The World According to Garp Page #6

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That's adultery!

You see, a stranger has come between us.

Mike Snow. That's catchy.

- Michael Milton. Is that his name?

- Yes.

It sounds like a flavor

in a gay ice cream parlor.

Strawberry Swirl, Chock-full of Chocolate,

Mocha Madness, Michael Milton.

He's not gay.

His writing is nowhere near

as good as yours.

- Does he write sad stuff, too?

- Hardly.

He's one of my gradual students.

He's bright enough, he's just...

What?

I don't know.

Young, maybe.

He's just young.

Very bright, but young.

How young? 17?

No, not 17.

- Is he a teen?

- I don't know.

Let's go look at the kids.

We looked at them last night.

I know.

But I really feel a need to look at them.

For both of us to look at them.

All right.

Let's go look at the kids.

I just really love it.

What?

Being a father.

Being a husband and a father.

Oh, I really adore it.

I will never ever write anything that lovely.

I have talent as a writer...

...but I'm a natural at only two things:

Wrestling...

...and being a family man.

Come on, family man.

Help! Help!

They're coming!

Kill them. Kill them.

You're wounded. As soon as

you're wounded, you become a villain.

- That's the rules.

- I'll become the villain.

- You're a disgrace to your tribe.

- And the scum of the earth.

It's time to die, Sir Scum.

I'm going to revenge my uncle's death.

You and who else?

Me and him. Ready, Sir Walt?

Ready, roger and out, Sir Duncan.

Sound the charge.

Got you.

What's the matter, Walt?

What's wrong?

You guys always get to die. I never get to.

You can't. Someone has to rescue

the fair maiden.

- I want to die, too.

- All right.

With his last dying breath,

Sir Scum manages to crawl forth...

...and fling his vile blade.

Sorry about that.

We have to end the war

because of a pot roast. Isn't that a pity?

Don't moan, if you want to eat dinner.

- Dead men don't eat.

- Dead men don't b*tch, either.

I've got to go. It's late. Goodbye, darlings.

Sure you can't stay?

No, I have to go and have a heartbreak

in Manhattan.

He's young, he's handsome...

What can I do?

Maybe this time it'll work out.

Maybe so. I'm a hopeless romantic

in a male chauvinist world.

'Bye, darlings!

- Having some trouble?

- Looks that way.

Can I give you a lift someplace?

Where to?

Is your apartment clean?

Pretty clean.

If anyone finds out about this, it's over.

Do you understand?

- It's a small town.

- It's not that small a town.

You've been sleeping

with Marge Tallworth.

She's in Dirckson's

Drama through the Ages.

That's how small this town is.

You've been doing your homework,

teacher.

I like you calling me "teacher."

It underlines the difference in our ages...

...and reminds me why I'm doing this.

So, you can keep it up.

Not here.

Only in your apartment.

And only if it's clean.

It was just one of those days, Helen.

I saw the kids get up.

I saw them go to school.

I saw you go to work.

The kids and I played a great game

with Roberta.

Ta-ranta-ra!

- We beat him, Mom.

- We did. We killed him!

Oh, boy, did they?

Then we talked about the fact that

I have never written a Christmas story.

- It was my idea.

- It was. Story credit goes to Duncan.

It's going to be called:

A Child's Christmas with a Whale

It's about this little lame girl...

...who runs across a beached blue whale,

still alive, and she helps him.

And I get to do the drawings.

Walt gets to do the illustrations.

Do you realize how good he is?

This is going to be a real family project.

Sometimes you can have

a whole lifetime in a day...

...and never even notice

that this is as beautiful as life gets.

I just feel happy that I noticed.

I had a beautiful life today.

I even died and lived to tell about it.

What a day!

What a day!

Down. Set. Hut. Hut.

- You got it.

- No fair. No tackling.

Oh, Walt, isn't this lovely? Look at him.

What's he saying?

Boo-hoo.

- Did you really do them yourself?

- Yes.

Duncan did the eyebrows on the whale,

but I did the rest.

Your daddy used to draw.

Not as well as you.

Down. Set. Hut. Hut.

Get him, Helen. Keep tight with him.

Oh. Hey. Hey.

Sorry.

Garp.

Come on, Dad! Let's go!

Garp.

- How old are you, Granny?

- Old as the hills.

Really?

That's right.

You'll be old, too, someday.

"Old Man Walt."

It's not bad, being old.

It's kind of nice, actually.

You can have cake and ice cream,

and you don't have to worry about cavities.

You're done with school.

And if you're very lucky,

you'll have many, many friends...

...and many, many memories.

And you can think about them.

Would you like that?

Can I go swimming?

Of course you can, darling.

Just don't go in over your knees.

Okay, Duncan. Come on. Come on.

Time out. Time out. Just five.

What was that all about?

A new constitution?

They had a crisis.

Ellen James wrote them a letter

begging them to disband.

And stop getting other women

to hurt themselves.

Good for her!

They took a vote and decided to continue.

They'll have an Ellen James Society,

and Ellen James is against it?

It's their right to do what they want.

She sent me a picture of herself.

- So this is the little girl.

- She's not little anymore.

She doesn't want anyone to know

what she looks like now, or where she is.

There still are men who would hurt her.

Poor kid. She not only has to hide,

but she's got to feel responsible...

...for women whacking their tongues off

in her name.

I'd help her if I knew how

or even where she is, but I can't find out.

- Can I have it?

- What?

- The picture.

- Why?

Don't know.

Walt!

Watch out for the undertow!

Be careful of the undertow!

How's your fellow in New York

working out?

It isn't. He says I make him feel

sexually ambiguous.

Can you imagine?

I'm sorry.

I'm going on a cruise next Friday,

for two weeks. The Club Med.

Maybe things will change.

Oh, God.

Some of my hate mail.

This one hopes that I'll get gang banged

by the Oakland Raiders.

There are a lot of sick people out there.

Your mother gets even worse than these.

You writing anything?

No.

If I could write, I'd feel better. Maybe.

What's the matter, Roberta?

I don't know.

I think I'm developing female intuition.

I don't know. It's probably nothing.

- You coming?

- In a minute.

Toad? What toad?

- I'm almost sorry we're going back.

- Home is home.

- Undertoad.

- There's no toad under the water.

Boy, you are something, Walt.

- Did you hear that, Dad?

- What's that?

Walt thinks there's a big toad

under the water.

You know, undertoad.

First there was the gradual student,

and now the undertoad.

- Come on, Walt's a fine kid.

- I know. He just can't talk.

Can I help you?

What is it?

God, you're one of them. Listen.

You've got the wrong house,

and the wrong guy. My name is Garp.

It's my mother you want.

I know all about it. I think

it's a hideous thing that you've done.

I didn't know you knew.

You can talk.

Why can't basketball players have kids?

- Because they're guys.

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