla, who stares, then turns away.

Larch whispers to Homer.

LARCH:

Would you mind having a look at

Dorothy?

INT. OPERATING ROOM - DAY

Angela sits with the still-etherized Dorothy while Larch and

Homer confer over a basin containing Dorothy's uterus.

HOMER:

There was no visible wound?

LARCH:

No. The fetus was dead. Her uterus

was virtually *disintegrating*--my

stitches pulled right through the

tissue!

HOMER:

(mystified)

It looks like scurvy.

LARCH:

(derisively sarcastic)

Scurvy! Ah yes, the curse of the old-

time sailor, suffering long periods

at sea with no fresh fruits or

vegetables. Homer, Dorothy isn't a

*sailor*!

ANGELA:

She's a prostitute, isn't she?

HOMER:

(to Angela)

Did you look in her purse?

LARCH:

(frustrated)

I looked everywhere else!

Angela hands Larch a bottle of brown liquid.

ANGELA:

It's called French Lunar Solution.

Larch wrinkles his nose at the odor.

LARCH:

It's not ergot, it's not pituitary

extract, it's not oil of rue...

ANGELA:

It claims to restore monthly

regularity.

HOMER:

It's obviously an aborticide.

LARCH:

Obviously.

Larch wets his finger with the stuff, then touches it to his

tongue.

LARCH:

(spits)

Christ, it's oil of tansy!

HOMER:

I don't know it.

LARCH:

If you take enough of it, your

intestines lose their ability to

absorb Vitamin C.

HOMER:

In other words, scurvy.

LARCH:

Good boy. Good job. And you call

yourself "not a doctor"!

(to Angela)

Keep an eye on her--she's in trouble.

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