T H E L I G H T H O U S E
Written by
SriNiharika
ii.
PLAYERS:
YOUNG, a new assistant lighthousekeeper with a sordid past.
OLD, a crusty lighthouse keeper. His boss.
SETTING:
Somewhere far off the coast of Maine. Around 1890.
NOTE:
This film must be photographed onblack and white 35mm negative.
Aspect ratio: 1.19:1
Audio mix: Mono
BLACK.
The rumble of a lonely FOGHORN.Low. Faint.
TITLE: T H E L I G H T H O U S E
EXT. ATLANTIC OCEAN - DAY
EXTREMELY WIDE SHOT: Fog. Nothing else in sight.Slowly, a SMALL STEAM BOAT emerges: A LIGHTHOUSE TENDER. It chugs along, a tinyblip in a vast ocean. Black smoke puffs from its crooked chimney. Its oldengine sputters softly.
Hold.
The FOGHORN again, louder now. Closer.
EXT. LIGHTHOUSE TENDER. PROW -LATER
CLOSE ON: The rotten, rusty prow carves through thewaves. The third-rate engine rumbles.
Hold.
EXT. LIGHTHOUSE TENDER. DECK -SUNSET
WIDE: SHADOWS stand on the bow of the boat (back toCAMERA).
They might be men, but they couldjust as easily be ghosts.
THE FOGHORN BLASTS. It’s closeenough to feel.
A FLASH OF LIGHT breaks throughthe fog, revealing...
The silhouette of a bleak stone island, no biggerthan an acre: PILOT ROCK. A few ramshackle outbuildings cling to the surfacelike barnacles. On the highest point of the island stands a tall, crumbling LIGHTHOUSE TOWER. An ominous flock of SEAGULLSscreech and caw around it.
THE FOGHORN and LIGHT bellow andflash again.
THE ISLAND itself seems to draw the boat and the mencloser.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. SHORE - SUNSET
It’s dark in the fog, even withthe flashing light above.
A TRANSFER BOAT is beached on the shore. TWO RELIEFMATES doll out provisions to TWO MEN in dark uniforms and caps. The hand-overis challenging.
The TWO UNIFORMED MEN come in andout of view, carrying supplies.
One lags behind, carrying the heavierload.
They walk past a small, dilapidated BOATHOUSE with no door.A poorly mended DORY -- THE LIFE BOAT -- is tied up inside, sitting on thetwisted runners of the launch that stretch out into the lapping waves.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. NEAR THE LIVINGQUARTERS - SUNSET
TWO OTHER MEN (late 60s, sameuniforms) exit the one-story CLAPBOARD SHACK that adjoins THE LIGHTHOUSE by aremarkably long breezeway. They are the departing LIGHTHOUSE KEEPERS --“WICKIES,” as they refer to themselves. They lug gunny sacks over their shoulders,and drag their rope-handled ditty boxes by their sides, keeping their headsdown. Their bearded faces are craggy and leaden. They reek of tobacco, must,and salt. They shuffle toward their relief: THE MEN FROM THE TENDER, carryingtheir supplies.
The four almost exchange glances.But they don’t bother.
THE FOGHORN bellows.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. NEAR THE LIVINGQUARTERS – LATER
The new wickies stand utterlystill, next to each other, their gazes fixed on the same distant spot.
One man is YOUNG (early 30s).Tall, athletic –- but starved. His deep set eyes are haunted, and his left eyeis healing from a week-old shiner. His crooked expression is severe. There’s aneerie disquiet about him. He’s like a dog that’s been beaten and caged too manytimes. A small mustache shows his vanity.
The other is OLD (Haggard 60? Spry70?). He’s weathered, feral bearded, and hunched, with hands like vises. Hislack of visible lips suggests some missing teeth. He tremors a bit, but he’slean and sturdy as a lead pipe. His high cheekbones smile even when hegrimaces. His wild eyes shine like jewels. He’s an old Pan. A Satyr.
Both of them seem like the kind ofman you might find muttering to himself in the corner of an empty bar room witha distant look in his eye.
They watch THE TENDER depart theisland, ever-so-slowly disappearing -- swallowed up again by the fog.
THE FOGHORN bellows louder thanever, penetrating deep through the bodies of the two men. IT SHAKES THE YOUNGMAN – shocks him – but not the OLD one. He’s used to it.
OLD puts the stump of an unlitclay PIPE in his mouth (upside down). He lumbers out of frame, limping a bit,and happy to finally be “home again.”
YOUNG stays standing, staring out. A bit of fear strikeshim. There’s no turning back now.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY –EVENING
YOUNG throws down his heavysupplies.
They thud against the warped,mildewed floorboards.
He walks through the kitchen andtakes a look around...
It’s run-down and spare: A coalrange, a farmhouse sink with a water pump by the sole window, a small cupboard,a table and two chairs.
The wind blows. It’s depressing.
He keeps walking.
He hears the sound of dribbling water (O.S.)...
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. PARLOR –CONTINUOUS
Entering the parlor, he sees: Areed splint rocker with a busted seat, a rattling potbelly stove, and a small,very dusty, government issue book chest.
A CLOCK ticks monotonously.
Then, YOUNG spots a fine DESK with a ship in a bottle on top. It’srolled shut. He looks around, shifty eyed, to be sure no one is watching him...
Instinctively, he passes his handalong the top of the desk to the LOCK. He jiggles it. Locked. Damn.
Then, there is that persistent sound of dribbling water(O.S.)...
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. STAIRCASE –CONTINUOUS
The sound grows louder as heclimbs the narrow stairs, every tread creaking along the way. The dribblinggrows louder...
