"COLD MOUNTAIN"
by
Anthony Minghella
Based On The Novel "Cold Mountain"
by
Charles Frazier
EXT. COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN, NORTH CAROLINA. DAY
ON A BLACK SCREEN: Credits.
A RAUCOUS VOICE (SWIMMER’S) CHANTING IN THE CHEROKEE LANGUAGE.
A RANGE OF MOUNTAINS SLOWLY EMERGES: shrouded in a blue mist
like a Chinese water color. Below them, close to a small
town, YOUNG MEN, armed with vicious sticks and stripped to
the waist, come charging in a muscular, steaming pack.
Their opponents, also swinging sticks, attach the pack.
A ball, barely round, made of leather, emerges, smacked
forwards by INMAN, who hurtles after it and collides with a
stick swung by SWIMMER, a young and lithe American Indian.
Inman falls, clutching his nose. The ball bobbles on the
ground in front of him. He grabs it and gets to his feet,
the blood pouring from his nose.
His team form a phalanx around him and he continues to charge.
A PRISTINE CABRIOLET pulled by an impressive horse, comes
down towards the town. It has to pass across the temporary
field of play, parting the teams. Some of the contestants
grab their shirts to restore propriety as the Cabriolet and
its two exotic passengers passes by.
The driver is a man in his early fifties, dressed in the
severe garb of a minister, MONROE. And next to him, a self-
conscious girl in the spotless elaborate, architectural skirts
of the period, is his daughter, ADA. Inman, using his shirt
to staunch his battered nose, looks at Ada, astonished by
her. An angel in this wild place.
Now Swimmer stops chanting and begins, more hesitantly, to
translate into English:
SWIMMER’S VOICE (V.O.)
You will be lonely. You will howl
like a dog as you walk alone. You
will carry dog shit cupped in your
hands. You will be smeared with dog
shit. Your spirit will wane and
dwindle to blue, the colour of
despair...
As the Cabriolet passes, SWIMMER takes the ball an with a
whoop starts to run towards the opposing goal. The game
resumes. Ada looks back as the men swarm into each other,
sticks and fists flailing.
EXT. COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. NIGHT
A SIDE OF BEEF turns on a huge barbecue. The battered teams
eating, drinking hard liquor, rehearsing victory and defeat,
illuminated by a roaring bonfire. Swimmer is sewing up a
gash in Inman’s cheek as he continues to translate:
SWIMMER
...This is your path. There is no
other. That's a curse you can use on
the Yankee before battle.
INMAN
And that works?
SWIMMER
You have to say it in Cherokee.
INMAN
You said it to me in Cherokee.
During this, Monroe and Ada have arrived, escorted by SALLY
SWANGER, a local woman, middle-aged, kindly, and her husband,
ESCO, a glorious curmudgeon. The Monroes are introduced to
various locals. Inamn watches them, on the other side of the
crowd. The Reverend Monroe, his daughter Ada. Up from
Charleston, bringing God's word to you heathens! Is Esco's
preferred introduction. Building a church. Inman watches
Ada, moves his head to keep her in view as Swimmer stitches,
and winces with pain.
SWIMMER
So keep your head still.
Sally collects plates for the Monroes. Hands them to Ada and
her father, who wait, patiently, for silverware. Esco takes
a plate, picks up a skewer of meat, bites on it. Monroe
pluckily follows suit.
INMAN
(to Swimmer)
Anyway, there won't be any war. And
if there is, they say it won't last
a week.
END OF CREDITS AND FADE TO:
EXT. CONFEDERATE LINES. PREDAWN
CAPTION: PETERSBURG, VIRGINIA. JULY 30TH, 1864. IN THE FOURTH
YEAR OF THE CIVIL WAR.
A STAND OF TREES. The pastoral lush green Virginia. A RABBIT
surfaces from its hole. Peace and beauty.
A second RABBIT shakes itself from the ground, darts into
open ground to confront the FORBIDDING TRENCHES OF THE
CONFEDERATE AND UNION ARMIES, RANGED AGAINST EACH OTHER ON
THE OUTSKIRTS OF PETERSBURG. Massive wooden barricades in
the shape of crosses, rows of X's, define the two lines. The
Federals have been laying siege for months. So early and
it's already hot. The trees are an oasis of green in a world
of mud between the two stark and ugly scars of the trenches.
IN THE CONFEDERATE LINES, the men are rousing, boiling water
for coffee or to shave, smoking, stiff from night. There's a
large gun emplacement and some men still sleep against the
stub-nosed cannon. Another RABBIT is disturbed from its hole.
Ears pricked up to a distant rumbling.
INT. TUNNEL. PREDAWN.
A dark hole. Some evil place. A scraping sound. Shapes
burrowing forwards at a crouch. A silent purpose.
EXT. CONFEDERATE LINES. PREDAWN.
Young OAKLEY, freshly recruited, approaches a group of men,
like him Highlanders from Company F of the 25th North Carolina
Regiment. He doles out breakfast. Inman, loading his heavy
LeMats pistol, its nine rounds, is not hungry. Oakley serves
another, ROURKE, last seen in the scrum at Cold Mountain.
Oakley keeps his head low as he serves.
ROURKE
Don't worry, son. Those Yankee boys
keep store hours. They ain't open
yet.
INT. TUNNEL. PREDAWN
Shadows and shapes. A BARREL rumbles along the tunnel. It
reaches a kneeling figure, who rolls it forwards. A relay
team. At the end of the tunnel, where it widens, a man, naked
to the waist, crouches, stacking the barrels.
EXT. CONFEDERATE LINES. PREDAWN
A RABBIT, scared up, darts along the trench. Rourke sees it,
beckons to another Cold Mountain boy, Butcher.
BUTCHER
That's fresh breakfast. Shoot him!
ROURKE
I'm not firing, start the damn war
off.
Butcher chases after the rabbit, Rourke in raucous support.
INT. TUNNEL. PREDAWN
The crouching man has wrapped FUZE WIRE around the last
barrel, and now retreats, paying out the wire as he does so,
as each man in the tunnel crawls backwards behind him.
EXT. CONFEDERATE LINES. DAWN
Rourke weaves through the gun emplacements, laughing.
ROURKE
That's my rabbit!
Great sport. Inman, fifty yards away, looks over, amused,
goes back to his gun.
INT. TUNNEL. DAWN
The fuze wire is lit. It fizzes towards the barrels.
EXT. CONFEDERATE LINES. DAWN
Rourke is running BUT NOW THE GROUND BUCKLES UNDER HIM AND
HE'S BEING LIFTED SLOWLY INTO THE AIR, the earth swelling.
AN APOCALYPTIC EXPLOSION. FOUR TONS OF DYNAMITE RIP THE GROUND
OPEN IN A CRATER 135 FEET LONG, 90 FEET ACROSS, 30 FEET DEEP.
HORSES, GUNS, MEN ARE BLOWN TO PIECES AND THROWN UP INTO THE
AIR.
INMAN DISAPPEARS UNDER DIRT AND DEBRIS.
Pandemonium. The Confederates are in complete disarray. The
Federals pour forwards across NO MANS LAND, through the
peaceful oasis of trees, roaring the roar of attack. They
flood towards the crater, hundreds of them, charging into a
dense and impenetrable WALL OF SMOKE.
THEN THEY'RE INSIDE THE GREAT GASH OF CRATER AND CAN'T GET
OUT AGAIN, arriving at an insurmountable wall of mud.
The Confederates regroup. Orders are yelled. Chaos developing
into battle.
The Confederates begin firing into the crater. Guns and mortar
wheel round and empty into what is becoming a terrible death
trap.
Inman gets to his feet. Oakley with him, and rushes through
the smoke to the pit, emptying his LeMats into the crater.
LATER: A BLACK REGIMENT from the Union join the attack. Bodies
falling on bodies as the Federals charge in and pack their
comrades even tighter. The Confederates make a pincer movement
outside the Crater, forcing all the Federals in. It's
Medieval.
No escape.
THE CONFEDERATES jump into the pit to engage the Federals.
Hand to hand fighting. Too close for rifles, just bayonets,
and guns swung like clubs and Inman sliding down into that
hell, tiring the nine rounds, then the shotgun charge, which
does a terrible damage. Primitive. Unutterable carnage. Men
killing each other in embraces, soldier crushed against
soldier, desperate to survive, to kill, to live. An oozing
layer cake of bodies, dead and frantically alive, drowning
in slick.
YOUNG OAKLEY loses his rifle and picks up a magazine case,
clubbing his opponent, then slips onto him and is stuck with
a bayonet, the pain of which makes him squeal.
INMAN GOES AT IT. He's a warrior, punching and stabbing and
firing. A coldly efficient killer. He's grabbed from behind
and crushed, a hand gouging at his face, an almighty struggle.
He falls and lands on top of Oakley, and he and his Federal
opponent fight to the death with the wounded boy as their
pillow. The slaughter continues over and around them, the
sound, the sound of hell and madness. The boy has his arm
around Inman, like lovers.
LATER: The Confederates run after the retreating Union
soldiers, firing, cavalry riding them down. Inman stands,
the boy's blood all over him, exhausted and appalled. The
crater, behind him, an abattoir of men. The victors are
yelling, pumped mad with adrenaline. Butcher comes alongside
Inman.
BUTCHER
That was something! That's hell and
we've been there! Kicked old Nick's
asshole.
A WOUNDED BLACK SOLDIER sits up as Butcher celebrates.
Butcher runs over, but can't find a charge for his musket.
He looks around in the stack of corpses, pulling out weapons,
tries one: not loaded, throws it down, tries another: not
loaded. The wounded man can't get up, tries to drag himself
like a crab away from Butcher. Inman yells at him, appalled.
BUTCHER
You got a charge?
He picks up another musket. It fires. The wounded Federal
slumps back, dead.
