Tulip Fever Page #5

(whispering):

- What are we after?

- Buried treasure.

- What?

- Tulip bulbs.

- Huh?

- Do you have the fork? I told you to bring a fork.

- This is a fork.

- A garden fork.

- We haven't got a garden, we have a kitchen. You should've said.

- We should've brought a ladder.

- GERRIT:
Go on, then.

(Gerrit straining)

(grunts)

(grunting)

- Huh.

- That's handy.

- What is this place?

- A convent.

- We're stealing from nuns?

- They don't belong to the nuns. They belong to... the pope.

- Oh, I don't mind stealing from the pope.

- No, no, no, no. I don't mind stealing from no pope.

(honking loudly)

- (shouts) Move!

- Gerrit.

- Geese!

- Gerrit!

- Geese!

(grunts)

(birds chirping, bell tolls)

(grunts, moans)

(groans)

- I'm sorry.

- I'm glad to see you.

- Why?

- I thought you were dead. Good morning. Who are you?

- My name is Jan Van Loos, I'm an artist. I'm in love with a woman who loves me. I have no money. I can't think of anything else to say about me, except that I'm very sorry.

- Evidently, not a very good artist.

- I think I am becoming good. Why are you weighing them?

- The more they weigh, the more they're worth. Also, the more babies. Look. These little nodes, each one will become a bulb. Here is a node from our best bulb. It sold for 920 florins at auction. Unfortunately, we had already sold it privately for 18, hidden amongst ordinary simple-color flowers. But it's found its way home, by the generosity of the next purchaser, who had sentimental memories of me from many years ago. Never underestimate God. He forgets nothing.

- I would like to get a foot into the tulip business. I think it's the answer to my problems. Will you help me?

(cow lowing)

- ABBESS:
First you can get your feet among those. They belonged to a fishmonger who disappeared into the Navy. Lift them, store them, put them into the market. Replace them, and then invest wisely with the surplus. Perhaps you'll make your fortune.

(pigs snorting)

(indistinct conversations and shouting)

- We're selling!

- Jan! (laughs)

- I don't feel right?

- Where?

- My head.

- You just need some rest.

(laughter, raucous chatter)

- Make your bid.

- MAN:
Ten!

- That's 49 whites worth 49 guilders.

- You're mad.

- 22 or I walk.

- MAN:
Done.

- MARIA:
I have a terrible craving for... sugared almonds.

- SOPHIA:
Sugared almonds? I'll get some tomorrow.

- You're very kind to me, madam.

- There's an Admiral Eyck to be offered to the room. 20 florins each buys us a 50th share in a connoisseur's bulb, maybe more. Word is, by the time it goes back on the market, its value will have doubled; that's how the market works!

- If the market keeps going up, why is anybody selling anything if it's going to double in a month?

- Then we can get in early on a bulb that might triple in a month!

- But it can't go on forever, can it?

- DE BYE:
Oh, it can! - Why not?

Why can't it? - Mr. De Bye!

I call it the theory of the greater fool.

- (laughs) - There you are!

Are you in? Are you in?

- I'm in!

- Yes!

- Grout needs to be white, madam.

- What are you doing? You're supposed to be resting.

- Bored. You don't just wipe the ironwork. You have to polish it in the summer. He notices if you don't and he's coming back today. You'll need a bigger cushion.

DAAN:
We'll start the auction at 240!

We're gonna be rich.

We're gonna be rich!

- 240!

"540!

(yells indistinctly)

- 580!

- MAN:
600!

- Six!

- 720!

- Come on. Nine!

- Here, here, here! Sir!

- Seven!

- Right over here!

- DAAN:
750!

- Do we have 800? Anyone?

- I'll give you 12!

- DAAN:
Give me 1,200!

- The offer stands at 1,200.

- MAN:
I'll take that bulb off you for a half-share in five Miracle cream and purples.

- Who are you?

- Your landlord's bailiff.

- No.

- It's a disgrace, sending these bailiffs around! I'm worth hundreds! If I went liquid now, I'd be a bigger fool than I look.