He enters the sleeping quarters...
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. BUNKROOM –CONTINUOUS
THUD!YOUNG bumps his head on the low ceiling...
YOUNG
(under his breath) Son-of-a--
He shakes it off...
The bunkroom is also dismal. Notmuch more than two sagging cast-iron single beds.
OLD stands near his bed, PISSINGINTO HIS CHAMBER POT.
Pause. YOUNG absorbs the scene.
YOUNG walks to the unoccupied bedand sits down. As soon as he does, OLD FARTSabout three feet away from YOUNG’S face. A deliberate display of power.
Pause.
OLD finishes relieving himself. Heshakes his member. He buttons up, and kicks the pot under his bed. The pissnearly sloshes out. Mercifully, it doesn’t.
OLD limps away whistling (the song“Tis Brasswork”).
He pauses briefly...
FARTSagain.
He leaves frame, his UNEVEN GAITdisappearing: Walk-drag, walk-drag, walk-drag...
YOUNG sits on his bed. Still.Simmering. He’s not pleased. But he’ll try to keep that to himself. He holdshis head.
The CLOCK from downstairs ticks...
Just then, YOUNG feels somethingstrange under him...
He feels around...
He discovers a hole in themattress. Something is poking out...
He digs his finger into thehole...
He removes some horsehairstuffing...
He pulls out a small trinket,about six inches long... It’s a MERMAID carved from ivory, with scrimshawedscales on her tail. A primitive but pretty effigy. Strange.
YOUNG looks at it with a hungrycuriosity...
He rubs his thumb over her body...her breasts...
He feels a bit guilty and puts herin his pocket.
HOLD.
INT. FOG SIGNAL HOUSE – NIGHT
CLOSE ON: The hulkingsteam-powered foghorn engine. A piston pumps, gears grind, a huge flywheelspins and spins.
CAMERA BOOMS DOWN TO: THE MOUTH ONTHE HUNGRY FURNACE GLOWING WITH FIRE.
A SHOVEL FULL OF COAL enters frameand feeds the flames.
Another shovel full.
And another.
THE FOG SIREN BLOWS EXCRUCIATINGLYLOUDLY.
CLOSE, REVERSE: YOUNG shovels coalinto the furnace, dripping with sweat, wincing from the intense heat.
He shovels again and again.
THE FOG SIREN BLOWS: LOUD. CLOSE.PAINFUL.
YOUNG BRACES HIMSELF, REELING FROM THE SOUND.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS.GALLEY/VESTIBULE – NIGHT
The contents of a kitchen cabinet are strewn about thefloor.
OLD is inside the built-in cabinet up to his waist, buttout.
If he had a tail, it’d wag. He’slooking for something. Something secret.
YOUNG watches from afar in thestaircase. OLD crawls out with a woodencrate. He grins with relief, pulling out a sea glass LIQUOR BOTTLE. He tremorsa bit, it’s been too long.
OMITTED
- LATER
It’s dark.
The two men sit in the crampedgalley. A kerosene lamp flickers on the table between them, it is bent to oneside, but still works fine. YOUNG looks at their meal, trying to hide hiscontempt: Lukewarm scrod and potatoes wait on battered mess plates. He rolls acigarette on the table. His coal-blackened hands stain the paper.
OLD sets down two cups. Tin.Chipped china.
OLD
Should pale death with treble dread make the oceancaves our bed, God who hear'st the surges roll, deign to save the suppliantsoul.
He pours a strange, thick liquidinto the cups. Homemade hooch?
He holds his up for a toast.
OLD (CONT’D) To four weeks.
YOUNG pauses. Damn, it looks good.He could use a drink. But he hesitates as if he thinks he is being tested.
He decides to stay focused on thecigarette.
YOUNG No, sir. Thank you.
OLD
Bad luck to leave a toast unfinished, lad.
YOUNG tucks his cigarette behindhis ear.
YOUNG
Meanin’ no disrespect, sir.
OLD
A man what don’t drink, best have his reasons.
YOUNG
Ain’t it--
YOUNG stops himself to rephrase,more respectfully. It’s not easy for him to be well-mannered. He takes histime, so as not to fumble with the multisyllabic words.
I’d -- I had understood it’s ‘gainst regulations,sir.
OLD Did you?
YOUNG Yessir.
OLD won’t budge. His cup is stillraised.
YOUNG (CONT’D) From them’s manual.
OLD
Didn’t picture you was a readin’ man.
YOUNG
Ain’t trying for trouble–-
OLD
Then y’do as I say. That’s in yer book, too.
Long pause.
YOUNG smiles. His expression seemsto say: “This old guy is a piece of work.”
YOUNG takes his cup verydeliberately.
He stands up.
Pause.
He walks to the farmhouse sink andpours out the booze.
He pumps some water into his cup.
He sits back down.
He holds up his cup to toast. He’sproud. He won.
YOUNG To four weeks.
OLD smiles -– a little too wide.They click cups.
They drink...
Just as soon as they do: YOUNGRETCHES! A terrible taste. He spits-up into his cup. A bit on the floor.
OLD revels in the mishap.
OLD
Aye. The cistern needs a-lookin’ to. One of yerduties, lad. Or didn’t y’read yerself about it? Polishin’, swabbin’. Swabbin’and polishin’. You’ll clean the brass and the clockwork, and you can tidy thequarters after. There’s wellmore to be mended outside.
YOUNG nods yes, his dry heavingsubsiding.
OLD (CONT’D) D’y’hear me, lad?
YOUNG
Yessir-–
OLD
(correcting him)
“Aye, sir!”