EXT. CONFEDERATE LINES. DUSK
THE AFTERMATH. The dead being piled up for burial, divided
into allegiance. Wounded prisoners able to walk are led away.
A great deal of casual looting. Of boots, of equipment, of
personal items. Inman sees a soldier in the crater, lining
up wounded Federals, putting their heads in a row. THE MAN
EXTRACTS A HAMMER FROM HIS BELT AND, SATISFIED HE HAS AN
ECONOMIC ARRANGEMENT, PROCEEDS DOWN THE LINE, SMASHING EACH
SKULL.
Inman turns away, sees another Rebel, extravagantly costumed,
a strange FIDDLE head protruding from his knapsack. This is
STOBROD THEWES. He's bent over a dead Federal, examining his
mouth. He reaches behind his back and roots around in the
knapsack, producing A PAIR OF PLIERS, WHICH HE INSERTS INTO
THE CORPSE'S MOUTH. He's yanking away when A SWINGING BOOT
connects with his head and knocks him to the ground.
Startled, he looks up to see Inman hovering over him.
STOBROD
That's gold in his mouth he got no
need for.
(shrugs)
We take his boots.
He examines his fiddle for damage. Some orderlies pass,
lifting OAKLEY away on a gurney.
Oakley's pale as a maiden, the life leaking from him. Inman
walks a way with him. Oakley looks up, desperate to be brave.
OAKLEY
I got a few. You saw?
INMAN
I saw.
OAKLEY
I know you don't recognise me. I'm
Mo Oakley's boy.
(Inman finds this
incredible)
It's okay. I was thirteen when you
all left. Am I going to die?
Inman flicks his eyes to the Orderly, whose look confirms
the boy's wounds are certainly mortal.
INT. FIELD HOSPITAL. NIGHT
Inman sits on the ground beside Oakley's cot. Around them,
the wounded are certainly dying, makeshift care, oil lights,
groans.
OAKLEY
I'd like to hear some music while I
go.
EXT. CONFEDERATE LINES. NIGHT
Inman walks around the campfires. He hears some fiddle music.
It's Stobrod.
Stobrod sees Inman. Inman stares, his expression an
instruction, the turns and walks away.
INT. FIELD HOSPITAL. NIGHT
Stobrod stands over Oakley. Consults with Inman.
STOBROD
What about Bonaparte's Retreat? That's
one I play.
OAKLEY
Play me something sweet. Like a girl's
waiting for me.
Stobrod looks at Inman, confused.
OAKLEY
Play me something like there's nothing
to fear from a merciful Lord.
INMAN
(to Stobrod)
You heard him.
STOBROD
(nervous)
I only know a couple of tunes.
OAKLEY
Like when you're thirsty up at
Bishop's Creek and the water is so
cool.
Inman glares at Stobrod. And Stobrod starts to play.
Hesitant, then with gathering confidence, improvising,
increasingly expansive, as if he's as surprised as everyone
else. Oakley's lips move. A whisper. Inman leans in.
OAKLEY
I'm reaching Cold Mountain before
you.
Stobrod plays. It's wrenching. Oakley stills. Inman abruptly
puts his hand on the neck of the fiddle, stopping Stobrod.
The boy is dead. Inman gets to his feet and walks away.
INT. CONFEDERATE TENT. NIGHT
A dozen men in the tent. Inman has a BOOK, its cover gone,
rolled up and tied with a leather strap. His bookmark is A
FADED TINTYPE PHOTOGRAPH of a solemn young woman. He unwraps
the book carefully and reads a page by the sickly light next
to his bedroll. An OFFICER comes into the tent, approaches
Inman, who makes a stand.
OFFICER
Don't get up, soldier. You are
mentioned tonight in my report. You
are a credit to the Highlands, to
North Carolina and to the Cause.
INMAN
(tight)
Do you have news, sir, on my
application for transfer?
OFFICER
I know. A bloody day. It's what our
General said: Good thing war is so
terrible else a man might end up
liking it too much.
INMAN
Sir. It was my understanding the
medical corps was desperate for
volunteers.
OFFICER
Right now, soldier, it's me who is
in need of volunteers. There's a
dozen Yankees in that stand of trees
between us. Stuck there from the
retreat. Come daylight they can shoot
us down for sport.
EXT. CONFEDERATE LINES. NIGHT
A beautiful night. Lots of stars. Inman and three others,
including Butcher, slide over the top of the trench, far to
one side of the stand of trees. The plan is to cast a wide
arc that will bring them around back of the trees, closer to
the enemy side than their own. The four men slither over the
ground. They pause. Inman has arrived at a tangle of corpses.
He slithers over them.
They work their way towards the trees. THERE ARE A HALF DOZEN
FEDERALS CROUCHING IN THE COVER OF THE TREES. They are dozing.
Only one of them sits with a rifle surveying the Confederate
lines, the others have their backs to the enemy, sitting
against the trunks, grabbing a few minute's sleep.
As the four rebels approach, still crawling, one of the
Federals opens his eyes, sees the attack, shifts for his
rifle. INMAN IMMEDIATELY STANDS UP, FIRING INSTANTLY, killing
him and two others, while Butcher throws himself at another.
The exchanges are brief and savage and one of Inman's party
and all of the Federals lay dead. Then the rebels break from
the trees.
A FLARE goes up, then another, both from the Confederate
trenches. INMAN AND HIS ACCOMPLICES ARE PICKED OUT IN A
BRILLIANT GREEN LIGHT. Shots follow, from both sides, aimed
at the three returning men as they zigzag towards their own
lines. As they get close, voices cry out, rippling down the
trench, joining their own admonitions: Don't shoot, Hold
your fire, they're our boys, Hold your fire!!! They're almost
home. Butcher is laughing, whooping. Then just as suddenly
he falls, wounded. Inman stops, turns back, runs to him.
Inman collects Butcher, drags him, carries him. They're fifty
yards from their lines. A BULLET CATCHES INMAN IN THE NECK.
He goes down like a tree, blood pouring from his neck. Lying
on the ground, he watches the phosphorescent lights slowly
fade to black, all sound fading with them.
EXT. CHAPEL, COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. 3 YEARS EARLIER. DAY
A WOODEN JOIST swings across the view of the Blue Ridge. Men
are swarming over the roof of an unfinished CHAPEL, below
which appears the small town of COLD MOUNTAIN. Among the
workers, armed with nails and hammer, knees clutching a
rafter, is Inman, fresh and a whole lifetime younger. Rourke
and Butcher are also there hammering, building, kidding around
and Oakley, barely a teenager.
Below them, women are setting up a lunch for the workers,
ADA amongst them. She has the circumspect air of the blue
stocking, uncomfortably aware of the dirt beneath her hem,
the men's radar for her every move. Inman watches her as
Sally Swanger approaches.
SALLY
(to Ada, as Monroe
moves off)
Ada, how are you settling in? Are
you liking the farm?
ADA
Very much. It's beautiful country.
SALLY
So listen -- if you would say hello
to one of these fools, I'll get a
field cleared this weekend.
ADA
Anyone? Like a forfeit?
SALLY
(pointing at Inman
who immediately looks
away)
No. Him in particular, up in the
rafters. Been pressing me all morning.
UP ON THE ROOFBEAMS OF THE CHAPEL, the men are preoccupied
with talk of secession from the Union.
ROURKE
(hammering)
I call this nail: Northern Aggression.
(hammering)
I call this nail: a free nigger.
BUTCHER
Show some respect -- these nails are
making a church.
ROURKE
(hammering)
I call this nail: respect the church.
Ada comes over, carrying a tray of lemonade glasses. Calls
up to Inman.
ADA
Hello.
Inman swings down. He feels the other men staring, burning a
hole in his head.
ADA
I'm Ada Monroe.
INMAN
I'm Inman.
ADA
Inman?
INMAN
W. P. Inman.
ADA
W. P. Inman.
INMAN
Repeating a thing doesn't improve
it.
(shrugs)
People call me Inman.
ADA
If you were to take a glass of
lemonade your friends might stop
staring. Inman.
INMAN
They're not my friends.
He drops down to ground level, takes the lemonade, scowls at
the other guys. They're breaking for lunch and as they make
their way to the trestle tables -- they enjoy jostling Inman.
INMAN
Thank you.
ADA
And what do you do?
INMAN
I work wood. Got a piece of land.
Mostly work wood.
ADA
Clear fields?
INMAN
(uncomfortable)
I can clear a field.
ADA
So, was there something in particular
you wished to say to me?
INMAN
(thinks about it)
Not that comes to me.
(hands back the glass)
I'll say thank you for the lemonade.
And he turns and joins the other men gathering round the
tables for lunch. Ada watches him, intrigued. Rourke and co.
approach ESCO SWANGER, a known sympathizer with the North,
to give him a bad time.
ROURKE
Esco loves the Yankees.
ESCO
I prefer a Yankee to a halfwit.
Inman arrives just as Rourke points a warning finger at Esco.
He pushes the finger down to get by. Esco continues:
ESCO
What is it you think you'd be fighting
for?
ROURKE
The South.
ESCO
And what's that when it's at home?
Esco's sons, ELLIS AND ACTON, who're working at the other
end of the building, have now arrived at the table.
ACTON
Pop, you causing trouble?
ESCO
No.
ELLIS
That means yes.
ESCO
You cut the wood, you carry the water
for good old King Cotton. Now you
want to fight for him. Somebody has
to explain it to me.
ACTON
(to Rourke and the
others)
Don't even try.
The others are desperate to tease Inman.
BUTCHER
How's the lemonade? Sweet?
Ada, at the lemonade stand again, watches them laughing at
Inman, who keeps his head fixed on the table.
EXT. CONFEDERATE LINES. NIGHT
INMAN, ON A GURNEY, carried, someone with a cloth to his
neck, which is soaked through with blood. They start to run
with him, heading for the field hospital, worried that he
will die before the wound can be staunched, cauterized.