- Even bigger?

- Shut up, Gerrit.

- GERRIT:
Hey! Hey, you forgot the nicest one!

- Do you see what's happening? The connoisseurs' bulbs are rising more than the common bulbs. All we have to do is put all our eggs in one basket.

- Yes. A single bulb. The rarer the better.

(knocks on door)

- Boat tickets, Mr. Van Loos. As ordered. 600 florins. Cash.

- Certainly. After tomorrow's auction.

(frantic clamoring)

- MAN:
220!

- MAN 2:
230!

- MAN 3:
250!

- MAN 4:
240!

- 300!

- Weren't you an artist?

- I still am, this is just...

Oh-ho, I see.

I'm still a weaver!

MAN 5:

500!

"550!

"600!

- Mr. Prater tells me you've been busy. He doesn't mean painting. You're losing your bloom and, unlike tulips, yours will not be renewed in the spring.

- I have a proposition. I'm worth a thousand florins in bulbs and certificates at today's prices. I'd like to invest everything in your fishmonger's Admiral.

- Your proposition is absurd.

(scoffs)

- The Admiral Maria is not a snapdragon. It's a 2,000 florin tulip bulb. Which I'm willing to let go for 1,500, out of charitable feeling.

- 1,200.

- Fourteen. And I have to go and choose the hymns for matins.

- Done.

(door opens)

- I'll need a week or two.

(door closes)

(sighs)

(whispers):

- Willem. Go.

(laughs)

(groans)

(loud groaning)

- Maria? What's happening?

- Shh!

- Oh, it's starting. It's starting to hurt.

- Are you sure?

(whimpering)

Cornelis! Cornelis?

(groans)

- I think it's starting!

- Maria! Maria, go fetch the midwife!

- No, no. No.

- Go fetch the midwife!

- I need her here with me. Go! Go!

(groans)

(Maria whimpers)

(door closes, groans)

- Come here. Hurry. Come on.

(grunts)

- Take it slowly.

- Oh, it's coming.

- One step at a time.

(festive music plays in the distance)

(thunder rumbling)

- (Maria groaning)

- SOPHIA:
Breathe. Breathe for me.

(groaning continues)

- MIDWIFE:
Ooh, child.

(thunder crashes)

(Maria cries out)

(humming)

(pounds on door)

- Dr. Sorgh, thank God!

- How is she?

- Your midwife won't let me in. Poor Sophia has been in labor for four hours.

(groaning continues)

(knocking on door)

- Who is it?

- Dr. Sorgh.

- MIDWIFE:
Shh.

(Sophia groans with Maria)

- Hmm. Hmm.

(quietly):

- Wait.

- Shh.

- (latch opens)

(Sophia yells)

(mimics yelling)

(Maria and Sophia panting)

(Maria whimpers)

(moaning)

- Sophia. You're doing so well.

- MIDWIFE:
And breathe, and...

(bellows)

- Shh. Shh. Shh. Shh.

(Sophia shushes softly)

(Sophia resumes groaning)

- MIDWIFE:
And again.

(Maria groaning in the distance)

- MIDWIFE:
Yes!

- Mr. Sandvoort?

- CORNELIS:
Yes!

- Mr. Sandvoort.

- How is she?

- It's fine. The birth will be fine. But I must just ask you some questions about Mrs. Sandvoort. Has she suffered with great heat these past weeks?

- Heat?

- Did she seem hot to the touch?

- In truth, my wife hasn't wanted me to touch her for many months.

- Ah. Well, the skin may have been painful.

- Why?

- I'm sure it's nothing.

- MIDWIFE:
Come here.

(thunder crashing)

(breathing heavily)

(Maria panting)

(Maria moaning)

(thunder rumbles)

(knocking)

- What's wrong?

(knocking)

- Hello?

(knocking)

- GERRIT:
No answer?

- Shall I get that?

- Hello?

(humming)

- My master sends me to ask Maria a question.

- Ask me.

- Is it started yet?

- Yes.

- What is it?

- What is what?

- What it is that has started.

- Did he ask you to ask that?

- No.

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