YOUNG Aye, sir.
OLD starts eating his supper.Happy. His habits are a bit uncouth.
OLD
When the fog clears, you’ll work through the dogwatch--
YOUNG
Doggin’ it? Was ‘spectin’ I’d git up to the lantern.
OLD
Itend the light.
YOUNG
The rules is alternatin’ shifts--
OLD is startlingly stern.Unblinking. No tremors. A speck of scrod hangs in his beard.
OLD
It’s the mid watch that’s to dread, lad: night tomorning. My watch.
(MORE)
OLD (CONT'D)
Some new junior man I’m fixed with-Y’act like y’neverbeen to sea a’fore.
YOUNG I...
YOUNG hesitates, he hasn’t been atsea before -- clearly. But not worth the trouble getting into it now.
YOUNG (CONT’D) Aye, sir.
OLD looks at him with disgust.
OLD
That uni’form don’t fit ye.
YOUNG
Well, sir, it’s the one them establishment fellersgave me--
OLD
I’m meanin’ y’ain’t fit fer the wearin’ of it. Seeto yer duties. The light’s mine.
OMITTED
EXT. PILOT ROCK - NIGHT
EXTREME WIDE SHOT: THE LIGHTHOUSE flashes. THE FOGHORNblasts.
INT. FOG SIGNAL HOUSE - NIGHT
YOUNG shovels more coal into thefurnace. ANGRY!
He casts a mean glance to the BOOKthat rests on a chair by the hot, whirring machinery: “Instructions toLight-Keepers, July, 1881.” He curses the manual:
YOUNG Son-of-a-bitch.
THE FOGHORN BLASTS.
YOUNG (CONT’D) SON-OF-A-BITCH!
THE FOGHORN BLASTS AGAIN! YOUNG KICKS THE CHAIR OVER... THEMANUAL FALLS TO THE GROUND.
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. TOWER STAIRS –NIGHT
MUSIC CUE: Weird, haunting,ancient.
THE CAMERA BOOMS UP THROUGH: Theclinking and clanking gears of the light’s clockwork...
A heavy lead weight on a chainslowly rises up through the center of the tower’s cast-iron spiral stairs...
Wondrous patterns of swirlinglight move through the ironwork.
The patterns shift rhythmically -–hypnotically.
Otherworldly.
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. LANTERN ROOM -NIGHT
MUSIC CONTINUES.
OLD sits in a sweat, mesmerized by the LIGHT. The machinerywhirs and clicks. THE HEAT from the huge THIRD-ORDER FRESNEL
LENS is immense. He is haloed inhis pipe smoke.
His jacket is off...
Not cool enough.
He opens his union suit...
- LATER
Now he’s bare-chested. Hisalcoholic's gut protrudes from his wiry frame. His strong, sinewy arms shinewith sweat. There’s a faded three-masted ship tattooed on his chest, andseveral crooked stick-and-pokes elsewhere -- all glistening.
He pours grog into his tin cup. Hetoasts the light. Drinks.
His eyes are heavy.
He’s not drunk yet. But he wantsto be.
He pours another drink.
Toasts.
OLD
To ye, me beauty!
EXT. FOG SIGNAL HOUSE - NIGHT
MUSIC CONTINUES.
YOUNG is staring up at the magicallight. Eight beams –- a rotating starburst. Weird light patterns dance acrossthe rocks below. It truly is a wonder. He yearns for it. It’s primal.
He’s outside the signal shed. It’san odd looking building with a huge protruding trumpet, held up by ricketystruts.
YOUNG tries to light hiscigarette. The wind and dampness of the foggy air makes it impossible.
His match won’t light.
THE FOGHORN BLASTS.
YOUNG strikes the match again. Thematch is lit... the wind blows it out. Damn!
He strikes the match again...
THE FOGHORN BLASTS.
INT/EXT. BOATHOUSE/SHORE - MOMENTSLATER
MUSIC CONTINUES.
YOUNG is finally smoking hiscigarette. He slowly walks toward the shore...
HE IS DRAWN TO THE LIGHT from thelighthouse reflecting on the water.
He pauses, the waves lappingagainst the rocks.
He starts walking into the tide...
He walks further, he doesn'tstop... HYPNOTIZED by the water...
THE LIGHT...
IS THAT A BALL OF LIGHT OUT IN THE SEA...?
Further...
Further...
Seaweed, moss, and slime surroundhis knees.
Further...
Then, slowly, A HUGE LOG, fortyfeet long and still sheathed in bark, floats toward him...
Another log...
Another!
He looks ahead and THE SEA IS FULLOF LOGS: A RIVER LOG DRIVE. He wants to run, but he can’t... he keeps wadingdeeper into the ocean of logs...
He is almost up to his neck in water... Suddenly, he sees:
THEBODY OFA MANfloating face down in the logs: HE WEARS A WOOLMACKINAW COAT AND LEATHER CAULK BOOTS WITH THICK HOBNAILED SOLES.
Nearby is some kind of toolfloating: A WOODEN POLE WITH A SINISTER IRON HOOK at the end of it (a peavey or“CANT HOOK” for moving logs in a log drive).
THE LOGS BEGIN TO JAM...
THE BODY FLOATS TOWARD YOUNG!
YOUNG wants to scream. He isalmost totally submerged now... WATER RISES ABOVE HIS MOUTH, HIS SCREAMS TURNTO SALT WATER GURGLES!
QUICKCUT TO:
IMAGE, WIDE: Underwater, A MERMAID swims gracefully -- MENACINGLY -- in the sea toward CAMERA.