Throughout, A STRANGE MUSIC PLAYS, discordant notes jangling:
EXT. SWANGER FARM. COLD MOUNTAIN. DAY
-- from A PIANO, lashed to a cart, as it bounces along the
lane, passing the Swanger Farm. Sally comes out to look.
It's Ada riding next to one of the farmhands, a second boy
keeping watch over the piano. Sally goes over.
SALLY
That's a fine looking thing.
ADA
I've been missing it.
SALLY
Thank you, by the way.
(from Ada's quizzical
look)
Inman's down in the bottom field,
clearing his debt.
ADA
Oh dear. And then he had nothing to
say.
SALLY
He was happy.
ADA
Really?
SALLY
Are men so different in Charleston?
ADA
Men? I don't know. I don't even know
what a woman should be like. In
Charleston I was called a thistle,
twice, by two different men. Both of
them -- they were hunting for a
simile, what was I like -- and thistle
came right to them.
SALLY
If you're saying you might like him,
why not go down and say hello.
EXT. BOTTOM FIELD, SWANGER FARM. DAY
Inman's working in the field, stripped to his undershirt,
hot work, wielding a scythe. He hears something and looks up
at the edge of the lane, ADA IS PLAYING THE PIANO, which is
still strapped to the cart. She briefly raises a hand to
Inman, then nods to the farmhand who sets them on their way
again. Inman smiles, waves back, watching as the cart rumbles
off down the track.
EXT. BLACK COVE FARM. NIGHT
It's pouting with rain. INSIDE THE FARMHOUSE, ADA IS PLAYING
THE PIANO.
Men and women crowd into the parlour, in best clothes,
celebrating the completion of the Chapel. Inman is outside
on the porch, his coat soaked, water pouring off his hat. He
looks at Ada. She finishes. Monroe steps in front of the
applause, smiling. His words of thanks leak through the window
to Inman, who stands, watching, listening.
INT. PARLOUR, BLACK COVE FARM. NIGHT
Monroe circulates, with Ada. He nods at a group of men, who
congregate in one part, not mingling. Their leader, TEAGUE,
might be a minister himself, favouring a black dress coat, a
black crow in the corner, eyes flashing. Ada doesn't know
them. Esco comes by. Monroe puts a hand on his arm.
MONROE
Esco, our friends there --
(indicating Teague
and co.)
-- they helped build the Chapel?
ESCO
That's Teague and his boys. I'd
recommend you kick them out except a
man don't kick a snake. One time the
Teague family owned the whole of
Cold Mountain. My farm, your farm,
all belonged to his grand-daddy.
Teague wanted this place bad. You
got it. He's here sniffing out an
advantage.
MONROE
There's no advantage here, but to
celebrate a job well done. Cheers --
(he raises his glass)
-- and thank you.
And Teague raises his glass across the room.
EXT. BLACK COVE FARM. NIGHT
Ada appears at the door opening it onto the porch. She's
carrying a tray with drinks. Acknowledges Inman.
ADA
Were you planning to come inside?
INMAN
I'm wetter than a fish.
ADA
There's a good fire going.
INMAN
I'm all right.
ADA
Somebody said you were enlisting.
(no response)
Are you?
INMAN
If there's a war we'll all fight.
ADA
(unimpressed)
If there's a mountain we'll all climb,
if there's an ocean we'll all drown.
INMAN
Call a thing a war makes it a
challenge to some men.
ADA
Did you get a picture made?
INMAN
Say again.
ADA
A tintype, with your gun and your
courage on display.
INMAN
You're laughing at me.
ADA
I don't know you.
INMAN
You're always carrying a tray.
ADA
I'm taking a drink over to the negroes
in the barn.
INMAN
(takes the tray)
I'll do that. I can't get much wetter.
He goes into the night rain. She watches him.
EXT. BLACK COVE FARM. DAY
A beautiful day, the farm peaceful. Inman walks up the path
to the farmhouse, its borders flowering and pretty, a slave
woman weeding. He knocks on the door. Monroe answers.
MONROE
Mr. Inman.
INMAN
Reverend.
MONROE
What can I do for you?
Inman hovers, awkward. Ada appears, awkward.
INMAN
I have some sheet music. Belonged to
my father. No use to me.
Ada comes forward, takes the package.
MONROE
You must come in.
INMAN
I should probably get along.
ADA
Mr. Inman is more comfortable
outdoors. Perhaps we might take a
walk.
MONROE
A splendid idea.
EXT. BLACK COVE FARM. DAY
Monroe and Inman and Ada touring the farm. It's a biggish
property, over three hundred acres. And well-tended by the
dozen slave farmhands who work it, some of whom are dotted
about in the landscape. Rolling mountains dominate the view.
MONROE
(expansive)
I want to get sheep into this field.
A big field doesn't look right without
sheep. You're a lucky fellow, Mr.
Inman, you've had this view all your
life.
INMAN
I think so.
MONROE
It's a special view. I dragged my
poor daughter to Cold Mountain from
Charleston because of my Doctors --
they say my heart is weak -- so the
air's meant to do me good. But it's
the view I think heals.
Ada walking behind, comes alongside the two men, threading
her arm into her father's but, by so doing, also arriving
next to Inman.
MONROE
I have to get on my visits. Can I
offer you a ride back into town?
Inman looks at Ada. No word.
INT. PARLOUR, BLACK COVE FARM. DAY
From the window Ada watches the Cabriolet head towards town.
At the piano, she unwraps the leather lace from the package
of music. Inside the first book of music, there's a
DAGUERREOTYPE OF INMAN with his LeMats, a typical Confederate
pose. Some of the music has left its imprint on the picture,
the notes like a melody over Inman's face. Ada picks them
out on the piano.
The ebullient sound of Shape Singing. A noisy choir letting
rip --
INT. CHAPEL, COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN, MAY 20TH, 1861. DAY
-- THE WHOLE CHURCH IS SINGING, MEN TO ONE SIDE: WOMEN TO
THE OTHER. Monroe conducts, sings. Inman is there, as is
Ada. He fixes on her neck, the way the hair falls.
The door bursts open. Young OAKLEY, apologetic nod to Monroe,
sits at the back, then leans forward, as the singing
continues, to say something to Rourke, who says something to
Butcher, the news spreading like wildfire. Rourke gets up,
leaves. Butcher gets up next, follows. Another man. Another.
Depleting the male voices, until only women and some of the
older men are singing and one side of the church is
practically empty.
Inman, remains, fixed on Ada. Who does not look round.
EXT. CHAPEL, COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. DAY
Those left in the congregation now spill out into what has
become a melee as the NEWS OF SECESSION goes up. Enormous
excitement, particularly among the boys, who now seem
curiously attractive to the girls. Inman blinks out into the
sun, Ada finds him. They're awkward as they watch other
sweethearts embracing.
ADA
Well, you have your war.
TEAGUE AND HIS MEN COME RIDING UP THE STREET, their horses
clearing a path amongst the celebrating crowd. Teague reins
in his horse and rides it up against Esco Swanger.
TEAGUE
Those who follow Lincoln, or preach
abolition, best keep one eye open
when they're sleeping, Old Bogey Man
might get you!
Inman steps between Esco and Teague, holding the reins of
Teague's horse, easy and dangerous.
INMAN
Are you the law all of a sudden?
Teague produces a document, which he waves in the air.
TEAGUE
That's right, son. Home Guard for
Haywood County. I'm the law from
today. You all go fight now. We'll
watch your sweethearts.
And he spurs on his horse, his fellow Home Guard falling in
behind, riding on over the ridge. Inman walks to Ada.
INMAN
You might be safer back in Charleston.
ADA
But then who'll be waiting for you?
She puts a hand on his arm for a second. They both want to
get to the point of declaration but don't know how. They
stand, people noisy around them, those about to leave, those
about to be left.
INMAN
I'm going to walk back inside the
Chapel.
And he does so, making his meaning clear for her to follow.
INT. CHAPEL, COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. DAY
Inman walks inside. Stands with his back to the door. It
opens and closes. Inman turns. It's Monroe.
MONROE
Did you want a quiet word?
Now the door opens again and it's Ada. She's dismayed to see
her father.
INMAN
Just some quiet.
MONROE
Of course Ada.
He indicates they should both leave. Inman sits at a bench.
EXT. COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. DAY
Monroe and Ada come into town in their cabriolet. They pass
under banners proclaiming the Confederate cause: Old Rip's
Awake! Watch out Yankees! The trap draws up by the Cold
Mountain General Store. Monroe lets Ada down.
MONROE
(of his appointment)
I'll daresay Dr. O'Brien'll want to
do a test or two.
ADA
And then there'll be a coffee or
two, a brandy or two...
Monroe smiles in acknowledgement, gets back in the trap. Ada
heads into the store.
INT. BEDROOM. ROOMING HOUSE. COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. DAY
INMAN SITS ON HIS BED, wearing pants and a vest. His room is
like a monk's cell. Nothing in it. Inman's trunk is packed.
He's polishing his boots, in his bare feet. One hand inside
the boot, the other blacking it. There's a knock at the door.
He opens it. It's Ada. He abruptly closes the door on her.
INT. HALLWAY, ROOMING HOUSE. COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. DAY
Ada waits outside. She's not sure what's happening. Then
Inman opens the door. He's buttoning his shirt. His boots
are on, one conspicuously dirty, one highly polished. Somebody
walks up the stairs, carrying a jug and bowl. They separate
as the man passes them. They're tender, awkward.
ADA
I found you this book. William
Bartram. They tell me it's good. I
think he writes about these parts,
the author, so...
Inman takes it.
She has something else. Wrapped in paper.
ADA
And this...
(hands it to him)
I'm not smiling in it. I don't know
how to do that, hold a smile, so now
I'm solemn...
INMAN
Ada...
ADA
What?
HE KISSES HER, pressing into her, his arm circling her waist.
