The Green Mile Page #11

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EXT. HOUSE - NIGHT

...as their moans go drifting into the night...

FADE TO:

SAME ANGLE AS ABOVE - DAWN

...and they're still moaning up there as the sun creeps up.

INT. BEDROOM - MORNING

Jan falls back, exhausted after the latest go-round. She

catches her breath, looks over at Paul, and finally:

JAN:

Paul? Not that I'm complaining.

But we haven't gone four times in

one night since we were nineteen.

(off his look)

You wanna tell me just what the

hell's going on?

PAUL:

Well...thing is...I never actually

got to the doctor yesterday...

She gives him a look--oh?

CUT TO:

INT. LIVING ROOM - MORNING

Paul is on the phone:

PAUL:

Brutal? Listen...I'm thinking of

taking the morning off sick. You

cover the fort for me?

(beat)

That's swell. Thanks. Yeah, I'm

sure I'll feel better. Okay.

He hangs up, turns to Jan.

JAN:

You sure you ought to do this?

PAUL:

I'm not sure what I'm sure of.

CUT TO:

EXT. ROAD TO TEFTON - DAY

Paul's model T comes putt-putting up the road past a sign:

"Trapingus County Welcomes You."

EXT. HOUSE IN TEFTON - BACK PORCH - DAY

BURT HAMMERSMITH, public defender for Trapingus County, sits

with a cold soda and a magazine, watching his TWO CHILDREN

playing on a swing at the far end of the backyard. The screen

door opens and CYNTHIA HAMMERSMITH ushers Paul out.

CYNTHIA:

I offer you a cold drink?

PAUL:

Yes, ma'am, a cold drink would be

fine. Thank you.

She goes back inside. Burt rises.

PAUL:

Mr. Hammersmith. Your office said

I'd find you at home today. I hope

I'm not troubling you.

BURT:

That depends, Mr.--?

PAUL:

Paul Edgecomb. I'm the E Block

superintendant at Cold Mountain.

BURT:

The Green Mile. I've heard of it.

Lost a few clients your way.

PAUL:

That's why I'm here. I'd like to

ask you about one of them.

Burt settles back down, motions "please sit".

BURT:

Which client? Now you got my

curiosity aroused.

PAUL:

John Coffey.

BURT:

Ah, Coffey. He causing you

problems?

PAUL:

No, can't say he is. He doesn't

like the dark. He cries on

occasion. Other than that...

BURT:

Cries, does he? Well, he's got a

lot to cry about, I'd say. You

know what he did.

PAUL:

(nods)

I read the court transcripts.

Cynthia reappears, hands Paul a cold root beer.

PAUL:

Thank you, Missus.

CYNTHIA:

My pleasure. Kids! Lunch is about

ready! Y'all come on up!

She goes back inside, but the kids aren't quite able to tear

themselves away from their play.

BURT:

What exactly are you trying to

find out? Satisfy my curiosity,

I'll see if I can satisfy yours.

PAUL:

I've wondered if he ever did

anything like that before.

BURT:

Why? Has he said anything?

PAUL:

No. But a man who does a thing

like that has often developed a

taste for it over time. Occurred

to me it might be easy enough to

follow his backtrail and find out.

A man his size, and colored to

boot, can't be that hard to trace.

BURT:

You'd think so, but you'd be

wrong. Believe me, we tried. It's

like he dropped out of the sky.

PAUL:

How do you explain that?

BURT:

We're in a Depression. A third of

the country's out of work.

People are drifting by the

thousands, looking for work,

looking for that greener grass.

Even a giant like Coffey wouldn't

get noticed everywhere he goes...

not until he kills a couple of

little girls.

PAUL:

He's...strange, I admit. But there

doesn't seem to be any real

violence in him. I know violent

men, Mr. Hammersmith. I deal with

'em day in and day out.

Burt smiles, realizing:

BURT:

You didn't come up here to ask me

whether he might have killed

before. You came up here to see if

I think he did it at all. That's

it, isn't it?

PAUL:

Do you?

BURT:

One seldom sees a less ambiguous

case. He was found with the

victims in his arms. Blurted out

a confession right then and there.

PAUL:

Yet you defended him.

BURT:

Everyone is entitled to a defense.

Cynthia hollers from an open window:

CYNTHIA:

Kids! Lunch!

BURT:

Y'all listen to your Momma, now!

The kids start this way. Burt turns back to Paul.

BURT:

Tell you something. You listen

close, too, because it might be

something you need to know.

PAUL:

I'm listening.

BURT:

We had us a dog. No particular

breed, but gentle. Ready to lick

your hand or fetch a stick. Just

a sweet mongrel, you know the kind.

(Paul nods)

In many way, a good mongrel dog is

like you negro. You get to know

it, and often you get to love it.

It is of no particular use, but

you keep it around because you

think it loves you. If you're

lucky, Mr. Edgecomb, you never

have to find out any different. My

wife and I were not so lucky.

Caleb. Come here for a second.

The little boy comes to him, staring at his feet. Burt tires

to raise the boy's chin. The boy resists for a moment...

BURT:

Please, son.

...and then his face comes around. He's horribly scarred on

that side, the eye missing.

BURT:

He has the one eye. I suppose he's

lucky not to be blind. We get down

on our knees and thank God for

that much at least. Right Caleb?

(the boy nods shyly)

Okay, go on in now.

The boy races inside after his sister. Paul follows Burt's

gaze off toward the rear of the property, where an unoccupied

doghouse stands weathered and sad in the weeds.

BURT:

That dog attacked my boy for no

reason. Just got it into his mind

one day. Same with John Coffey. He

was sorry afterwards, of that I

have no doubt...but those little

girls stayed raped and murdered

nonetheless. Maybe he's never done

it before--my dog never bit

before, but I didn't concern

myself with that. I went out there

with my rifle and grabbed his

collar and blew his brains out.

PAUL:

I'm sorry for your trouble.

Burt acknowledges the condolence with a gracious nod.

BURT:

I'm as enlightened as the next

man, Mr. Edgecomb. I would not

bring back slavery for all the tea

in China. I believe we have to be

humane and generous in our efforts

to solve the race problem. But we

have to remember that the negro

will bite if he gets the chance,

just like a mongrel dog will bite

if it crosses its mind to do so.

(beat)

Is Coffey guilty? Yes, he is.

Don't you doubt it, and don't you

turn your back on him. You might

get away with it once or even a

hundred times...but in the end...

He raises his hand, making biting motions with his fingers.

BURT:

You understand?

Paul says nothing. Burt gazes out again. Softly:

BURT:

I'm gonna have to tear that old

doghouse down one of these days.

CUT TO:

INT. PAUL'S MODEL T - DAY

Paul drives back to Cold Mountain, his heart conflicted...

INT. E BLOCK - DAY

...and he walks onto the Mile with a bundle wrapped in a dish

towel. Brutal glances up from the desk, sniffing the air.

PAUL:

No, it's not for you.

Paul continues down the Mile. Whatever he's carrying, the

smell of it brings Del to his bars. Even Mr.Jingles comes

skittering out of his cigar box, sniffing.

DEL:

Oh. Oh my.

Paul arrives at Coffey's cell. Coffey's on his bunk facing

the wall. His head comes around, drawn by the aroma. He sits

up, wipes the tears leaking from his eyes, looks at Paul.

COFFEY:

I'm smelling me some cornbread.

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