QUICKCUT TO:
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. BUNKROOM -MORNING
Water drips on YOUNG’S FACE Drip. Drip.Drip.
He opens his eyes, startled.
OLD is disrobing in the mirror,carefully –- he’s drunk.
OLD Shingles.
YOUNG looks up. Water gets intohis eye.
OLD waddles to his bed, his pantsaround his ankles.
OLD (CONT’D)
Tend to ‘em after the cistern. And the lamp, sheneeds oil.
He flops down on the saggingmattress. Asleep instantly.
YOUNG Aye, sir.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. PATHWAY - DAY
YOUNG lugs a heavy BAG OF CHALK upthe incline of the island.
It’s hard work.
The wind blows like hell.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. CISTERN - DAY
YOUNG, cigarette in his mouth,opens the hatch of a porridged brick water tank: It lets out a putrid stenchthat knocks YOUNG’S face back a few inches.
He tosses away the cigarette andcovers his mouth and nose with the handkerchief around his neck.
He looks inside: It’s full of moldand frothy sludge. It’s what he’sbeen drinking.
He pours in the chalk. It slowlysinks.
YOUNG drops in the mixing stick and swirls the water around.It looks sort of beautiful.
EXT. LIVING QUARTERS. ROOF – DAY
YOUNG scrapes at old cedar shakes.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
He balances precariously on arickety rung ladder. The wind blows hard, nearly knocking him off. It’smonotonous work. He takes it seriously, but with a chip on his shoulder.
He looks up to the lighthouse:Curtains drawn in the lamp room.
He rips out several rottedshingles. The roof boards below are ravaged with rot, too. Yep, here’s thatleaky hole.
He leans in...
HE CAN SEE THROUGH A HOLE IN THEROOF:
OLD is asleep. But he’s moving...
YOUNG leans in closer...
OLD is softly HUMPING his sweatymattress, just gently thrusting his hips. It’s subtle. A reflexive motion.
YOUNG watches.
Hold.
EXT. SUPPLY SHED - DAY
YOUNG opens a wooden door thatalmost falls off its hinges:
The shack is full. Barrels of dried fish, shelves of tools,tapers, paper-wrapped parcels, wooden crates, casks, kegs, rope...
EXT. COAL HOUSE - DAY
YOUNG opens the door: COAL. Heaps of it. This door does fall off itshinges.
EXT. COAL HOUSE - LATER
He loads up a wheelbarrow overfull with coal.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. PATHWAY -CONTINUOUS
He pushes the wheelbarrow down therock. (Needless to say, the wheel squeaks.)
He keeps pushing. One wrong step could cause the whole pileto tumble off of the wheelbarrow and down the island....
EXT. FOG SIGNAL HOUSE - CONTINUOUS
He makes his way to the door withthe wheelbarrow...
A SEAGULL stands in front of theold door, guarding it.
YOUNG flaps his hand, trying toscare it.
THE GULL SQUAWKS. It turns itshead, revealing: A MISSING EYE. The empty socket is gruesome and twisted. A warwound.
YOUNG is motionless, staring atthe strange deformity...
SUDDENLY, THE GULL YEOWS, LUNGINGat him, clicking its beak.
Instinctively, YOUNG HURLS a lumpof coal at it...
He misses...
THE GULL mews this time, lookswith its single eye, and flies away.
YOUNG watches the bird’spath...
It flies past the lighthouse...
The OLD man is looking down at him from the TOWER CATWALK(an exterior observation deck), puffing his pipe. Watching.
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. OIL ROOM - DAY
The double-doors of the breezewayopen, revealing: Oil drums at the bottom of the staircase. THE OIL ROOM. YOUNG looks up...
That is one tallstaircase.
The chains of the light’sclockwork weights look sinister as they dangle down the center of the ironspiral steps and their shadows creep across the stone wall. They clink andclank, echoing ominously...
YOUNG looks at the OIL DRUMS hiding beneath the stairs. Theyare much larger and more imposing than the heavy chalk bag.
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. TOWER STAIRS -DAY
Clunk. YOUNG lugs an immense OILDRUM up the steps.
...
...
Clunk.
...
...
Clunk.
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. MACHINE ROOM -DAY
Finally, YOUNG reaches the top ofthe stairs. The oil drum SLAMS down. His muscles tremor, sweat drips.
He looks at the hatch to theLANTERN ROOM above...
He is drawn to it... what’s inthere?
Slowly, he reaches toward thehandle...
He pushes...
It’s closed. Stuck. Locked?
OLD (O.S.)
You don’t go in there!
OLD startlesYOUNG. Where did he come from?
OLD emerges from the shadows:walk-drag, walk-drag, walkdrag.
YOUNG Oil, sir.
Says YOUNG, feeling somehowcaught.
He steps away from the drum,showing it to the old man, trying to hide an ounce of pride. He wipes the sweatfrom his brow, panting.
OLD limps around him, smoking hispipe.
HE BLOWS SMOKE IN YOUNG’S FACE.YOUNG closes his eyes.
OLD Tired?
YOUNG No, sir.
Says YOUNG, still panting.
OLD throws a small, empty,THREE-GALLON BRASS OIL CANISTER at him.
YOUNG CATCHES it awkwardly.
OLD
Use this next time. Save you a helluva lotta trouble.
YOUNG
--
OLD continues to taunt him.
OLD
Catch yer breath, lad.
Pause.
I said catch your breath, lad!
YOUNG grits his teeth.
OLD (CONT’D)
Then bring that drum back down the ladderwell wherey’found it. ‘Less yer fixin’ to burn the whole light down.
OLD climbs the ladder to theLANTERN ROOM. YOUNG watches with spite.