Below them the sound of a MARCHING BAND. It's the RECRUITMENT
PARADE and brings Rourke and Butcher racing down the stairs.
Inman pulls away from Ada as the boys hurtle for the front
door.
ROURKE
Let's go!
EXT. COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. DAY
Rourke, Butcher, and then Inman appear in the doorway of the
Rooming House, and then fall in with the motley crew of
Volunteers AS THEY MARCH BY WITH THE BAND AND THE ENLISTED
SOLDIERS. The town is out to wish them well, parents, younger
brothers, sweethearts walking alongside their brave men. Ada
comes to the door of the Rooming House. Inman looks back and
sees her, but almost immediately loses her in the crowd. THE
DRUMMERS DRUM, THE CROWD CHEERS, THE RECRUITS MARCH UP THE
HILL --
EXT. BEHIND CONFEDERATE LINES, VIRGINIA. DAY
-- AND THE WOUNDED AND THE WRETCHED STRAGGLE ALONG THE
RAILROAD.
A TRAIN with the seriously injured snakes past the back of
the Confederate lines -- its suburbs of supplies, arriving
and departing troops -- and into peaceful country. FIDDLE
PLAYS, THEN A BANJO.
INT. BOX CAR. DAY
A CROWDED WAGON. It's a cauldron, and those able smash through
the wooden walls to make a breathing hole. Some have their
heads thrust out like crated poultry. INMAN IS IN THERE,
neck bandaged, its ugly seepage making a bloody necklace.
The light plays black and white through the boarded sides of
the boxcar, flashing on Inman's face as he drifts in and out
of consciousness. He focuses and sees the strange head of
STOBROD'S FIDDLE. Stobrod is serenading him, accompanied by
an angel-faced and extremely heavy child-man, PANGLE, whose
grin of delight seems permanent even in this claustrophobic,
grim world. Inman is panicked, puts a hand to push the fiddle
away. His voice is a croak, spoiled.
INMAN
I'm not dying.
STOBROD
(to Pangle)
What'd he say?
PANGLE
Says he ain't about to die.
STOBROD
(to Inman)
Truth to tell they say you are,
Soldier. We'll meet again, in the
better world.
He changes his tune, and the tempo, finding a foot-slapping
rhythm, the two musicians grinning at each other. Inman lapses
back into unconsciousness. The rhythm becomes a hammering
sound...
EXT. CHAPEL, COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. DAY
-- AS A MAN HAMMERS A TINTYPE OF HIS SON'S FACE into the
wooden porch of the Chapel, where it joins many other
portraits of those lost to the war. Monroe presides. One of
the slaves from Black Cove holds the ladder for the bereaved
father. Other families wait, with their own daguerreotype to
mount. It's a memorial service without bodies.
Riders approach. Home Guard. Teague brings his horse up
alongside Monroe at the Chapel door, tips his hat in
condolence to the bereaved families. With him is a young,
intensely beautiful and flamboyant rider, BOSIE, his hair
long, a single fingernail bizarrely overgrown. Somehow
sinister.
TEAGUE
My condolences to you all.
(he considers the
slave)
Keep an eye on the negro. They want
what the white man got -- all of you
watch out your brave boys give their
lives to war and meantime your slaves
carry murder, rape and arson to your
firesides.
MONROE
The only slaves within twenty miles
labor on my farm. They're good
Christians and I'll vouchsafe for
them.
EXT. APPROACH TO BLACK COVE FARM. DAY
Cold Mountain at its loveliest. The CABRIOLET with Monroe
and his daughter heads towards the farm. At a bend they meet
a couple of riders, TWINS, from Teague's Home Guard, riding
furiously past them. Monroe reins in the trap and lets them
thunder past before continuing on their way home. Monroe is
intrigued by Ada, as if he's never looked at her before.
ADA
What?
MONROE
You're looking -- at this moment, I
don't know why -- you're looking
exactly like your mother.
ADA
Every time you see the doctor you
get melancholy.
MONROE
He listens to my heart and I get
emotional.
ADA
He gives you alcohol and you get
emotional.
She squeezes his arm.
MONROE
We commiserate about the folly of
this terrible war.
(they ride in silence)
Do you worry when there's no word
from him?
(no response)
From Mr. Inman?
ADA
Yes. But then I've tried counting
the number of words which passed
between Mr. Inman and me.
(looking ahead, seeing
smoke)
Is that a bonfire? So close to the
barns.
Then they see THE FAMILY OF SLAVES turn off the road as their
cabriolet approaches, running away into the fields.
ADA
What's going on?
MONROE
(shouting at the
disappearing slaves)
Hey! Stop there! Hey!
Monroe gets out of the cabriolet and runs into the fields
after the retreating family, who are carrying bundles, chairs,
personal items, all loaded up. Ada has already taken the
reins and has driven up to the house. THE BARN IN WHICH THE
SLAVE FAMILY HAD LIVED IS ON FIRE. Monroe catches one of the
women, remonstrates with her. She's upset, distressed, one
of her sons comes back, pushes Monroe to the ground. They
hurry away. Monroe gets up, hurries to the fire.
A FIGURE SWINGS IN THE HEAT OF THE FLAMES, HANGING FROM A
BEAM. Monroe spies it as he catches up with Ada.
MONROE
Dear God.
ADA
No, Daddy, it's not real.
The figure swings round. IT'S AN EFFIGY, A GROTESQUE
CARICATURE OF A BLACK MAN.
MONROE
(appalled)
What is wrong with us all?
Ada turns and runs off.
ADA
I'll get help.
(shouting over her
shoulder)
Keep away from the flames.
Monroe stands and considers the flames. Ada turns back once
more to see him -- a small man silhouetted against the blaze.
INT. HOSPITAL, CHARLESTON. DAY
INMAN lies; bandaged, eyes closed, in THE BALLROOM OF A
COLONIAL MANSION, co-opted as one ward of a Confederate
hospital. Rows of beds, the wounded and the dying, are lodged
between some vestiges of the room's former glory.
SOME LOCAL WOMEN, conscious of their duty to the cause, are
brought through by an exhausted doctor, who's lost all his
grace. The windows are open, but it's still insufferably
hot, the muslin curtains barely moving.
DOCTOR
Most of these men will be dead by
the morning or, if they're stubborn,
by nightfall. I have other men outside
in the quadrangle waiting for the
beds.
The women try to process this, the attitude.
DOCTOR
So, any kind word will be a blessing.
One woman is overpowered by the stench, gags.
DOCTOR
It's the heat. I'm sorry. They rot.
The women begin to approach the beds.
DOCTOR
Don't pray. If they're not God fearing
you can stir up a hornet's nest.
MRS. MORGAN, nervous, decent, sits next to INMAN. His mouth
is moving. She doesn't know what he's saying.
MRS. MORGAN
I'm sorry, you want water?
She bends to him again. His voice is a faint croak.
INMAN
Pigeon River. Little East Fork.
The Doctor is on his exit, stops at the bed.
MRS. MORGAN
I'm sorry. I don't know what he's
saying.
DOCTOR
They ramble. Names of loved ones.
MRS. MORGAN
(listening to Inman)
Pigeon River. Is that a place? Cold
Mountain?
The Doctor shrugs, not a detective, moves on, stops at the
man in the next bed. Has a brief look, calls to a nurse.
DOCTOR
This man is dead.
EXT. BLACK COVE FARM. LATE AFTERNOON
Monroe and Ada are outside, a picnic at the summer table,
autumn leaves blowing up around them. Nearby the charred
skeleton of the barn. Ada gets up, clears away.
MONROE
Thank you.
(staying her for grace)
For your Providence, Oh lord, we
thank you.
ADA
Amen. That was the last of the ham.
MONROE
It was delicious.
ADA
I have to learn how to cook.
MONROE
I was going to say something in
Chapel. Perhaps some of the womenfolk
will volunteer.
ADA
I can't have people coming here and
cooking for me!
MONROE
It's my fault. I should have raised
you less like a companion and more
like a young woman. I'm sorry.
ADA
I'm not sorry, but I don't know how
we'll get through another winter.
MONROE
Will you play me something? Something
peaceful while I look over my sermon.
Ada takes the dishes away. He gets out his papers, his pen
and ink.
INT. PARLOUR, BLACK COVE FARM. DUSK
ADA PLAYS THE PIANO. Chopin's Prelude in E Minor. Outside in
the garden, Monroe has adjourned to his striped campaign
chair, and is hunched over his notes. The door of the parlour
is open and the music floats over to him as he works.
Ada plays. A FEW SPOTS OF RAIN appear at the window. Then
the steady drumming of a summer shower.
ADA
(still playing)
Daddy, bring the tablecloth in with
you!
She plays some more. Monroe hasn't come in. The rain splashes
on to the window..
ADA
Daddy, come inside before you drown!
After a few more bars, she stops playing and, curious, goes
to the door. She stands at the doorway. MONROE'S SERMON IS
CAUGHT IN THE WIND AND BLOWS AROUND HIM, THE INK RUN TO
ABSTRACTIONS, his hand dropped and visible to Ada as, with
dread, she approaches. SHE CATCHES THE SODDEN PAPERS, CHASING
AFTER THEM, THEN REACHES HER DEAD FATHER.
He's like a fish, his face shining with the rain, and glass
eyed. She leans in to him, her head to his heart, then runs,
oblivious to the rain, her dress already drenched, runs down
the lane.
ADA (V.O.)
Dear Mr. Inman...
INT. HOSPITAL, CHARLESTON. NIGHT
INMAN'S FACE as he drifts in and out of consciousness. Mrs.
Morgan, the hospital volunteer, sits by Inman's bed. She
holds ADA'S UNOPENED LETTER, badly weather damaged, the pages
stuck together, the writing blurred where the ink has run.
MRS. MORGAN
It's come to you by way of Virginia.
