The Lost Weekend Page #18

DON:

Hey, you, what's this place?

The man stands staring at him, terrified.

DON:

I'm talking to you.

The man drifts away eerily.

From the opposite direction comes a male nurse. He is a robust

guy with a sarcastic mouth. He makes constantly with the

jokes, all of them at the listener's expense. His name is

BIM.

BIM:

Good morning, merry sunshine. How's

your head?

DON:

Where am I? What is this?

BIM:

This? This is the Hangover Plaza.

DON:

What hospital is this?

BIM:

Alcoholic Ward. How's the head?

DON:

It aches.

BIM:

We thought you'd fractured her till

we seen the X-rays. All in one piece.

Just a concussion.

DON:

Why did they put me in the Alcoholic

Ward?

BIM:

Are you kidding? We took a peek at

your blood. Straight applejack. Ninety-

six proof.

DON:

What day is this?

BIM:

Sunday.

(He holds out the key-

ring)

These yours? They fell out of

somebody's pocket. You and the colored

fellow was being undressed at the

same time.

DON:

They're mine.

Bim throws them at him.

DON:

Are you a doctor?

BIM:

Nope. I'm a nurse. Name of Dolan.

They call me Bim. You can call me

Bim.

He gets a pad and pencil from his pocket.

BIM:

What's your name?

DON:

Birnam.

BIM:

What kind of Birnam?

DON:

Don Birnam.

BIM:

Where do you live?

DON:

Two hundred and nine East Fif --

Say, what do you need that for?

BIM:

For the post card.

DON:

What post card?

BIM:

To your folks, so's they'll know

where honey-boy is and where they

can pick him up when he's feeling

better.

DON:

No address.

BIM:

Okay. We'll get it out of the

telephone book, or the directory, or

maybe you've got it in your wallet.

DON:

(On his feet)

No post card. Understand? Nobody's

going to pick me up.

BIM:

The management insists. If we let

you guys go home alone a lot of you

don't go home. You hit the nearest

bar and bounce right back. What we

call the Quick Ricochet.

DON:

Listen, I'm as well as you are. I

can leave right now.

BIM:

You think so?

DON:

Where are my clothes?

BIM:

Downstairs.

DON:

How do I get out of this place?

BIM:

(Pointing to the glass

doors)

Right through here.

Don has risen. He is wearing flannel pajamas like all the

rest of the patients. There are canvas slippers on his feet.

He is not quite as steady on his pins as he thought. However

he manages to make the swinging glass door.

Bim stands quietly watching him, a great big grin on his

face.

D-4 THE ANTE-ROOM

It is L-shaped, about fourteen feet wide. Along the walls

are benches and a collection of wheel-chairs. Sitting on

them and milling aimlessly around, are some thirty alcoholics.

They wear terry-cloth bathrobes over their pajamas, canvas

slippers on their feet. They are well on their way to

normality, but they are still not a pretty sight -- unshaven,

bunged-up, shame-faced.

In the listless, burned-out collection, Don is the only person

who moves with purpose. He scarcely notices the men as he

passes them, intent on finding the door. He goes around the

bend of the ell and there is the door, a heavy wooden one

with a grated peep-hole and beside it a uniformed guard. Don

goes to the door, tries to open it.

GUARD:

Where do you think you're going?

DON:

To get my clothes.

GUARD:

You got your discharge?

DON:

My what?

GUARD:

Your release?

DON:

I'm all right. Let me out.

At this moment the door is opened by another male nurse,

carrying a pile of clean sheets and pillow cases. Don tries

to take advantage of the opening of the door to get out, but

the guard pulls him by the arm, while the entering nurse

locks the door with his own key.

GUARD:

Go on, get back.

DON:

Keep your hands off me.

Over the shot comes:

BIM'S VOICE

Birnam!

Don turns, At the bend of the corridor stands Bim, with a

tumbler of medicine in his hand.

BIM:

Come here, Birnam.

Don approaches him slowly.

DON:

Is this a jail?

BIM:

Well, this department -- it's kind

of halfway hospital, halfway jail,

but we run it more like a flophouse.

He guides Don back toward the ward, CAMERA AHEAD OF THEM.

DON:

Listen, Bim, in my clothes there's

five dollars. That's for you if only

you won't send that post card.

BIM:

Nothing doing.

DON:

I don't want anybody to know.

BIM:

Listen, your folks might as well get

used to our little post cards,

DON:

What are you talking about?

BIM:

There'll be more of them, You'll be

back.

DON:

Shut your face.

BIM:

Listen, I can pick an alky with one

eye shut. You're one and you'll come

back. They all do.

He points at a man in a wheel-chair,

BIM:

Him, for instance. He turns up every

month, just as sure as the gas bill.

(He points at another

man)

And him there. That's another

repeater. This is his forty-fifth

time. Big executive in the advertising

business, A lovely fellow. Been coming

here ever since 1927. Good old

prohibition days. You should have

seen the place then. Say, this is

nothing. Back then we had really a

turnover. Standing room only.

Prohibition! That's what started

half these guys off. Whoopee!

They have reached the ward by now.

D-5 THE WARD

Bim seats Don on his bed.

BIM:

Now lie down like a good boy and

drink this.

DON:

What is it?

BIM:

Doctor's orders. It'll calm you down.

DON:

I don't want it.

BIM:

You better take it. Come the night

there's apt to be a little floor

show around here. Might get on your

nerves.

DON:

Floor show?

BIM:

Didn't you ever have the D.T.'s?

DON:

No.

BIM:

You will, brother.

DON:

Not me.

BIM:

Want to make a small bet? You're

just a freshman. Wait till you're a

sophomore. That's when you start

seeing the little animals.

(He holds out the

drink)

Drink it.

DON:

I don't want it.

BIM:

That stuff about pink elephants,

that's the bunk. It's little animals.

Little tiny turkeys in straw hats.

Midget monkeys that come through the

key-holes. See that guy in the corner?

He points to the man with the sensitive face, who stands

against the wall.

BIM:

With him it's beetles. Comes the

night, he sees beetles crawling all

over him. Has to be dark, though.

It's like the doctor was saying to

me, "Delirium is a disease of the

night." Well, good night.

And on the grinning face of Bim,

DISSOLVE TO:

D-6 THE WARD - (NIGHT)

It is lighted by a faint blue light, but the lights are on

in the anteroom and some light comes through the glass doors.

There are the sounds of a ward full of drunken men -- sighs,

heavy breathing, snoring, babbling, moaning. On his cot lies

Don, his eyes wide open. Suddenly there comes a sharper sound --

a violent slapping of a bed. Don pivots in the direction of

the sound.

On a cot in the corner is the man with the sensitive face

and the addiction to beetles. He is slapping wildly at his

bed, moaning. He rises and begins to slap the wall and scream.

Don stares at him through the dimness.

Through the glass doors come two male nurses with flashlights.

They run to the cot of the D.T. victim. There is a wild

scrabble as he fights them off. One of the nurses races back

to the door and calls:

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