YOUNG Aye, sir.
OLD pulls out a KEY RING attachedto his watch chain. A half dozen BRASS KEYSin varying sizes.
OLD
Then see to the rest of yer duties. Yer behindhandalready.
YOUNG Aye, sir.
YOUNG watches him unlock the doorwith the largest KEY.
OLD
Yer too slow. You a dullard?
YOUNG No, sir.
OLD Fooled me.
OLD slams the door and locks itfrom the inside.
HOLD on YOUNG.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY -NIGHT
Scrod and potatoes again.
YOUNG has his water. OLD pourshimself a dram.
OLD
Should pale death with treble dread make the oceancaves our bed, God who hear'st the surges roll, deign to save the suppliantsoul.
They drink. YOUNG winces a little.OLD is satisfied and starts eating.
OLD(CONT’D)
(between chewing)
Still tastes o’the head?
YOUNG won’t nod yes.
They eat in silence.
OLD looks up at YOUNG... YOUNGignores him.
OLD(CONT’D)
Ah, find some chirk in ye, lad. Now is the time forgab and chatter. Y’best be enjoying it. Come a fortnight and the brace of us’llbe wantin’ to be ever silent as the tomb. Even to clap eyes on each other...It’ll make y’hotter than hell!
YOUNG
I ain’t much fer talkin’.
OLD
Reckon yer the first?
YOUNG
No, sir. I don’t.
OLD
Y’ain’t. Y’ain’t. Aye, the Chicopee, a fine-un, shewere. Clean-built and trig-lookin’! None more fleet in ‘64 than she... We wereon the breaks -- a mutiny it were. And why, ask ye? Why? What’s the terriblepart of the sailor’s life ask ye, lad? T’ain’t Cap’n, workin’ ‘em double-tide.Nay, no.
(MORE)
OLD (CONT'D)
‘Tis when the workin’ stops when yer twixt wind andwater. Doldrums.
Doldrums. Eviler than the Devil.
Boredom makes men to villains... And the water goesquick, lad... vanished. And what’s the answer? What be the cure? The onlymed’cine is drink. Drink, lad! Keeps them sailors happy, keeps ‘em agreeable,keeps ’em calm, keeps em–-
YOUNG Stupid.
Pause. The two men stare at eachother for a moment.
OLD ERUPTS INTO A FIT OF LAUGHTER.He laughs so hard that he runs through every conceivable sound. Is he drunkalready?
YOUNG smiles in spite of himself,it’s hard not to.
OLD pours another and toasts.
OLD
Curse me if there ain’t an old tar spirit somewheresin ye, lad.
YOUNG starts to say something...but he stops himself.
Pause.
OLD (CONT’D) Out with it, lad.
YOUNG
What... Why’d yer last keeper leave?
OLD
Him? My second?
YOUNG nods yes, eating.
OLD (CONT’D) A damn fine seafarin’ man, he were.
Pause.
Died.
YOUNG --?
OLD
Aye, went mad, he did. First a strangeness. Aquietude. Then wild fancies struck him. Ravin’ ‘bout sirens, merfolk, bad omensand the like. In the end, no more sense left in him than a hen’s tooth. Hebelieved there were some enchantment in the light.
YOUNG --?
OLD
He notioned St. Elmo did cast his very fire into it.Salvation, said he.
YOUNG laughs.
YOUNG Tall tales.
He rolls a cigarette.
OLD takes another drink. Slowly,his mood becomes somber.
OLD
I seen ye sparrin’ with a gull.
YOUNG licks the paper.
OLD (CONT’D)
Best y’leave ‘em be. Bad luck to kill a sea bird.
YOUNG laughs, dismissively.
YOUNG
More tall tales?
As YOUNG starts to put thecigarette to his lips... OLD GETS UP AND SLAPS HIM HARD IN THE FACE, out of nowhere!
YOUNG stands in shock, knockingback his chair to the floor... He looks at OLD, stunned... YOUNG raises hisfist in defense...
OLD IS ANGRY. DEAD SERIOUS.
OLD
Bad luck to kill a sea bird.
Pause.
OLD breathes. He calms down a bit.He realizes how strange that was.
OLD (CONT’D)
Pay me no mind, lad. None. Fix us up some coffee.Long night ahead. Drop o’coffee‘ll do us good.
OLD doesn’t need to say he’sdrunk.
YOUNG Aye, sir.
YOUNG looks again at OLD: He’s shaken. Terrified. A shell ofhimself. More frightening than his outburst of anger was.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. BUNKROOM –NIGHT
YOUNG lies in bed, smoking acigarette. Reading the manual. Can’t get comfortable. Restless. He holds theCARVED MERMAID in his hand, rubbing it reflexively in all the wrong places.
The CLOCK ticks monotonously.
Hold.
OUT OF FOCUS IN THE BACK GROUND: ASEAGULL lands on the window.
Pause.
THE GULL starts tapping on thewindow.
Tap. Tap.
YOUNG hears it.
Tap.
Just as he turns to face it... THESEAGULL has flown away.
YOUNG feels uneasy. He sits up.
Back to his bed: the MERMAID CARVING is nestled in hissheets. Waiting for him.
INT. SUPPLY SHED - NIGHT
YOUNG’S head moves up and down,shaking slightly. He is hiding in the shadows of the shed. The sound ofrustling cloth and a clinking belt buckle are heard. CAMERA BOOMS DOWN...
He’s masturbating.
CAMERA DOLLIES INTO: YOUNG’S headand into ...
BLACK.