There are various dates, which she decodes.
MRS. MORGAN
It's not too recent -- written this
past winter. I'm afraid I can't read
who it's from. Dear Mr. Inman,
INT. BLACK COVE FARM. NIGHT
Ada is writing at her father's desk. A lonely room.
ADA (V.O.)
-- I'm still waiting, as I promised
I would, but I find myself alone and
at the end of my wits --
INT. HOSPITAL, CHARLESTON. NIGHT
Mrs. Morgan reads to Inman, trying to decipher the letter:
MRS. MORGAN
-- at the end of my wits, so now I
say to you, plain as I can, come
back to me. Come back to me is my
request.
(can't read the next
bit)
Then something I can't read,
something, come back to me.
Inman is very still. Then, eyes glinting with determination,
gives a TINY NOD.
OFFICIAL (O.S.)
By order of Zebulon Vance, Governor
of this great state of North Carolina:
any soldier turned deserter is guilty
of treason and shall be hunted down
like a dog.
EXT. COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. DAY
Ada walks down the hill from the Chapel. There is an absence
of young people, but the older folk are gathered round the
General Store where a UNIFORMED OFFICIAL is reading from a
document.
OFFICIAL
-- Any man takes in a deserter is
likewise guilty of treason.
The Official is flanked by Teague, Bosey and the twins, puffed
up with self-importance. Ada has to walk around him to enter
the store.
OFFICIAL
The Home Guard is powered to enter
any place it sees fit, without notice
or constraint. Names of all deserters
will be posted in every town,
published in every newspaper.
INT. GENERAL STORE, COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. DAY
The Official continues outside as Ada enters. Ada approaches
Mrs Castlereagh, the owner.
ADA
Is there a letter for me?
MRS. CASTLEREAGH
Nothing -- we're getting no post
through at all -- although if you
slip out back the material you ordered
has arrived.
They go to the back of the store, to a screened-off area.
Mrs. Castlereagh hands her over a packet of material. There's
another, more furtive, transaction to take place. Mrs
Castlereagh hands over a second parcel as if it were
narcotics. Ada tears at the wrapping. It's a parcel of books.
MRS. CASTLEREAGH
If folks knew I was taking deliveries
from the North.
ADA
I know. Thank you so much.
MRS. CASTLEREAGH
The sooner we lose this war the
better. Already one boy gone, another
with his leg took off at the knee.
That's enough.
ADA
What do you hear?
MRS. CASTLEREAGH
All I know is they say not one boy
in ten from these mountains is coming
home again and most of them are
deserters.
EXT. GENERAL STORE, COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. DAY
Ada emerges, almost collides with Teague. She wriggles past
him, tries to make her package invisible.
EXT. APPROACH TO BLACK COVE FARM - DAY
IT'S WINTER. A solitary RIDER jogs his horse through the
frost, towards Black Cove farm.
Ada is working at a handpump, failing to coax water from the
well. She's wrapped in blankets. The farm is somewhat unkempt
and so is she. The hem of her skirt is frayed. She rips at
it tearing off a strip of material, which she binds around
the handle in an attempt to thaw the mechanism. Then she
looks up to see the horseman approaching. It's Teague. Ada
immediately heads inside the house.
Teague arrives at the house, takes a brace of RABBITS from
his saddlebag. He heads for the gate. The gate needs oiling,
the path is overgrown, he looks at the pump handle, the
abandoned pitcher.
Ada opens the door, pinning her hair.
TEAGUE
It's taken me too long, but I've
come to pay my respects.
ADA
Thank you.
TEAGUE
(hands over the rabbits)
I reckoned you might need fattening
up.
Ada takes them. She is very queasy with these dead animals.
TEAGUE
This house must bring bad luck. Killed
my granddaddy to lose it, then my
daddy died on account of not having
it, then your daddy died on account
of getting it. We should burn it
down.
ADA
Didn't somebody try?
TEAGUE
Lot to manage without help. Need a
hand with that pump?
ADA
No.
TEAGUE
I'm happy to volunteer.
ADA
But not to volunteer for the war?
TEAGUE
The war? I wanted to go. But you
know: too old, too literate. Plus I
got no spleen. Lost it from a horse's
kick.
ADA
You've got no spleen.
TEAGUE
That's the thing about an organ. You
don't know you need it till you lost
it.
(suddenly busy with a
bayonet)
I want to clear this path. I can
just as soon do it and talk as stand
around and talk. Then you can say
men beat a path to your door.
ADA
I'd really prefer it if you didn't
do that.
TEAGUE
Would you rather I did my job?
(scything at the path)
See if there's any material I should
confiscate. For the war effort.
ADA
I was raised in the good manners of
the South where a gentleman doesn't
enter a house with a woman alone.
TEAGUE
(now he's at the pump)
Good manners didn't quite make it to
these mountains. If it don't yield
meat, or you can't sit on it, or
suck on it...
(he gets the pump
going, water pours
out)
And you're sleeping all right? These
cold dark nights?
ADA
I'm sleeping fine.
TEAGUE
It's going to be a long hard winter.
He turns and stops at the gate, runs his hands through his
hair and uses the grease to ease the hinge. Then steps up
onto his horse, and rides away. Ada watches him. Shudders.
INT. BLACK COVE FARM. NIGHT
Ada comes into the kitchen. A weak oil-lamp reveals THE TWO
RABBITS, partially covered on a plate, flies buzzing around
them, a little liquid leaking from them. Ada takes a knife
and contemplates skinning gutting them. Suddenly she gathers
them up and runs out.
EXT. BLACK COVE FARM. NIGHT
ADA BURIES THE TWO RABBITS. The wind howls. She covers the
little hole with soil and stones. Pumps out water to wash
her hands. Thinks she hears a noise, listens, alert to any
unfamiliar sounds, then hurries back to the house.
INT. BLACK COVE FARM. NIGHT
Ada comes inside, she closes the door. Locks it. Puts a chair
against it. Goes upstairs, to her bedroom.
INT. BLACK COVE FARM. NIGHT
Ada enters her bedroom. It's a chaos of books, clothes,
dishes. She closes the door, sets another chair against it.
Then drags her armchair up against that, books and papers
spilling onto the floor. She props up Inman's portrait, on,
the chair, as if he were guarding her. Sits on the bed and,
desolate, begins to write:
EXT. THE OCEAN BY THE HOSPITAL, CHARLESTON. DAY
ADA (V.O.)
Should I imagine you are dead and,
that it is to your spirit I am
writing? No word from you in all
this time. If you receive this please
know I am here and warring, too,
with a faint heart.
THERAPY FOR WOUNDED SOLDIERS. Some of those convalescing
swim or are helped to paddle in the healing sea. There are
rudimentary wheelchairs. Inman, a long way from home, is
amongst those sitting in one of these, very still, grey and
sick -- but alive. He pulls at the dressing on his neck,
exposing the still raw and livid wound to the sea air.
Inman has his Bartram, his bookmark is the battered and foxed
picture of Ada, which he considers, before continuing to
read.
Behind him A HUNDRED SLAVES AT WORK IN THE FIELDS, and behind
them the Mansion which has become the hospital. A series of
bells, of shouts, and the slaves stop working, prepare for
the long walk home, congregating, then forming a line, herded
by the foremen.
Inman eases his position to bend over and dip his bandage in
the seawater. He brings the wet bandage to his neck, considers
the ocean, his fellow ragtag of wounded, the slaves, the
great fields, the Mansion. The whole meaning of this war
around him. A GRAVEL VOICE STARTS TO SING THE BLUES, CONTINUES
AS --
EXT. HOSPITAL, CHARLESTON. DUSK
The men return to the Hospital. A BLIND MAN IS SELLING PEANUTS
which he roasts over a small fire. HE'S SINGING AS --
EXT. CHAPEL, COLD MOUNTAIN TOWN. DAY
-- A tintype of OAKLEY is added to the Chapel's votives,
hammered in alongside Rourke and Butcher. There are fifty or
more images now, the paint flaking around them. The exterior
of the Chapel, three years on, has taken on the burden of
recording history.
There is no minister, no services, just the votives,
daguerreotypes or simply the names of those missing in action,
accompanied by tiny vases of wildflowers. The town shrouded
in mist, and quiet.
EXT. BLACK COVE FARM. SPRING. DAY
EVERYWHERE SIGNS OF PROFOUND NEGLECT, like a Grimm's fairy
tale of a deserted house. The fields are overgrown with weeds,
the gardens abandoned. The chickens have deserted the henhouse
and are wandering around the outbuildings, scuffing at the
packed dirt.
Sally and Esco come up the overgrown path, avoiding the
chickens, and knock at the door.
SALLY
Ada! Ada, It's Sally.
They're seen from ground level, through a boxwood, as their
feet patrol the ground, turn away from the door, and then
retreat, their voices drifting away. Ada is there, crouching
in her hidey-hole, a blanket on the ground, her book. She
wants to reveal herself, but is too embarrassed.
ESCO
Will you look at the state of this
place!
SALLY
Poor soul. She's got nobody and
nothing and three hundred acres of
misery.
During this a ROOSTER, black and gold, struts into the
boxwood. As the rooster approaches, Ada shudders, tries to
shoo it away without alerting her presence. Ada peers through
the boxwood as Sally and Esco close the gate and recede. The
rooster comes at her again. She rises up, kicking out at it,
while he flares his wings, spurs flaying at her. Ada runs
from the boxwood, tormented by the triumphant rooster, which
continues to fly and scratch, driving her into the house.
INT. ADA'S BEDROOM BLACK COVE FARM. DAY
Ada dabs at the scratches, her dress rolled down to the waist
to reveal her arms and shoulders. Now she shucks off the
dress completely and tries to find a clean replacement. There
isn't one, so she hunts through the overflowing laundry basket
for something less dirty.
INT. MONROE'S BEDROOM, BLACK COVE FARM. DAY
Ada enters her father's room, wearing undergarments.
