A Serious Man
Page 9
DANNY
Dad, why is Uncle Arthur in handcuffs?
LARRY
It’s all a mistake. I mean, not a mistake, a, a –
ARTHUR
Hello, Mrs Samsky.
LARRY
–a miscarriage –
COP
Does this man live here?
DANNY
He sleeps on the couch.
LARRY
Look! What did he do!
ARTHUR
Nothing! I didn’t do anything!
DANNY
It folds out. Dad sleeps on a cot.
LARRY
You can’t just –
COP
Sir, we picked this man up at the North Dakota.
Larry is brought up short.
LARRY
… The North Dakota!
ARTHUR
But I didn’t do anything!
DANNY
Dad, what’s the North Dakota?
COP
Solicitation. Sodomy. Very serious.
LARRY
… The North Dakota!
DANNY
What’s sodomy, Dad?
LAW OFFICE CONFERENCE ROOM
Don Milgram sits thinking, bouncing steepled fingers against his nose. Larry waits for his analysis.
Finally:
DON
What does Arthur say?
LARRY
He says he didn’t do anything.
DON
Uh-huh.
LARRY
He says … he just went in for a drink.
DON
Uh-huh.
Long beat.
… Does Arthur drink?
LARRY
No.
DON
Uh-huh.
LARRY
… He says he was confused.
DON
Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Well. The North Dakota. Well. You’ll need a criminal attorney.
LARRY
Okay. Who’s –
DON
Ron Meshbesher.
LARRY
Is he good?
DON
Ron is very good.
Larry’s gaze wanders. He becomes wistful.
LARRY
I don’t understand. He goes to mixers at the Hillel House.
DON
Mm.
A beat.
… I would call Ron Meshbesher.
LARRY
Is he expensive?
DON
Ron is not cheap.
An uncomfortable beat, broken by a knock at the door. Don projects:
Yeah?
The door cracks open. A pipe edges in, followed by a peeking face: Solomon Schlutz.
… Oh, good! Sol, come on in, we could use some good news.
Solomon Schlutz is a large man in shirtsleeves and suspenders. He has the smooth impassive face of a sphinx with a pipe clenched in its teeth.
He glides into the room, a sheaf of files tucked under one arm.
… Sol has been looking into the property-line issues …
Solomon Schlutz seats himself at the conference table and starts sorting and arranging the files into three piles. … He wouldn’t tell me the details but he seems to think there’s a nifty way out of this. Says it was pure luck that he caught something.
A confirming grunt from Solomon Schlutz as he continues to arrange the files, his eye occasionally lingering on a specific page.
… I guess that’s why you’re full partner, huh Sol?
This sally does not even earn a grunt from Solomon Schlutz, who continues to shuffle papers into order, now and then pausing to squint.
Don smiles at Larry and fills the silence:
… Danny’s bar mitzvah is …?
LARRY
This week.
DON
This shabbas! Great!
Solomon Schlutz clears his throat and both men instantly give him their attention.
He carefully justifies the edges of the closest pile of papers, takes the pipe from his mouth, gives Larry a smile that seems to take some effort, and then taps the pipe in a large glass ashtray.
He looks up again at Larry, this time shocked. His stunned look on Larry holds for a long beat.
Larry returns a bewildered look.
Solomon Schlutz, staring at Larry as if he were some sort of monster, emits one barking syllable:
SOLOMON SCHLUTZ
Gah!
His stare holds. He reddens.
DON
… Sol?
Solomon Schlutz’s face travels from the red end of the spectrum to the violet.
SOLOMON SCHLUTZ
Nnnnff!
The pipe clatters out of his hand. The hand grabs at his own shirt front.
… Glufffl …
Now his head pitches back. His backflung weight and twisting body send his chair tipping over, one hand still clutching at his chest while the other frantically waves. He disappears behind the conference table and lands with a floor-shaking thump. His writhing and gurgling remain audible.
DON
Sol! Sol!
Don Milgram has risen to look down at his fallen colleague; now he flings open the conference room door and bellows into the office:
An ambulance! Quick! Somebody call an ambulance! A doctor!
A secretary looks in and screams.
SOLOMON SCHLUTZ
Garf! … Nnlogl …
BLEGEN HALL
Larry walks into the outer office clutching his briefcase, eyes wide, shell-shocked. The secretary looks up from her phone.
SECRETARY
Dick Dutton. Columbia Record Club.
LARRY
Heart attack. Call back.
HIS OFFICE
Larry sits in heavily behind his desk.
A beat.
He opens the top-left desk drawer. He withdraws the bulging white envelope and opens its flap.
He runs a finger over the wad of bills.
VOICE
Larry?
He looks up, startled.
Arlen Finkle stands in the doorway.
… As you know, the tenure committee meets – are you all right?
Larry sits frozen, holding the envelope.
LARRY
I’m … fine.