EXT. SUPPLY SHED - A BIT LATERTHAT NIGHT
YOUNG emerges from the darkness ofthe shed, smoking. He closes the door behind him and leans against it. Hesighs. Soothed. Calm.
The LIGHTHOUSE LIGHT illuminatesYOUNG in waves of hot white panels, otherwise, the soft glow of his cigaretteindicates his location in the dark.
Suddenly, he notices something odd, a DARK SPOT in thecenter of the light. The panels of light streaking across him have a
MAN’S SILHOUETTE within them.YOUNG looks up to the tower:
YOUNG’S POV: Is that OLD...hugging the lens?
YOUNG is startled, confused. Helooks again.
YOUNG’S POV: Somehow, OLD is nowon the CATWALK. Surveying. He pulls suspenders over his shoulders, as ifgetting dressed after a night with a woman. A lantern in his other hand helpshim look below....
YOUNG skulks beneath the eaves of the roof, wary of the manabove. He puts out his glowing cigarette... Hiding.
OMITTED
OMITTED
EXT. PILOT ROCK – DAY
EXTREMELY WIDE SHOT: YOUNG pushesthe wheelbarrow through a storm, an oilcloth tarp over the coal. (Time haspassed, his shiner has healed.) He struggles through the mud...
Hold.
AUDIO PRE-LAP:
OLD
You’ve been neglecting yer duties, lad!
INT. MACHINE ROOM - LATER
YOUNG is still, holding a ragagainst the brass he’s polishing.
YOUNG ?
OLD is fuming.
OLD
Don’t deny it.
YOUNG Sir?
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY – DAY
OLD stands in the galley, pointingat the floor in horror. It looks like it always does. How could it look anydifferent?
OLD
What d’y’call this?
YOUNG Sir?
OLD What?
YOUNG
I mopped and swept. Twice over, sir.
OLD Ye lyin’ dog.
YOUNG
I swept ‘em–-
OLD
‘Tis begrimed and bedabbled.
YOUNG
I--
OLD
Unwiped, unwarshed, anddistained.
YOUNG
(under his breath) You git somekinda peart outta molestin’ me?
OLD Come now?
YOUNG
I already says--
OLD
How dare y’contree’dict me,y’dog--
That sets YOUNG off:
YOUNG Now look here, I ain’t neverintended to be no housewife nor slave in takin’ this job. It ain’t right! Theselodgings is more ramshackle than any shanty boy’s camp I ever seen. The queenof England’s own fancy housekeeper couldn’t do no better than what I done,‘cause I tell you, I scrubbed this here place twice over, sir and-
OLD
And I say y’did nothin’ o’thesort.
I say, y’swab it again, and y’swab it proper-likethis time, and then you’ll be swabbin’ it ten times more after that. And if Itells ye to pull up and apart every floorboard and clapboard of this here houseand scour ‘em down with yer bare, bleedin’ knuckles, you’ll do it. If I tellsye to yank out every single nail from every moulderin’ nail-hole and suck offevery spec of rust till all them nails sparkle like a sperm whale’s pecker, andthen carpenter the whole light station back together from scrap -- and then --do it all over again -- you’ll do it! And by God and by Golly, you’ll do itsmilin’ lad, cause you’ll like it, too. And you’ll like it ‘cause I says youwill!
Contree’dict me again I dock yer wages.
Y’hear me, lad?
Long, painful pause.
YOUNG Aye, sir.
OLD
Now swab, dog. Swab!
YOUNG does as he’s told – he grabsthe mop and pail, finally resigned to his fateon this light station.
OLD smiles.
OLD (CONT’D)
Now that’s a good lad. That’s what I like to see.
YOUNG starts to mop.
OLD sings mockingly:
OLD (CONT’D)
(singing)
Oh what be the baneof a lightkeeper's life? What cause him to worry, to struggle and strife,
What make him usecuss words, and beat at his wife? ‘Tis Brasswork.
INT. OIL ROOM - LATER
OLD watches YOUNG polishing thebrasswork.
OLD
(singing)
What make him lookghastly, consumptive and thin? What rob him of health, of his vigor and vim?
And cause himdespair and drives him to sin.'
‘Tis Brasswork.
YOUNG keeps polishing... harder... faster... harder...
EXT. PILOT ROCK – DAY
YOUNG pushes the wheelbarrowthrough the storm (now in the other direction). It’s more difficult thanbefore...
OLD (V.O.)
(singing)
The oilcontainers I polish until, My poor back is broken, aching; and still...
He’s struggling... The wheelbarrowfalls...
Coal scatters all over the place.YOUNG stands still.
He wants to scream.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY –NIGHT
YOUNG and OLD eat their scrod andpotatoes in silence.
RAIN AND WINDS BLAIR JUST OUTSIDETHEIR FLIMSY WALLS.
Tension.
Hold.
Thunder claps.
BLACK.
EXT. LIGHTHOUSE TOWER – DAY
ANGLE ON: OLD is looking down fromCATWALK of the tower, he smokes his pipe. The sun shines behind him.
CAMERA BOOMS DOWN TO: YOUNG,sitting on a KITCHEN CHAIR held up by ropes, attached to a jerky BLOCK ANDTACKLE. One of the wheels is coming off the pulley.
YOUNG is whitewashing the tower,some 50 feet above the ground. A bucket of whitewash dangles on another rope.
OLD
Keep ‘em still, lad.
YOUNG can’t. As usual, the windblows wildly.
YOUNG Aye, sir.
His "paintbrush," astick with a horsehair brush at the end, shakes in his hands.
OLD
Whitewash must be even, lad. Bright! Shinin’!
(MORE)
OLD(CONT'D)
Like a silver whorehouse token.