Everything as he left it and, in contrast to the rest of the
house, extremely tidy. She opens a wardrobe, finds one of
his coats, puts it on. It's much too big, and she rolls up
the sleeves, catches her pinched face and disheveled face in
a swivel mirror. She turns the mirror away and the image
swings into --
EXT. GATES OF HOSPITAL, CHARLESTON. DAY
-- the figure of Inman walking, frail, grey. A kind of
lurching walk, as if his balance isn't guaranteed. He gets
close to the gate and interests a Guard, on the lookout for
would-be deserters. A BLIND MAN IS SELLING PEANUTS which he
roasts over a small fire. He's always singing. Inman
approaches. When Inman speaks, his voice is a croak.
BLIND MAN
Getting better all the time.
INMAN
Seems that way.
BLIND MAN
I wouldn't hurry. War's almost done.
INMAN
Where'd you take your wound?
BLIND MAN
Before I was born. Never saw a thing
in this world, not a tree a gun or a
woman. Though I put my hand on all
three. Couple of things I felt back
there I'd sure liked to have had a
long look at.
He's shoveling some peanuts into a twist of paper.
INMAN
What would you give for that? To
have your eyeballs back for ten
minutes?
BLIND MAN
Ten minutes! Wouldn't give an Indian
head cent. I fear it might turn me
hateful.
INMAN
That's sure what seeing's done to
me.
BLIND MAN
That ain't the way I meant it. You
said ten minutes. It's having a thing
and then the loss I'm talking about.
INMAN
Then we don't agree. There's not
much I wouldn't give for ten minutes
of someplace.
BLIND MAN
Someplace or someone.
INMAN
Same difference.
BLIND MAN
You watch yourself. They're shooting
men who take themselves a walk.
EXT. TREE PROMENADE, CHARLESTON. DAY
Inman and a bunch of other walking wounded make their way,
under supervision, towards the town. The grandeur of the
approach, the carriages. The sorry state of the soldiers.
INT. COURTHOUSE, CHARLESTON. DAY
TWO GREAT TRESTLE TABLES, LOADED WITH CLOTHES. Underneath
the tables, boots -- laced together, origins various. The
charitable womenfolk are helping match clothes to recovering
soldiers, some of whom are still on crutches, or in
wheelchairs. Inman finds a black dresscoat, some pants, a
pair of boots. He accumulates a little pile. On his way out,
AN ELDERLY AND STAUNCH CONFEDERATE GENTLEMAN shakes his hand
and gives him an apple from the barrel.
EXT. TEMPORARY BARBERSHOP, CHARLESTON. DAY
Inman emerges from the Courthouse and joins the line for a
shave at the makeshift barbershop set up outside the
Courthouse. Two barbers, two chairs. A VERY ELEGANT SQUARE,
SOME STUCCO-FRONTED BUILDINGS, A GLIMPSE OF THE MONEYED SOUTH
IN SHARP CONTRAST TO THE MODEST TOWN OF COLD MOUNTAIN. AN
AUCTION HOUSE OPPOSITE ADVERTISES SLAVES, CATTLE, LAND...
BARBER
Next.
Inman settles in the seat. The Barber contemplates his scraggy
beard, the livid, scabbed wound on his neck.
BARBER
(nervous)
I'll cut your hair, but I ain't about
to shave you. That thing opens up,
your head's liable to falloff.
INT. HOSPITAL, CHARLESTON. PREDAWN
It is almost dawn. The window by Inman's bed is a frame giving
onto the still dark world. The Night Guard passes by on its
patrol of the perimeter. A CLEAN-SHAVEN INMAN IS FULLY DRESSED
UNDER THE COVERS. He gets his hat, pushes his book into his
knapsack and, with one step up, WALKS OUT OF THE WINDOW AND
INTO THE WORLD.
EXT. THE OCEAN BY THE HOSPITAL, CHARLESTON. DAWN
Inman, his footprints in the sand, as he hurries along by
the edge of the ocean, away from the hospital...
EXT. SWANGER FARM. DAY
-- as Ada walks, the wind kicking up around her, past the
Swanger place. She's bent and curiously dressed in her
father's coat.
SALLY (V.O.)
Ada...
Sally Swanger calls out from the field. She's concerned at
Ada's gaunt, ragged appearance. Ada waits for her approach.
SALLY
You're skinny as a whippet, girl --
you're coming indoors with me.
ADA
I can't. I'm not -- I need to clean
some clothes.
SALLY
Great God, you ever looked at my
husband! I can't get him to wear
decent Church clothes Christmas
morning. Hang on to me, the wind'll
blow you over.
And she folds her arm into Ada's. They walk up the lane.
INT. SWANGER FARM. AFTERNOON
Ada eats. Esco across from her contemplating her evident
appetite, the oversized man's jacket. Sally ladles more food
onto Ada's plate.
SALLY
Don't go back to that dark house.
There's a bed here, least till our
boys get home.
ESCO
That your daddy's coat?
ADA
I was saying to Sally, I wasn't
expecting to be visiting, so...
ESCO
Don't suit you.
He starts to chuckle, then Ada, too, then Sally.
ESCO
I can't get up to your place this
week.
(of Sally)
She's mad at me --
ADA
I don't expect -
ESCO
-- more than I can do to keep this
place half-managed. I'm ready-to
stop, I tell you. I just want to sit
on my porch with Sal, watch my boys
in the field, holler good job! every
hour or so.
SALLY
What about your people in Charleston?
ADA
There are no people. And no money.
My father had some bonds and
investments. They're worthless now,
of course, the war has... they're
not worth anything.
(they look at each
other)
I love it here. In spite of
everything.
ESCO
And waiting on a feller.
A look from Sally.
ESCO
Look down our well.
(Sally's disgusted
with him)
She should! Look down our well with
a mirror, you'll see the future.
S'what they say.
(to Sally)
You do it! Don't make that face.
SALLY
I know it ain't rightly Christian,
but it's what folks do, like when
they dangle a needle over the belly
to see if you're carrying a boy or a
girl.
ADA
What kind of mirror?
EXT. YARD, SWANGER FARM. LATE DAY
AN IMAGE -- DISTORTED, WATERY. IT'S HARD TO RESOLVE BUT COULD
BE A CORRIDOR OF TREES. THE SUN LOW AT ONE END, THE SILHOUETTE
OF A FIGURE WALKING SLOWLY FORWARDS, A SUDDEN DISTURBANCE OF
CROWS.
Ada is bent backwards over the well, a hand mirror glinting
down into the blackness. The reflection is elusive against
the bright evening sky, the sun almost set, and low.
ESCO
See anything?
ADA
I don't know.
SALLY
I tried many a time, never saw a
dickybird.
The image is clearer. The trees sharpen, the figure walking,
the steep incline of the corridor, all fiercely black and
white as if it were a carpet of snow and black hieroglyphs
of trees, and crows flying. The trick of the glass and the
watery disc of the well surface. A buzzing in Ada's ears,
something like a distant music. Then the figure seems to
suddenly pitch forwards, but at that moment, Ada -- canted
over, getting dizzy has to move and the image flies away,
replaced with the sky, the flash of the setting sun.
SALLY
You all right?
Ada's faint. She sits up, blank, a little shaken.
ADA (V.O.)
Yesterday I found myself crouched
over a well like a mad woman, which
I suppose I have become
EXT. PLANTATION. DAY
Inman walks along an expanse of marshland. Great cranes fly
heavily over him.
ADA (V.O.)
-- and staring down into its secrets,
I thought I saw you there, walking
back to me --
EXT. BLACK COVE FARM. LATE AFTERNOON
Ada is writing in her father's campaign chair, a blanket
wrapped around her, a rake propped next to her.
ADA (V.O.)
-- or wished I did.
RUBY (O.S.)
That cow wants milking.
Ada looks up from her writing with a start. She covers her
letter, guiltily, instinctively. In front of her, at the
gate, is A YOUNG RAWBONED, FERAL WOMAN, OF INDETERMINATE
ORIGINS. She is barefoot, and dressed in a hand-dye_ shift
of blue. Her name is RUBY.
RUBY
If that letter ain't urgent, the cow
is -- is what I'm saying.
ADA
I don't know you.
RUBY
Old Lady Swanger says you need some
help. Here I am.
Ada is instantly defensive, intimidated.
ADA
I need help, I need, I do need help,
but I need a laborer -- there's
plowing and rough work and -- I think
there's been a misunderstanding.
RUBY
What's the rake for?
ADA
The rake?
RUBY
Ain't for gardening, that's for sure.
Number one -- you got a horse I can
plow all day. I'm a worker. Number
two there's no man better than me
cause there's no man around who ain't
old or full of mischief. I know your
plight.
ADA
My plight?
RUBY
Am I hard to hear cause you keep
repeating everything. I'm not looking
for money, never cared for it and
now it ain't worth nothing. I expect
to board and eat at the same table.
I'm not a servant. Do you get my
meaning?
ADA
You're not a servant.
RUBY
People'll have to empty their own
night jars, that's my point.
ADA
Right.
RUBY
And I'm not planning to work while
you watch neither.
ADA
Right.
RUBY
Is that a yes or a no?
ADA
(looks at Ruby)
Yes.
RUBY
There's half the day yet. Let's make
a start. My name's Ruby. I know your
name.
ADA
The rake: there's a rooster devil,
I'm sure of it. He's Lucifer himself.
I go near him he's at me with his
spurs.
RUBY
I despise a flogging rooster. Where
is he?
Ada gets up, nods to the corner of the yard. Ruby goes over.
The Rooster gathers himself up for a new opponent.
IN ONE MOVEMENT SHE PICKS UP THE BIRD AND TWISTS OFF ITS
HEAD.
RUBY
Let's put him in a pot.