ARLEN FINKLE
I’m sorry. I know you’ve hit a rough patch.
LARRY
Thank you. I’m fine.
He puts the envelope in the desk drawer and closes it.
ARLEN FINKLE
Uh-huh. Well. As you know, the tenure committee meets next Wednesday to make its final determinations. If there’s –
LARRY
Arlen, I am not an evil man!
Arlen looks at him, shocked.
ARLEN FINKLE
Larry! Of course not!
LARRY
I am not –
ARLEN FINKLE
We don’t make moral judgements!
LARRY
I went to the Aster Art once. I saw Swedish Reverie.
ARLEN FINKLE
It’s okay, Larry, we don’t need to know! The tenure committee –
LARRY
It wasn’t even erotic! Although it was, in a way.
ARLEN FINKLE
It’s all right, Larry. Believe me.
Larry calms somewhat.
LARRY
… Okay.
ARLEN FINKLE
Okay. Okay. We, uh, we decide on Wednesday, so if there’s anything you want to submit in support of your tenure application, we should have it by then. That’s all.
LARRY
Submit. What? What do you –
ARLEN FINKLE
Well. Anything. Published work. Anything else you’ve done outside of the institution. Any work that we might not be aware of.
LARRY
I haven’t done anything.
ARLEN FINKLE
Uh-huh.
LARRY
I haven’t published.
&n
bsp; ARLEN FINKLE
Uh-huh.
LARRY
Are you still getting those letters?
ARLEN FINKLE
Uh-huh.
LARRY
Those anonymous –
ARLEN FINKLE
Yes, I know. Yes.
A beat. Larry nods.
LARRY
Okay. Okay. Wednesday.
ARLEN FINKLE
Okay. Don’t worry. Doing nothing is not bad. Ipso facto. It’s okay, relax. Try to relax.
MRS. SAMSKY’S BEDROOM
Larry is making strenuous love to Mrs. Samsky.
MRS. SAMSKY
So good … so good …
She rolls on top of Larry to straddle him and, while humping, she lights a mentholated cigarette. Larry moans.
LARRY
Oh my God, Mrs Samsky …
Above her head is the low cottage-cheese ceiling of the bedroom. Outside we can hear Mr. Brandt mowing the lawn.
We hear the front door opening.
Larry hisses:
… Who is it?
Footsteps are approaching along the hall. Mrs. Samsky does not react; her look, though uninvolved, stays on Larry even as the bedroom door opens behind her and Clive Park enters wearing a traffic mask.
Larry is mortified:
Clive, please! Wait outside!
Mrs. Samsky blows smoke into Larry’s eyes.
Close on Larry as his eyes close against the smoke and then open again. A shadow falls across his face.
His point-of-view: a wooden plank is just being slid into place over his head to bring on black. The bang of hammer on nailhead. In the black:
SY ABLEMAN’S VOICE
Nailing it down is so impawtant.
We hear the chanting of kaddish and the sound of dirt hitting the top of the coffin. It drums a steady rhythm. Grace Slick’s voice enters: “Somebody to Love”. Another voice fills the break in the vocals just before the chorus:
MRS. SAMSKY’S VOICE
It’s something we do. For recreation.
On the chorus downbeat, a crescent moon pops into the black. Mr. Brandt traverses the sky, pushing his lawnmower. A cow flies the opposite way. Stars twinkle. Sy Able man walks across the sky dressed like a shtetl elder, a bindlestick over one shoulder.
Larry bolts upright in bed.
Sudden quiet.
Uncle Arthur is snoring in the tatty motel room’s other bed.
A title:
MARSHAK
LARRY
He stands looking down in low shot. Overhead is cheap Johnson- Armstrong dropped ceiling.
LARRY
Please. I need help. I’ve already talked to the other rabbis.
Please.
Reverse shows an elderly Eastern European woman seated behind a desk, looking up at Larry.
… I won’t take much of his time. I need help. I need Marshak. It’s not about Danny’s bar mitzvah. My boy Danny. This coming shabbas. Very joyous event. That’s all fine. It’s, it’s more about myself, I’ve … I’ve had quite a bit of tsuris lately. Marital problems. Professional. You name it. This is not a frivolous request. This is a serious – I’m a serious – I’m, uh, I’ve tried to be a serious man. You know, tried to do right, be a member of the community, raise the, raise the, Danny, Sarah, they both go to school, Hebrew school, a good breakfast. Well, Danny goes to Hebrew school, Sarah doesn’t have time, she mostly … washes her hair. Apparently there are several steps involved. But you don’t have to tell Marshak that. Just tell him I need help. Please. I need help.
He lapses into silence, staring at the secretary.
She stares inscrutably back.
After a moment she rises, goes to the door behind her, opens it, shuffles into the dimness of an inner office decorated with arcana, Judaic and otherwise.