Give ‘em sailors a properdaymark.
OLD lets the rope slip a bit. Ittruly scares YOUNG.
Whitewash drips onto YOUNG’S faceand clothes. He yells:
YOUNG
They're not going to see it in a Goddamn storm!
OLD laughs.
OLD
They will after! And'll be glad to see it! Keep yourtemper now, lad. ‘Tis fine work. Yer makin’ high marks in me logbook. Them’sgospel!
“Logbook?” thinks YOUNG. He staresat Old... for too long.
OLD(CONT’D)
I'll drop y’down a few feet.
OLD lowers him some more; YOUNGslips quickly. Suddenly... The pulley whirls too fast... YOUNG and the movingblock shift quickly and SLAM to a halt.
YOUNG Easy.
OLD
Never been in better hands.
Another shift: HARD.
Is OLD struggling? He anchors hisgood leg to the catwalk.
SHIFT! Further than the last one.THE WHITEWASH SPLASHES.
YOUNG Easy!
YOUNG thrashes in the wind...
OLD
Quit yer flailing, lad.
YOUNG I ain’t!
OLD Y’are!
OLD (CONT’D) Keep still!
YOUNG
I am--
THE PULLEY’S BUSTED WHEEL FLIESOFF... the rope springs backward...
YOUNG, the chair, and the blockand tackle plunge to the ground!
BLACK.
EXT. FOOT OF THE LIGHT TOWER –LATER
YOUNG comes to...
He's covered in whitewash.
How long was he out? He looksaround... THE KITCHEN CHAIR is shattered -- no more than kindling... OLD isnowhere to be seen...
But THE SEAGULL with the missingeye is perched on his leg. It pecks him, scavenging the fresh meat.
YOUNG Shoo.
It pecks again. TAP. TAP. TAP. Onhis leg. The GULL blurts out a hostile kek
YOUNG (CONT’D) You! Git!
It persists, pecking with itssharp beak.
YOUNG is afraid of the bird.Afraid to harm it...
TAP. TAP. TAP. Damn! It hurts!
YOUNG KICKS IT HARD!
THE GULL flies away, mocking himwith mews and yeows
INT. LIVING QUARTERS.PARLOR/VESTIBULE – EVENING
OLD peers through tiny, delicatespectacles worn at a cant. The left temple tip is too high, and not loopedround his ear.
He is finishing writing an entryin his LOG BOOK. He writes the “period” with gusto.
Pen down. Book closed. Glassesoff.
He rolls his desk top shut with aslam, and locks it with the littlest KEY on his key chain.
CAMERA pushes into the lock.
REVERSE: YOUNG IS HIDING IN THE SHADOWS of the vestibule...WATCHING.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY -NIGHT
OLD sits on the same chair he’sbeen sitting in for the past weeks. YOUNG sits on an upturned NAIL KEG.
YOUNG turns HARDTACK in his hand.He’s debating eating it. He KNOCKS it against the table. The biscuit clangslike metal. Nope.
YOUNG pours OLD a drink instead.Passes it to him.
OLD Thankee, lad.
YOUNG Winslow.
OLD --?
YOUNG musters a little courage.
YOUNG
Ephraim Winslow. These last two weeks, I’d... well,I’d like it, sir, if you’d call me by my name.
OLD
Listen to ye, giving orders, lad.
YOUNG
Winslow.
OLD
Alright, alright... suits me just as fine, EphraimWinslow. So, what brung such a one as you to this damnèd rock?
YOUNG Such as what?
OLD
Pretty as a picture.
YOUNG
--
OLD laughs heartily.
OLD
Only joshing, lad, only josh--
YOUNG Winslow.
OLD
Winslow -– What brings you to this rock, EphraimWinslow? What were yer work afore?
YOUNG Timber.
OLD Timber...
YOUNG
Big timber. Up north. Canadaways.
OLD
Hudson Bay outfit?
YOUNG The same.
OLD
True what they say? “Forest far as the eye can see.”
YOUNG
Yessir. Spruce, tamarack... white pine. “Bush,” themfolk up there call it.
OLD
Had enough of trees, that it,then?
YOUNG Yessir.
OLD
Can’t say I blame ye. I hearn tell about that life.Hard goin’. Workin’ one man harder than two hosses, they say. No thankee. Thesea, she’s the only situation wantin’ fer me.
YOUNG Miss it?
OLD
Miss it? I ain’t never know’d anything but it.
YOUNG Sailing.
OLD
Ah... Aye. Aye.
OLD sees the sea life clearly inhis eyes. The stories he must have.
OLD(CONT’D)
Ain’t nothing what can touchit.
He snaps himself out of it:
OLD(CONT’D)
But can’t be draggin’ me old stump about...
(Referring to his limp)
Nay... not worth the trouble... now I’m a wickie anda wickie I is. I’m damn-well wedded to this here light, and she’s been a finer,truer, quieter wife than any a liveblooded woman.
YOUNG Ever married?
OLD
Thirteen Christmases at sea... little ‘uns at home.She never forgave it.
Pause.
(MORE)
OLD (CONT'D) ‘Tis fer the better.
Pause.
It’s clear that OLD has regrets.But rather than dwell on a painful past, he changes the subject.
OLD (CONT’D)
Since we’re getting too friendly, Ephraim Winslow,tell me, what’s a timber man want with being a wickie? Not enough quiet for yeup north? Sawdust itching yer nethers? Foreman found ye too high-tempered forcarrying an axe?
That last comment rubs YOUNG thewrong way, but he tries not to give in to the feeling.
YOUNG
Like you says, just had enough of trees, I guess.