EXT. CORNFIELDS. DAWN
Inman's walking on a track which passes through cornfields,
the crop high and thick around him. He stops, hearing
something. Riders. He wades into the field, seeking cover in
the tall crop, lying in the dirt. Horses appear. HOME GUARD
MEN ON PATROL, A CHAIN GANG OF PRISONERS: SLAVES, DESERTERS
IN TOW, A COUPLE OF FEDERAL SOLDIERS. They have dogs, which
sniff and growl, intrigued by the fields, called back by the
Home Guard.
Inman waits until they're well out of sight. AS HE GETS TO
HIS FEET IN THE GREAT FIELDS, ANOTHER BODY APPEARS, THEN
ANOTHER, THEN ANOTHER, THEN ANOTHER, ALL SLAVES ON THE RUN
DOTTED AROUND THE FIELD. He walks to the road, paying no
heed to them. They assemble, paying no heed to him and move
off in the opposite direction. Inman turns, looks at them.
INMAN
Hey!
(they stop, turn)
I'd pay a dollar for an egg. A piece
of cheese.
They look at him, then continue on their way.
INT. ADA'S BEDROOM, BLACK COVE FARM. PREDAWN
Ada wakes up to persistent knocking.
RUBY
Ada? Ada? You up?
ADA
Yes.
(opening her eyes)
It's still dark.
RUBY
Tell the cows that. It's late.
INT. KITCHEN, BLACK COVE FARM. PREDAWN
Ada enters blearily, clutching her novel. Ruby already busy.
ADA
I have to eat something.
RUBY
Then you have to get up earlier.
(at Ada's book)
What's that?
ADA
A novel.
RUBY
(heading outside)
You want to carry a book carry one
you can write in --
EXT. BLACK COVE FARM. DAWN
Ruby emerges, followed by Ada, chewing on a tomato.
RUBY
-- we got our own story. Called Black
Cove Farm: a catastrophe.
She looks back at Ada for a reaction.
RUBY
I can spell it, too. C-a-t-a-s-t-r-o-
phe. Learned the same place you did,
in the schoolroom. That's one of the
first words they taught me. Ruby
Thewes, you are a ca-t-a-s-t-r-o-p-h-
e...
They're heading for the stable.
INT. STABLE, BLACK COVE FARM. DAY
Ruby's already pitching hay. Turns to Ada.
RUBY
You mucking out?
Ada half-asleep, obedient, stunned by this energy.
RUBY
Three years I was in school before
my daddy -- saying God rest his soul
is like wishing him what he had in
life, cause he lived to rest, he was
born tired -- before my daddy decided
there was better use for my backside
than have it sat all day in front of
a blackboard.
EXT. A FIELD OF WEEDS, BLACK COVE FARM. DAY
Ruby dictates a list to Ada as they bustle along.
RUBY
Number One -- layout a winter garden
for cool season crops: turnips,
onions, cabbage, greens.
Ada scribbles, walks, scribbles.
EXT. BARN, BLACK COVE FARM
Ruby up a ladder, inspecting the roof.
RUBY
Number Two: patch the shingles on
the barn roof. Do we have a maul and
froe?
ADA
(writing, holding the
ladder)
Maul?
RUBY
M-a-u-l.
ADA
I have no idea.
INT. COLD HOUSE, BLACK COVE FARM. DAY
Ruby cleans out leaves and detritus from the stone channel,
allowing the stream to flow free and cool.
RUBY
Number three: clay crocks for
preserves. Tomatoes. Beans. Jams.
EXT. BOTTOM FIELD, BLACK COVE FARM. DUSK
Ruby doing her version of soil analysis, scrunching the earth,
tasting it, spitting it out. Ada makes a face.
RUBY
Clear and turn this field. No harm
done letting it go fallow, now we'll
do well.
EXT. OUTBUILDINGS, BLACK COVE FARM. AFTERNOON
Ruby looks up. Ada catches up with her.
RUBY
Number fifteen
ADA
Sixteen.
RUBY
Number sixteen: let's get a martin
colony going in the Gourd House.
Keep away crows. You got one thing
in abundance on this farm and that's
crows.
ADA
What's a Gourd House?
EXT. APPLE ORCHARD, BLACK COVE FARM. DUSK
Ruby, delighted, contemplates the bounty of apples.
RUBY
There's survival. On them trees.
(turns to an exhausted
Ada)
You got a cider press or would that
be wishing on a blessing?
ADA
Actually, yes, I think we do.
Ruby whoops, jogs away. Ada, exhausted takes a bite of an
apple, watches her.
EXT. A BLUFF. NIGHT
INMAN WALKS A ROCKY TRACK, FALLING AWAY TO THE RIVER AT ONE
SIDE, A STEEP CLIFF TO THE OTHER, the way itself broken and
precarious, bad country to meet an enemy.
Inman sees A LIGHT in the distance, a torch flicking in and
out of view, like a star to follow. He stops, narrows his
eyes to focus on the view, listening hard. He pulls out the
Lemats.
A MAN, ALL IN BLACK, A HORSE IN TOW, IS AT THE EDGE OF THE
GORGE.
The horse has a burden -- a sack or wrapped bundle draped
over either side of the saddle. The attempts to heave the
bundle onto his shoulders. He can't, and the bundle slips to
the ground, cover falling enough to glimpse an arm, a head.
IT IS THE BODY OF A BLACK GIRL. The man tries again to lift
her. He's clearly upset, despairing, his hat comes off to
reveal long, dandy's hair, all extravagant curls. He staggers
with the weight of the girl, heading for the lip of the deep
gorge.
He kisses the girl again and again, cheeks, mouth, mumbling
to her. He's at the edge now and can just let her go. THEN
INMAN'S GUN IS AT HIS TEMPLE.
INMAN
Don't let go. Just back up, nice and
steady, do this all in reverse, you're
going to end up with her draped back
over your animal.
VEASEY
Don't pull that trigger. I am a man
of God.
INMAN
I've killed several of them.
VEASEY
I mean I am God's minister.
INMAN
What part of God's business is
throwing a woman down a gorge.
VEASEY
A slave woman, can you see that in
this light? She's black as a bucket
of tar.
He's retreating, on his way back to the horse.
INMAN
Is she dead?
VEASEY
Drugged her. Like you would a
butterfly. And I care for her, that's
the heartbreak of it.
He has the girl back on the horse. Inman brings the torch up
to his face. It's tear-stained.
VEASEY
She's got my bastard in her belly.
What kind of pistol is that I never
saw the like of it?
EXT. VEASEY TOWN. NIGHT
Inman leads the horse, with Veasey ahead of him, hands tied
behind his back, desperate for a reprieve.
VEASEY
I'm begging you. It's better you
blowout my brains than return me to
this place.
INMAN
Where does she live?
VEASEY
In our house. She sleeps in our
kitchen. You don't know me, friend,
but the good Lord punished me with
want. I am all appetite. That's all
I do all day is want: food, the female
parts...
INMAN
Shut your mouth. I don't want a sermon
every time I ask a question.
They're in the town's main drag now. There's a Chapel and
next to it, a small house.
INMAN
This your place?
VEASEY
Dear God of misery.
INMAN
You're going to put her back where
she sleeps.
VEASEY
I do that the Members will lynch me.
Consorting with a nigger, adultery,
siring a bastard while serving as
their preacher. We're a strict
congregation we've churched men for
picking up a fiddle on the sabbath.
INMAN
So you reckoned to kill her.
Disgusted, Inman approaches the front door of the house.
VEASEY
There's a back door. Have pity.
And he leads Inman down a side path.
INT. VEASEY HOUSE. NIGHT
Veasey comes in, now carrying the girl. Inman comes behind,
the gun trained on Veasey as he sets her down by the fire.
VEASEY
(whispering)
Thank you. I was going to do a
grievous wrong.
He looks longing at the girl as he puts the blanket around
her shoulders. He turns to Inman.
VESEY
You tasted dark meat? Sweet as
liquorice. I think I should go back
up to my wife. She wakes at the
slightest noise.
Inman is incredulous that he thinks he can just go to bed...
INMAN
You find me some paper and a pen.
EXT. CHAPEL, VEASEY TOWN. DAWN
INMAN HAS TIED A VERY DISTRAUGHT VEASEY TO A TREE IN FRONT
OF HIS CHAPEL. Inman is pinning a sheet of paper above
Veasey's head. It's covered in handwriting. A dog barks.
VEASEY
You're not entitled to judge me!
You're nothing but an outlier, plain
as daylight!
Inman has pulled a handkerchief from Veasey's jacket. He
stuffs it into his mouth, cutting this diatribe short. And
then he walks away leaving Veasey tied to the tree, cursing
through the handkerchief.
INT. ADA'S BEDROOM, BLACK COVE FARM. PREDAWN
Ada asleep. Ruby enters, shattering the calm.
RUBY
Morning. Pigs: you have any loose in
the woods?
ADA
No. What? No. We bought our hams.
RUBY
There's a world more to a hog than
the two hams! Lard, for example,
we'll need plenty --
She picks up some discarded laundry, contemplates the
overflowing laundry basket.
RUBY
The catastrophe of Ada Monroe's
laundry.
(marching out)
I can feel you shutting your eyes.
EXT. BOTTOM FIELD. BLACK COVE FARM. DAY
Ada and Ruby working with the horse to make the beginnings
of A SPLIT RAIL FENCE. As they struggle with a heavy rail,
Ruby is testing Ada.
RUBY
What's this wood?
ADA
I don't know. Locust?
RUBY
Where's North?
ADA
North is, North is --
RUBY
Name me three herbs growing wild on
this farm.
ADA
(frustrated with Ruby
and with herself)
I can't! I can't! All right? I can
talk about farming in Latin. Will
that do? I can read French. I know
Harmony and Counterpoint. I know my
Bible. I can name the principal rivers
of Europe, but don't ask me to name
one stream in this county. I can
embroider, but I can't darn, I can
arrange cut flowers, but I can't
grow them. If a thing has a function,
if I might do something with it, it
wasn't considered suitable.