Larry cranes to see past her. Her own body and the weak light preclude a good view of the figure in the depths of the room. But one can see that the man is old and bent, motionless behind a bare desk.
Murmured voices in Hebrew.
Larry waits.
The murmuring ends.
The old woman turns and shuffles back. She closes the door on the motionless rabbi and sits creakily behind her own desk.
SECRETARY
The rabbi is busy.
LARRY
He didn’t look busy!
As she starts shuffling papers:
SECRETARY
He’s thinking.
NIGHT
Larry, asleep in bed.
Weeping, soft, suppressed.
Larry stirs. He opens his eyes.
After a groggy beat he reacts to the weeping. He looks over.
LARRY
Arthur …? Arthur?
Arthur is a dim mound on the next bed. His weeping continues.
For no reason Larry continues to keep his voice to a whisper:
… Arthur. What’s wrong?
No answer.
… Arthur. It’ll be okay. Arthur. We’ll get Ron Meshbesher. It’ll be okay –
ARTHUR
AAAHHHH!
Shockingly loud, the scream is hard to interpret.
Arthur flings off his bedclothes, leaps from the bed and runs to the door. In boxer shorts and undershirt, he flings the door open and runs outside.
LARRY
Arthur!
Larry leaps from his bed, also in his underwear.
He goes to the door but pauses, peering cautiously out. Satisfied that the courtyard is deserted, he plunges into it.
COURTYARD
The courtyard/parking lot is hard lit by ghastly mercury vapor lights. The motel pool, surrounded by chain-link fence, has been drained. Its white concrete interior is cracked and weedy.
Uncle Arthur is hunched weeping in a corner of the pool enclosure.
LARRY
Arthur!
He opens the creaking gate and scurries over to Arthur.
… You’ve got to pull yourself together!
Arthur is suddenly angry. His voice slaps off the concrete:
ARTHUR
It’s all shit, Larry! It’s all shit!
LARRY
Arthur. Don’t use that word.
ARTHUR
It’s all fucking shit!
LARRY
Arthur! Come on!
ARTHUR
Look at everything Hashem has given you! And what do I get! I get fucking shit!
LARRY
Arthur. What do I have? I live at the Jolly Roger.
ARTHUR
You’ve got a family. You’ve got a job. Hashem hasn’t given me bupkes.
LARRY
It’s not fair to blame Hashem, Arthur. Please. Sometimes – please calm down – sometimes you have to help yourself.
ARTHUR
Don’t blame me! You fucker!
LARRY
Arthur. Please.
ARTHUR
Hashem hasn’t given me shit. Now I can’t even play cards.
He resumes weeping.
LARRY
Arthur. This isn’t the right forum. Please. Not by the pool.
Arthur weeps.
Arthur … It’s okay … It’s okay …
MORNING
Larry and Arthur are driving. In the windshield through which we look at them, the reflections of towering conifers stream by. It seems to be a glorious day.
LARRY
Is this it?
Both men peer out.
ARTHUR
I think so … yeah … there …
He nods at the road ahead.
A signpost, the old-fashioned kind with wooden fingers pointing the different directions, has one finger indicating the way to “Canada”.
We tip off the sign as Larry’s car passes and recedes. There is a canoe strapped to its roof.
BOUNDARY WATERS
Beautiful, wooded, remote.
The car is parked at water’s edge, having backed down a two-track lane worn through the undergrowth. Larry and
Arthur are lowering their canoe into the water.
LARRY
Okay …
He straightens. Arthur straightens. Larry hugs him.
… Look …
They separate and Larry pulls a white envelope from his pocket and gives it to Arthur.
… This’ll help you get back on your feet.
Arthur looks into the envelope.
ARTHUR
Oh my God. Where did you get this?
LARRY
Doesn’t matter. When you –
ARTHUR
This is a lot of money!
LARRY
It should get you started.
ARTHUR
This is a lot of money! Are you sure you don’t need it?
LARRY
Arthur, I’m fine. Come on, get in. When you’re settled …
Arthur climbs into the canoe.
… let me know how to get in touch.
He pushes the boat off. Arthur twists to look back. As he drifts away:
ARTHUR
Are you sure this is okay?
LARRY
It’s fine. It’s fine.
Larry waves.
Arthur waves bravely back, then turns to pick up the paddle. A couple of strokes and he turns back with a last thought.
ARTHUR
Larry. I’m sorry. What I said last night.
LARRY
I know. It’s okay.
A lingering look from Arthur, and then he turns back to paddle.
A gunshot.
Blood spurts from the back of Uncle Arthur’s neck.
He slumps forward, dead.
VOICE
Good shot!
Larry looks wildly around. He sees:
Mr. Brandt and Mitch in their camo fatigues, hard to pick out in the foliage. They are looking toward the canoe, Mitch just lowering his rifle.
Mr. Brandt’s look swings into the lens. He points at us:
… There’s another Jew, son.