The World According to Garp Page #4

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the matter much thought but...

Garp! Is that right? Garp?

That's right. Garp.

You didn't write about me, did you?

I wrote about my life. You're a part of it.

- But when I wanted to write about your...

- My son is also a writer.

Short stories.

Sexual Suspect/

I wanted a job, and I wanted to live alone.

That made me a sexual suspect.

I wanted a baby, but I didn't want

to share my life in order to have one.

That also made me a sexual suspect.

Oh.

- I wanted to express an inner longing...

- Well, I'll call you.

That wasn't fair.

You said I couldn't write about you.

Oh, my God.

Go away!

Well?

It's...

...so sad.

Really?

So sad!

That's great. I mean, thank you.

It's the saddest story I have ever read!

That's wonderful! I'm so happy.

I'm so sad!

Helen, do you know that this is going

be published in The Review

Mom's publisher said

that he'll publish my first novel, too.

Do you think I'll be a real writer?

I do. Oh, I do!

You said you'd only marry a real writer.

I did.

And I do.

I do, too.

It's sickening.

Every bookstore in New York

looks like this.

Every bookstore in the U.S.

What the hell does she know about lust?

She never felt it. Not even once.

Some authority she is.

It's like listening to a plant

describe the motives of a mammal.

It's the timing.

Timing. I thought writing

is supposed to be the writing.

In writing, it is writing.

In publishing, it's timing.

I'm stunned, myself. It upsets people!

I don't know about Jenny,

but I'm getting hate mail for publishing it.

It's dangerous stuff,

and dangerous stuff sells.

In one way or another...

... we have all been suspect...

... all of our lives.

We have been suspect as the weaker sex.

When we showed strength, we were

suspect as not being weak enough.

When we showed intelligence,

we were suspect of covering up...

... some defect in our femininity

with our brains.

Know what really gets my goat?

That she wrote about me.

I am known

as the bastard son of Jenny Fields.

Hello, how nice to see you again.

How are you doing?

- Very well, thank you.

- Yeah?

Thank you so much for everything.

What the hell. Am I in it?

- In a way.

- Yeah?

I'll read it.

She is going to be very, very rich.

And very, very famous.

- I get the picture.

- I don't think you do.

You're a wonderful writer.

Your novel is as good a first novel

as I've read.

I'm proud to publish it.

But your mother has written

a political manifesto.

She's a cult, not a writer.

Hi.

- Could you write something in there?

- Yes.

It's for Frank, my husband.

"Dear Frank, the kids are in the school,

the dog is in the yard...

"...and I am gone, gone, gone. Love, Ruth."

- I think you'd better write that.

- Thank you. I will.

We're neither little nor weak,

but a force to be dealt with!

The women of America,

hungry for a heroine...

... have at last found one in Jenny Fields!

The men of America

will soon find out what that means.

Mom!

I'm all right, darling!

You don't usually find homes this lovely

in this quiet a location.

Isn't this nice? Isn't this a beautiful street?

And the landscaping.

They've done lovely things with the lawn.

It's a lovely place.

Lovely.

Just the ticket for young marrieds.

And my firm will even

finance the mortgage.

My mother's paying for it.

She's become a firm these days.

What do you think, Helen?

Is it a home?

It's close to the college

where I'll be teaching.

And close to the supermarket

where I'll be shopping.

Just like our house.

I work, and my husband putters

around the house.

My husband doesn't putter. He's a writer.

His novel was just published:

Procrastination by T.S. G

T.S. Garp?

Not the bastard son of Jenny Fields?

I loved your mother's book!

Loved it.

I keep buying them,

and my husband keeps burning them!

And you write, too.

Isn't that nice?

You must be so proud of your mother.

I'm very, very proud of Mom.

You folks all right down there?

Yeah, I'm okay. We're all right.

But are you all right?

I'm fine.

You mind if I use your phone?

Sure, if you can find it.

Thanks a lot.

We'll take the house.

The chances of another plane

hitting this house are astronomical.

It's been pre-disastered.

We're going to be safe here.

- What's the matter?

- Nothing.

Yes, there is.

Nobody is buying my novel.

I'm starting my second

and the same nobodies...

...are going to line up

not to buy that one, too.

ave just read in Time magazin

...that my mother's book

has been translated into Apache.

Apache, Helen!

Not even Shakespeare or Dickens

has been translated into Apache!

She's timely.

She struck a chord women wanted to hear.

Reviewers took her to pieces.

They said wonderful things

about your book.

Yeah, but I don't want reviews.

I want an audience. A big audience.

One of my students

brought you up in class today.

He didn't even know we were married.

y started talking about Magic Gloves

What was the verdict?

They loved it.

One of them even called it a novella

instead of a short story.

I like that kid.

There's another kid

I'm sure you're going to like, too.

Really? What's he like?

Can't tell yet.

Quiet type?

Yeah, real. He's very young.

A real baby.

I invited him over to meet you.

When?

Should be here

in about seven and a half months.

Don't cry.

I'm the one who's supposed to be crying.

I've got to do everything around here.

I've got to cook. I've got to clean.

I've got to cry.

- He's in there?

- Yeah.

It's nice in there. I know.

Cute little bugger, isn't he?

It's our baby.

I've got to kiss our baby.

Come on, Duncan. Say "Dada."

It's easy. Da-da.

Anybody can say "Mama," Duncan.

Come on, quit torturing me.

Say "Dada." Say it!

All right, Duncan!

This is Technical Sergeant Garp.

Make it easy on yourself. Don't be a baby.

Say "Dada."

Hey, you! Wait!

Look, this is a residential neighborhood.

The residents are mostly kids

who can't look out for themselves.

So, it's up to us to look out for them.

This means that we have to follow

the speed limit.

Yeah, yeah.

Stop, you son of a b*tch!

Every time we come here,

there are more people.

Boy, they take advantage of her.

I wonder who they all are.

Moochers, hangers-on.

This is what happens when you become

rich and famous. That's why I avoided it.

Garp?

How lovely to see you!

You look wonderful.

Helen. Hello, dear.

Hello, Duncan.

How about a hug for Grandma?

Say "Grandma."

No.

Well, come on inside.

I'll take you upstairs.

Hi.

Hi.

- Who's that?

- Somebody Mother introduced me to.

Back to your basic hospital white?

Yes.

Come on upstairs.

I'll show you your rooms.

Hi, my name's T.S. Garp.

Don't touch me! Don't touch me!

- Alice dear, it's all right, darling.

- He touched me!

- I'm sorry. All I did was touch her.

- It's all right.

She can't bear

to have a man's hand touching her.

- Boy, has she got problems.

- Yes, she does.

It's going to be hard

to avoid being touched, isn't it?

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