The Magic of Belle Isle Page #4

---

our summer athletic program.

The traditional game of fetch,

which I'm sure

you are familiar with.

I hold in my hand

a Major League baseball.

You might be interested to know, sir,

that before I lost

the use of my left arm,

I was known to possess

a mean cut fast ball.

Therefore, my affinity

for this wondrous sphere

should come as no surprise.

Fetch.

I see the concept

of fetch eludes you.

I blame Dave for that.

For the record,

this will be the last time

I fetch the ball.

When do we start?

Start what?

My imagination.

$34 and 18 cents. It's all there.

Uh, yeah.

Well, no time like the present.

What do you see up this street?

Nothing. Just a street.

Okay, try telling me

what you don't see.

Huh?

What don't you see?

I just told you.

Work with me.

See with your mind's eye.

Well, I sure don't see

no cowboy riding a horse.

Well, if you're

looking for Jubal,

you'll never see him.

Why not?

Gotta look for your own things.

How do I do that?

Keep lookin'.

I Paid you.

There's a mystery

to making things up, kiddo,

and life offers no guarantees.

You got till the end of the summer,

or I want my money back.

Well, I've always done my best

when working under a deadline.

You're invited over for dinner tonight,

precisely at seven.

Oh, dear.

Hey, Finn.

Oh, hi, Carl.

I'm not Carl.

I'm Diego Santana...

train robber and faithful sidekick.

Whose sidekick?

The man at Dog Dave's.

What are you doing?

Building a ramp for Monte.

Who's Monte?

The man at Dog Dave's.

I'm his sidekick.

Good, then you can

help me build this.

I can do that.

Hey, Uncle Monte. It's Henry.

Just calling to see

how that whole killing yourself thing

is working out for you.

It's temporarily postponed.

Oh. Well, the summer's young.

An invitation has been

extended for dinner.

Next door.

I've accepted.

What, the beautiful woman

from the roof?

- The very same.

- Well, that's great!

You know what to do?

Eat?

Just bring her something nice.

Pick some flowers.

Too conventional.

Well, you'll figure it out.

I'm guessing you didn't

call Joe Viola back.

Correct.

Why don't you just listen

to what he has to say?

Not interested.

You take care of yourself,

Uncle Monte.

Not interested.

Okay, bye, Uncle Monte.

Bye, young Hen")!-

Oh.

As I recall,

it's improper to arrive empty-handed.

A mirror?

I figure a house full of ladies

could always use another one.

Well, thank you.

This is quite a unique gift.

Do come in, Mr. Wildhorn.

Thank you.

I didn't think you'd mind

if Spot came along.

He's always welcome.

May I take your hat,

Mr. Wildhorn?

Why, thank you, Flora.

Ladies, please see

Mr. Wildhorn to the table.

I hope you like chicken.

Never had a chicken

do me wrong.

Finn tells me you write books.

It's been a while.

No texting at the table,

okay, Willow?

I always felt like a book is...

a friend that does

what no friend can do.

Stay quiet when you wanna think.

Would you care

for some wine, Mr. Wildhorn?

Ordinarily, I don't indulge,

Mrs. O'Neil,

but since I may

work my way up to a toast,

I think maybe a glass of wine

might be in order, just this once.

You'll have to excuse me

if I don't get up.

I started reading

"The Saga of Jubal McLaws."

It's really cool.

Oh, one of my kinder reviews.

I got it cheap 'cause

it didn't have the last page.

Oh, you're not missing much.

I always meant to rewrite

that page anyway.

Are all your books about the West?

Pretty much.

I love horses.

I used to ride when I was a child.

Can you pass the gravy, please?

Good horse is half the dream.

What's the other half?

Your knight in shining armor.

Do you know any stories

about elephants?

Flora loves elephants.

I'm afraid I'm not a reliable source

when it comes to pachyderms.

How did Jubal come to be

the man who rides alone?

He didn't have much choice.

The end of the Civil War,

Jubal rode home to Texas

to be reunited with his family.

It took a good many years

before he could bring himself

to mention the ghastly sight

that awaited him

when he arrived back

at the old homestead.

What happened?

Comanche raiding party.

His papa's horse

had been gut shot,

pin-cushioned with arrows

and left to suffer.

He found his beloved mother

outside the cabin,

her head nearly severed,

her stomach ripped open.

Remember, girls, it's just a story.

Just a story?

I only meant

that it didn't really happen.

It happened to Jubal.

Mashed potatoes, Mr. Wildhorn?

Sweet old place

you've got here, Mrs. O'Neil.

Belonged to my grandparents,

then my mom.

I spent my summers here

growing up.

Well, I prefer growing up in the city,

but instead,

I'm being held prisoner here.

Are you ready

for my three words, Mama?

If you're prepared.

Can I be excused?

You may not. Go ahead, Finn.

One, imagination:

the process of forming

a mental image of something

never before perceived

by the imaginer in reality.

Besides being

the most powerful force

ever made available for humankind.

Two,

bamboozle:

to deceive or get the better

of somebody by trickery.

Cheat, fleece, or snooker.

And your third word?

Mentor:

a trusted counselor

or guide, tutor or coach.

Interesting choices.

I'm gonna be seven this summer.

You can come to my party.

Flora, he doesn't want to.

Finnegan. It's August 15th.

And you're under no obligation.

To the contrary.

I greatly appreciate being included

in your celebratory plans

and I will be sure to mark

that special day on my calendar.

Who plays the piano?

I've been trying to teach

these three, to no avail.

Do you appreciate music,

Mr. Wildhorn?

Oh, yes, ma'am, I do.

In my younger days, I was

often complimented for my voice.

Would you like to sing for us?

It's the least I can do.

Now may I be excused?

No. Mr. Wildhorn's

going to favor us with a song.

Oh, a captain born in Halifax

Who dwelt in country quarters

Seduced a maid

who hanged herself

Next morning in her garters

I don't think I know that one.

Well, okay...

play something you do know.

Um, well...

it's not a song, exactly.

But... here goes.

Mmm, I would leave

all my windows open

to hear that kind of playing.

That would be

one of my kinder reviews.

He's telling me

I've outstayed my welcome.

All right, girls.

Let's say good night to Mr. Wildhorn.

Good night, Monte.

Oh, good night, Flora.

I'll be ready first thing

in the morning.

For what?

- You know.

- Oh, oh, oh. All right.

Yeah, thanks for the reminder.

Girls, you can clear the table.

You too, Willow.

Mrs. O'Neil,

I want to thank you

for a very lovely evening.

I don't believe I have ever

heard Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata

played with such affection.

You know the piece.

Well, when I was writing,

I listened to all kinds of music.

Mr. Wild horn.

Why did you stop writing?

Same reason I gave up religion.

God confided in me

that he's an atheist.

Did your Jubal McLaws

ever love a woman?

Well, Jubal always got the girl,

but he only fell in love once.

Rate this script:4.5 / 2 votes