The Cider House Rules Page #4

As Homer turns to leave, Larch stops him; he points to the

basin.

LARCH:

Take care of that, will you?

Homer stops, annoyed; he picks up the basin and empties the

contents into a white enamel pail.

INT. DINING HALL - AFTERNOON

MISS TITCOMB is teaching math to some distracted boys and

girls in a corner of the dining room. A blackboard on wheels

is a mass of numbers. Homer, passing through the dining room

with the white enamel pail, attracts the attention of BUSTER,

a sixteen-year-old who is picking over a plate of pastries

on a table. Buster immediately goes with Homer.

BUSTER:

I'll help you.

Homer shakes his head, keeps walking. Buster follows. Dr.

Larch passes close to Buster. Buster makes a face, disgusted.

EXT. INCINERATOR - AFTERNOON

Buster and Homer tramp through the snow toward the

incinerator. Homer still carries the pail.

BUSTER:

He *sniffs* that ether! I've seen

him do it!

HOMER:

It's because he's too tired to sleep.

He has to.

BUSTER:

He *smells* like he could put you to

sleep!

HOMER:

He's a doctor, Buster--doctors smell

like ether.

BUSTER:

*You're* a doctor, Homer--you don't

smell like ether.

HOMER:

I'm *not* a doctor. I haven't been

to medical school--I haven't even

been to high school!

BUSTER:

But you've studied with the old man

for *years*!

HOMER:

I'm *not* a doctor!

BUSTER:

I'm sorry, Homer.

Buster stands watching as Homer empties the pail into the

incinerator.

INT. DISPENSARY - NIGHT

With his head inclined to the giant ear of Larch's phonograph,

FUZZY--six, thin, and pale and looking remarkably like an

embryo--is listening to a recording. He can't hear what Larch

and Homer are saying about him as they construct a humidified

tent over a small hospital bed on wheels. The humidifier is

operated by a car battery.

LARCH:

Fuzzy is not uncommon. I tell you,

there's something about the premature

babies of alcoholic mothers. They

seem susceptible to every damn thing

that comes along.

HOMER:

I haven't read that.

LARCH:

I haven't, either. But you *will*.

The morons who write the books should

do a little research *here*.

HOMER:

But isn't Fuzzy just... well,

underdeveloped?

LARCH:

When *doesn't* he have bronchitis? I

wouldn't call his bronchial infections

"underdeveloped." Would you?

Larch plucks Fuzzy from in front of the phonograph and zips

him into the breathing tent. Fuzzy smiles. As larch leaves,

MARY AGNES, a pretty but tough-looking teenager, comes into

the dispensary.

HOMER:

What is it, Mary Agnes?

Mary Agnes smiles at Homer; then she sticks her tongue out

at him. Homer looks at her impassively, but as the moment

continues his expression suggests his annoyance. Fuzzy starts

to cough; he wheezes as he breathes. Homer leans down; he

peers at Fuzzy through a hole by the zipper of the tent.

MARY AGNES:

(garbled because of

her tongue)

Look!

Homer examines Mary Agnes' tongue.

HOMER:

Did you bite it?

MARY AGNES:

I don't remember.

HOMER:

(dismissively)

It looks like you bit it--it'll be

all right.

MARY AGNES:

Maybe I was kissing someone and he

bit me.

HOMER:

(looks at her tongue

again)

No, you did it yourself. Maybe in

your sleep.

MARY AGNES:

I must have been *dreaming* of kissing

someone.

Homer is not responding to her come-on. He wheels Fuzzy into

the hall.

HOMER:

Story time, Fuzzy!

INT. GIRLS' DIVISION - NIGHT

In the girls' bunk room, Nurse Edna is saying prayers. The

girls lie with their palms pressed together on their chests.

EDNA:

"Oh Lord, support us all the day

long..."

EXT. ST. CLOUD'S - THE HILL - NIGHT

The building of St. Cloud's is silhouetted against the sky.

Carla, the woman we saw deliver the baby, is heading down

the hill alone, she sobs, not looking back.

EDNA (O.S.)

"...until the shadows lengthen and

the evening comes, and the busy world

is hushed, and the fever of life is

over, and our work is done."

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