RUBY
Why?
ADA
Ruby, you could ask why? about pretty
much everything to do with me.
They manage to get the first line of rail set down.
ADA
This fence is about the first thing
I've ever done that'll produce an
actual result.
RUBY
So you never wrapped your legs around
this Inman?
An old-fashioned look from Ada...
EXT. SUNKEN FOREST. DAY
Inman finds himself in A SUNKEN FOREST OF PINE. He moves
warily, his beard longer, his figure gaunt, his clothes
weathering to a uniform smudge of charcoal.
He hears DOGS BARKING IN THE DISTANCE, FAINT SHOUTS. He picks
up his pace, skirts round the swampy lake.
EXT. CAPE FEAR RIVER. DUSK
Inman comes to the bank of a HUGE RIVER. The water, as the
light begins to go, is the color of mud, with bubbles,
belching to the surface, full of ugly prominent. Inman is
almost jogging now, an ear tracking his still distant
pursuers. The river is too wide to contemplate swimming and
now it begins to curve left, forcing him -- against his
judgment, to circle back. He approaches A SMALL JETTY.
A sign: Ferry $5. Yell Loud.
On the far bank there's A CABIN ON STILTS above the highwater
mark. Inman calls out, reluctantly, his voice still a kind
of growl. Then again.
A TINY FIGURE steps out of the cabin and waves before jumping
into a small canoe. The canoe heads against the current, the
rower's back bent with the effort. As the canoe approaches,
Inman sees that the ferryman is, in fact, A YOUNG GIRL, not
eighteen. She doesn't look at him. He produces five dollars.
She eyes the bill with contempt.
FERRYGIRL
For five dollars I wouldn't give a
parched man a dipper of this
riverwater.
INMAN
Sign says ferry, five dollars.
FERRYGIRL
This look like a ferry? My Daddy's
dead, or gone off to the Federals,
don't matter which. I'm the way across
now.
INMAN
What's the name of this thing?
FERRYGIRL
Nothing but the mighty Cape Fear
River, is all.
A dog barks in the distance. Getting closer. Inman turns to
the sound. The Ferrygirl is well aware of her leverage.
FERRYGIRL
Nobody crosses this water unless
they're running from someplace. Some
cross one way, some the other: makes
no difference, they're all running.
You want to wait for your friends?
INMAN
I can give you thirty dollars script.
FERRYGIRL
Let's go.
VOICE (O.S.)
Hey! Hey! Wait!
Inman is astonished to see VEASEY stumble out of the trees.
His head is shaved, his face bruised and swollen, his clothes
castoffs and ill-fitting, cinched at the waist with rope. He
stumbles towards Inman, urging him to get on with the journey.
VEASEY
Keep going. We're both in trouble.
He gets straight into the canoe.
INMAN
No. Get out.
VEASEY
It's Homeguard. Made me tell them
all about you.
INMAN
I should have shot you when I had
the chance.
Shouts, more barking. Inman jumps in the canoe, and they're
off. The Ferrygirl turns the boat around, rows them away
from the jetty with the grace of someone doing something for
the thousandth time.
VEASEY
I'm not looking for revenge, by the
way. For what you did to me. No, I'm
a Pilgrim now, like you, traveling
the road, paying our dues, relying
on the kindness of strangers.
INMAN
You're nothing like me and the last
thing I want right now is a
conversation.
VEASEY
(to Ferrygirl)
You recall Job in the scriptures? I
will give free utterance to my
complaint. I will speak in the
bitterness of my soul. That's our
friend here...
(to Inman)
They cut off my hair. Which was hard.
I was vain about my hair.
(to Ferrygirl)
I had good curls. But I deserved it.
I'm the Reverend Veasey. Have I seen
you in church?
Inman sits, scouring the bank for sign of his pursuers. The
sun is sinking fast.
FERRYGIRL
I'm saving for a cowhide, and when I
get it I aim to get a saddle made,
and when I get me a saddle I'll save
for a horse, and when I got a horse
I'll throw on the saddle, and then
you won't see my sorry ass round
this swamp again.
She has no love for the river. Another gurgle of viscous
bubbles around the canoe.
VEASEY
What's that?
FERRYGIRL
Catfish. 'gator. Keep your hand in
the boat. Already looks like some
critter chewed his neck.
(she looks at Inman)
Thirty more dollars, we can go to
the cabin. I'll pull this dress over
my head.
VEASEY
(excited)
Have we got thirty dollars?
A sharp sound, a tiny thwack of ball on meat. The Ferrygirl
SUDDENLY SLUMPS BACK and falls into the water.
Veasey grabs out at the oar, but it goes, too. The girl sinks
quickly, A BLOODY GAP to the side of her head. Inman, on his
knees and stretching, can't help her. Then a second noise as
A HOLE THE SIZE OF A FIST appears in the canoe, just at
waterlevel. Water pours into the canoe. Dogs bark, and now
FIGURES are visible at the jetty. HOME GUARD. One of them
has a sniper's rifle and is loading for a third shot. Inman
can see him sighting the rifle. They lie flat in the canoe.
ANOTHER GREAT FIST OF WOOD is gouged out. Now the boat is
almost full of water. Veasey spits out a foul mouthful. INMAN
ROCKS THE CANOE AND LETS IT TURN OVER ONTO THEM, Veasey
surfaces from under it, clutching the wood as a raft, but
the canoe CATCHES INMAN A BLOW TO HIS HEAD and he sinks.
Veasey hauls him to the surface and, surprisingly strong,
holds him with one fist, the boat with the other, lets the
current take them, pulling them under, then up, under, then
up, but clinging on, as the rifle continues to deliver its
assault, another shot into the boat, another into the water
near to Veasey's arm.
THE GIRL'S BODY comes by them, carried by the river, the
dress billowing out almost covering her head. The sun has
gone, the light fading, the canoe sliding downriver away
from their aggressors.
EXT. ANOTHER PART OF THE CAPE FEAR. NIGHT
In the moonlight, the canoe drifts into the muddy bank and
Veasey drags a half-drowned Inman to land, both of them
retching with the vile river water. AN ALLIGATOR eases into
the river not ten feet from where they lie, lungs heaving.
They get up. Veasey to his feet, Inman to his knees.
VEASEY
You okay?
Inman nods, coughs. And Veasey AIMS A KICK at Inman's head,
knocking him back into the mud.
INMAN
Jesus, god!
VEASEY
I figure that righteous, given our
history. Otherwise I'd bear a grudge
on our journey.
INMAN
There's nowhere I'm going with you
except to Hellfire!
INT. ADA'S BEDROOM. BLACK COVE FARM. NIGHT
Ada, her hair plaited in a new and simpler configuration, is
working on Ruby's hair, while Ruby experiments with some
earrings.
A pile of Ada's jewelry on the bed beside them.
ADA
Agricola poetis viam non monstrat.
RUBY
Which means?
ADA
The farmer does not point out the
road to a poet.
RUBY
Which means? Should be the other way
round
ADA
Which means, I suppose, which means
the poet should know where he's going.
RUBY
(of Ada's hairdressing)
It's no wonder you're helpless and
hopeless if it takes this long to
fix your hair.
(of the Latin)
Say some more.
ADA
Terra mutata non mutat mores.
(can't believe she
knows all these
phrases by heart)
It's appalling what's in my head.
RUBY
It's appalling what's in my head?
ADA
No, it means: A change of place does
not change a character.
RUBY
Well that's surely true even in
English.
ADA
You can keep those earrings.
RUBY
We can't keep anything.
ADA
I have to keep the bangles. They
were my mother's.
RUBY
Well that's all. The rest is for
trading. Else they can bury you in
your finery.
ADA
(of her hair)
You're done.
There's a small mirror on a stand. It has Inman's picture
stuck in it. She picks it up, removing the tintype, and
holding it up for Ruby to see her hairstyle.
RUBY
Good God! Okay.
She takes the mirror and shows Ada her simple plait.
ADA
I like it.
RUBY
Takes two minutes. That's what I
like.
She puts the earrings back in the pile.
RUBY
How much do you love that piano?
EXT. BLACK COVE FARM. DUSK
THE PIANO jangles down the rutted lane on the back of Mr.
Roy's cart. Ada watches, A SMALL FLOCK of sheep milling around
her in the path. Ruby is dragging a big sow towards the yard.
Ada picks up one of two sacks and staggers towards the house.
INT. KITCHEN, BLACK COVE FARM. DUSK
Ada arrives in the kitchen. They've got it under control
now, scrubbed and orderly. She puts the sack down next to
another one. Her hands are calloused, the finger nails cracked
and ruined, stripes of earth under them. Ruby comes in,
struggling with the last sack, pleased.
RUBY
We're careful we'll get through the
winter now. I made old man Roy give
me ten of those sheep on account of
I said they were so small put together
they were no bigger than six proper
sheep.
ADA
My father always wanted sheep on
this land.
RUBY
I'm sorry you had to lose your piano.
I cut off my hair once, for money.
My daddy got two dollars for it.
Made a wig for a rich feller in
Raleigh.
They're working as they talk, taking the sacks into the
larder, putting out stuff for the evening meal.
RUBY
Stobrod called himself a musician --
my daddy -- he could play six tune
on a fiddle. Got himself shot dead
at Petersburg. I was like his goat
or some creature tethered to a post.
He left me once, up the mountains. I
was eight. He was gone over two weeks.
ADA
Oh Ruby.
RUBY
(defiant)
I was all right! He'd walk forty
miles for liquor and not forty inches
for kindness.
ADA
And your mother?
RUBY
Never met her. We're the same in
that regard. He said she was -- he
told me a thousand stories -- she
was a wolf or an indian or a donkey.
Don't say much for him, except you
know he'd be fast to work up a sweat
on a tree if he