Trainspotting Page #17

INT. CONSULTING ROOM - DAY

The Doctor watches in silence as the Hostess, now dressed

as a medical technician, draws blood from Renton's arm and

puts it into a tube. She marks the tube with a pre-printed,

numbered label.

INT. STUDIO - DAY

Mother opens one of the envelopes. She is speechless with

joy. The plastic booth opens up. Lights flash again, etc.

Renton steps out.

INT. SOCIAL CLUB - NIGHT

Renton, his Mother and Father sit at a table in the local

social club. It is a Saturday night and the club is busy.

Everyone sits in rapt silence. It is not initially clear

what is going on. Near the bar a Caller with a microphone

calls over the PA - Two and four, twenty-

four...seven...fifteen...clickety-click, sixty-six - And

so on, as he draws the numbers from the drum. Everyone

studies their cards, except Renton, who studies the people

instead, his drink untouched. The number-calling continues

until suddenly interrupted by Mother's voice.

MOTHER:

Mark...Mark, you've got a house.

House! House! For goodness's sake,

Mark.

They bustle around him and pass his card to the front.

RENTON (V.O.)

It seems, however, that I really

am the luckiest guy in the world.

Several years of addiction right

in the middle of an epidemic,

surrounded by the living dead, but

not me -- I'm negative. It's

official. And once the pain goes

away, that's when the real battle

starts. Depression. Boredom. You

feel so f***ing low, you'll want

to f***ing top yourself.

His mother counts a wad of money in front of him.

EXT. HOUSING ESTATE - DAY

On the door of a flat 'plaguer', 'HIV', and 'junky AIDS

scum' are daubed on the walls. The sound of a ball being

regularly bounced against a wall can be heard.

INT. TOMMY'S FLAT - NIGHT

It is poorly furnished. Tommy is seated. Renton has the

football, which he kicks against the wall and catches,

then drops and kicks again, and so on. The ball is slightly

flat.

RENTON:

Are you getting out much?

TOMMY:

No.

RENTON:

Following the game at all?

TOMMY:

No.

RENTON:

No. Me Neither.

Renton drops the ball. It rolls to a halt in the corner.

He sits down.

TOMMY:

You take the test?

RENTON:

Aye.

TOMMY:

Clear?

RENTON:

Aye.

TOMMY:

That's nice.

RENTON:

I'm sorry, Tommy.

TOMMY:

Have you got any gear on you?

RENTON:

No, I'm clean.

TOMMY:

Well, sub us, then, mate. I'm

expecting a rent cheque.

Renton produces some of his bingo win. As he hands the

notes over, their eyes and hands meet for a moment. Tommy

puts the money away.

TOMMY:

Thanks, Mark.

RENTON:

No problem. No problem -- easy to

say when its some other poor c*nt

with shite for blood.

INT. HOSPITAL - NIGHT

Renton walks along a corridor and into a ward.

INT. WARD - DAY

Sheets cover the lower half of Swanney in bed. They are

thrown back to reveal the stump of an above-knee amputation.

SWANNEY:

Surprise! Pa-pah!

Renton sits down and takes it in silence.

Hit the artery by mistake. Common enough error, or so the

quack tells us, as though that's going to make my leg grown

back. Still, it could have been worse, it could have been

my f***ing dick. And I tell you what, in this place you

get looked after: clean sheets, regular meals and all the

morphine you can eat.

RENTON:

Great.

SWANNEY:

And see when I get out of here.

I've got plans. Going to get myself

straightened out and head off to

Thailand, where women really know

how to treat a guy. See, out there

you can live like a king if you've

got white skin and a few crisp

tenners in your pocket. No f***ing

problem.

RENTON:

Sure.

SWANNEY:

The strategy is this: get clean,

get mobile, get into dealing, and

this time next year I'll be watching

the rising sun with a posse of

oriental buttocks parked on my

coupon.

RENTON:

Sounds great, Swanney.

SWANNEY:

Yeah.

RENTON:

You'll have to send us a postcard.

SWANNEY:

Sure will, pal, sure will.

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