The World According to Garp Page #3

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without it. I mean, in a dress.

I spend a lot of time imagining things.

Part of my training as a writer.

All real writers imagine.

Good night, Garp!

Oh, my God.

Garp! You've no right to write this!

If you're going to write about me

and my personal life, wait till I'm dead.

While I'm alive, the subject belongs to me.

I might want to write about myself.

- Nothing's happened to me yet, Mom.

- Well, too bad.

Make up something then. Good night, son.

Good night, Mom.

- Sleep well.

- You too.

So, how do you know

you're going to be a writer?

It's just something you know.

What are you going to write about?

My life, once I've experienced enough.

You'll write, and you'll marry Helen,

and she'll read.

- Is that what you want?

- Maybe.

I guess I'd better give you something

to write about.

It's stuck.

- Is this your first time?

- No.

I thought so.

- Where's your thing?

- Where's what?

- Your thing.

- My thing? Don't you have a hold of it?

- No, your glove.

- My glove?

Look, I don't want babies.

No glove, no love.

You mean rubbers.

Pooh?

Poor Garp, you're about to burst.

Helen!

I'm gaining on you, Helen.

What's the matter?

- Watch where you're running.

- Sorry.

My short story!

It's my first short story.

I wrote it for you.

- You wrote it for me.

- Yeah.

What'd Cushie think of it?

Cushie?

Cushie.

She's not the type

to appreciate serious literature.

I don't know.

From what I saw of her, she seemed to

have a pretty good head on her shoulders.

Oh, boy!

We haven't got much time.

Men die young in my family!

I'm leaving! I'm going to New York

to become a real writer!

Oh, God.

Bonkers.

Bonkie, come on now.

Give me the paper.

Bonkers, give me that paper,

you hairy son of a b*tch!

Bonkers, you chicken sh*t!

If I were a dog, you'd be dead!

What happened?

I had a fight with Helen.

With Helen?

And Bonkers, too.

I want to get out of here.

I want to go to New York,

become a real writer.

All right.

I've been thinking we ought to leave,

myself.

We've been here long enough.

Are you going to come?

I think it's a good idea.

Maybe I could write there, too.

- What's this?

- Bonkers' ear.

- His ear?

- Part of it.

Garp, are you up there?

Jenny Fields, are you up there?

Yes, what is it you want?

What the hell did that bastard son of yours

do to my dog?

There's blood on the porch!

There's blood everywhere!

He's under the house,

and he won't come out!

What did he do?

Garp bit Bonkie.

We've got oranges, fruits and vegetables.

Now all we need is some butter,

some milk, and...

...some coffee.

And we're also out of syrup.

Is that the latest fashion?

No, Mom, that's the oldest profession.

- Whores?

- Oh, yes.

How do you know?

Just a writer's instinct.

- I want to talk with one of them.

- Come on.

No, I want to ask her about something.

- About what?

- I want to ask her about lust!

Mom!

Oh, boy.

Pardon me. My name is Jenny Fields.

Are you a prostitute?

What's it to you?

My name's Garp.

My mother and I were just...

- Your mother?

- I'll be glad to pay you.

- Yes, you see, my mother...

- No.

I don't go for no kinky stuff.

You want any of that, go to 8th Avenue.

- She just wants to talk to you.

- What's your regular charge?

- Ask a few questions.

- Would $10 be enough?

$10?

- What's the usual?

- I don't know. It depends.

I'll give you $20.

We'll go someplace where we can get

a cup of coffee, get warm and talk.

You pay for the coffee?

Of course.

What the hell. Go.

Mom, can we go now?

Do you feel anything?

Do you get any physical enjoyment from it?

Not when I'm working. Oh, sometimes.

Why do you think men like you?

- We've really got to go.

- Do you like her?

- She's nice, Mom, but...

- What is it about her that you want?

I don't mean just her sex parts.

I mean,

is there something else that's satisfying?

It's a combination.

How do you feel to be wanted in that way?

Does it degrade you

to have my son want you in that way?

Or do you think it only degrades him?

I don't know.

Do you want her?

Do you want her like you want Helen?

Is it the same kind of want?

You really want to have sex with her.

Well, do you?

Yes.

Of course I do.

All right.

Look, it's all right with me

if your mother wants to buy me for you.

But she can't come along with us.

- No.

- Absolutely not.

I will not have her watching us.

I am still a Catholic, believe it or not.

- You want anything funny...

- I don't intend to watch.

I've heard quite enough.

Thank you so much for your time.

You do what you want to do,

or what you have to do, I guess.

- Here.

- Don't give me money here!

Why not?

Because it's illegal, Mom.

- Why?

- Because it is, that's why.

That's silly.

It's her body. Why shouldn't she use it

the way she wants to?

Here.

I'll see you later.

Good night.

Thank you so much.

Your mother's weird.

You could say that.

Mom?

What are you doing?

Writing.

About what?

None of your business.

Just lay off me.

You've been hammering at me

ever since we got on the plane!

- I told you we should've stayed in Chicago!

- Come on, Rachel!

Don't "Rachel" me, Stephen!

Just don't "Rachel" me!

Get your mattresses!

Put your mattresses under!

Cushion his fall!

Jump! Jump!

Go ahead and jump!

Oh, my God! Stephen!

Rachel?

Remember Chicago?

Do you?

Remember these, Rachel? Do you?

I don't want them anymore!

"There will be other songs to sing

- "Another fall, another spring"

- Come down, Stephen!

"But there will..."

Watch out!

Well?

It's...

...a bit thin.

It's not quantity that counts.

Thank God for that!

This is good enough for me.

That's not very artistic.

I'm not an artist.

I'm a nurse.

It's about time I got back to it.

I want to be an artist,

and I want to know what you thought of it.

I'm not sure I understand it.

Mom, it's very simple.

He can do wonders

when he's wearing his magic gloves.

If his wife is sad, he just touches her

with his gloves, and she's happy.

If his children are crying,

he just touches them, and they smile.

But he can't feel them!

He yearns to feel.

He can even hold off death

with his magic gloves, but he can't feel life.

So he takes off the gloves, and he dies.

But, he finally feels life

as he's flying into the arms of death.

I like that.

If that's what it means, I like it.

Let me see yours.

No, I've got to go.

That's not fair. I showed you mine.

You should show me yours.

What do you think this is?

"Doctor's Office" with Cushie?

- I have an appointment.

- With who?

Whom.

With whom is your appointment, Mother?

With him. He's a publisher.

He looks like a nice man.

I'll let him publish my book.

- Let him?

- Why not?

Bring that along, will you?

We can return it.

- Come along!

- Yes, Mother.

"In this dirty minded world

you are either somebody's wife...

"...or somebody's whore...

"...or fast on your way

to becoming one or the other."

I think so. Don't you?

To tell you the truth, I've never given

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