OLD looks him over suspiciously ashe lights his pipe.
YOUNG focuses on his cigarette.Lights. Draws.
YOUNG (CONT’D) Since I left Dad,well... I done every kind of work can pay a man. Some I ain’t near proud of.
OLD Drifter, eh?
YOUNG
No sir! Just can’t find a post I can take a realshine to, so I keep movin’ along. And I ain’t the kind to look back at what’sbehind him, see.
OLD On the run?
YOUNG gets defensive. Did he saytoo much?
YOUNG
No sir -- now look here, now -- I mean, nothin’ wrongwith a man startin’ fresh, startin’ new, lookin’ to earn a living––
OLD No...
YOUNG
...like any man, tryin’ to settle down quiet-likewith some earnings...
I read a man could earn six hundred and thirty –– Iread one thousand dollars a year if he’s willing to tend a light far offshore... the further away, the more he earns. I read that, and hell, I says,yessir. Work. Save my earnings. Soon enough, I’ll raise my own roof, somewheresup country, with no one to tell me “what for”... That’s all.
YOUNG smiles. He thinks he isdoing a pretty good job covering up his fear that OLD may sense more than helets on. The cigarette helps.
OLD
Same ol’ borin’ story, eh?
YOUNG You asked.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. PARLOR –LATER THAT NIGHT
OLD sits in his rocker, knitting,smoking his pipe.
YOUNG sits on the floor by theopen stove, warming his hands. He lights his cigarette with a splinter ofkindling and closes the door.
He takes a drag.
YOUNG
Say, why’s it bad luck to kill a gull?
OLD puffs his pipe gravely.
OLD
In ‘em’s the souls o’ sailors what met their maker.
YOUNG tries not to scoff again.OLD senses it.
OLD (CONT’D)
You a prayin’ man, Winslow?
YOUNG
Not as often as I might. But I’m God fearin’ -– ifthat’s what yer askin’.
YOUNG tries to take another dragof his cigarette. He can't. It’s gone out... but he just lit it...
OLD
Russian Tar once told me: yer cigarette cinder goesout, there be someone somewhere’s a-thinkin’ bad thoughts of ye.
YOUNG looks at OLD. OLD stopsrocking.
OLD (CONT’D)
They be a-cursing yer name.
YOUNG re-lights the cigarette andtakes a drag, not knowing what to make of that.
OLD (CONT’D)
A toast to Ephraim Winslow, the God fearin’ man. Let‘im settle down with none to tell ‘em “what for,” that his cinders always stayburnin’, and let fear never abandon ‘im.
OLD toasts and drinks.
YOUNG Amen.
YOUNG feels uneasy.
INT. LIGHT STATION. VARIOUS – ADAYS WORK
- YOUNG sweeps the galley.
- OLD ascends the tower stairs. He pauses, out of breath.
- YOUNG is inside the fog trumpet, cleaning it.
- OLD swiftly rolls hisDESK closed and LOCKS IT.
- YOUNG winds the clockwork mechanism.
- YOUNG cleans the clockwork. Leaning in a strangeposition, his TOBACCO POUCH falls to the ground.
- OLD goes into theLANTERN ROOM and LOCKS IT.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. BUNKROOM -NIGHT
YOUNG is tossing and turning inbed. Restless. Hot. Sweaty.
The sound of the waves crashing onshore is relentless.
The CLOCK ticks monotonously.
He tries to find a cool spot onthe bed.
He turns his pillow over... kicksoff the linens like an angry toddler...
He’s only in his underwear. TheMERMAID carving is in bed by his side.
(Pinned on the wall behind him areclippings of desired objects from a Sears and Roebuck catalogue, a Tenderloinmusic hall program, and a few pornographic playing cards.)
Kicking off the linens doesn’thelp. He sits up. He puts his hand behind his ear... no cigarette.
He goes to his shirt pockethanging on the foot of the bed rail...
The TOBACCO POUCH isn’t there.
YOUNG Shit.
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. MACHINE ROOM -NIGHT
MUSIC CUE: The eerie “light”music.
YOUNG sees the POUCH resting ontop of the spinning clockwork. He grabs it and quickly starts to head downstairs, but...
Something stops him.
A feeling. A question.
The clockwork spins, the lighthums on its brass track, the sea and wind sing their lilting song.
He looks up at the LIGHT swirlingmagically, undulating through the cast-iron lens deck. It is beautiful.Hypnotic. THE LIGHT DRAWS HIM IN...
But there’s something else...another noise...
Whispering.
Above.
In the LANTERN ROOM.
YOUNG tries to look through theiron grates of the lens deck: the bright LIGHT of the lamp makes it hard tosee... he needs to get closer...
He grabs a chair from the shadowsand stands on it.
He listens.
The whispering is more audible,though hard to define. He listens, trying to block out the white noise of thelight:
It’s OLD all right, but YOUNG canonly hear bits of whispers.
OLD (whispered)
The light... seed...
There’s another noise, now thathis ear is more focused. It’s a sticky,sweaty, slapping of flesh. Constant...
It’s familiar...
He puts his face closer to theiron and through glimpses of the light and shadow above, he sees:
PIECES OF OLD, IN AND OUT OFSHADOW. HIS SINEWY TORSO IS VIBRATING. HIS RIGHT ARM IS MOVING. VIGOROUSLY. UP.DOWN. UP. DOWN.
Is he...?
JUST THEN, WHITE, VISCOUS FLUIDDRIPS FROM THE GRATES...
YOUNG QUICKLY AVOIDS IT INDISGUST.
HE LOOKS UP AGAIN...
A HUGE, SLIMY, TRANSLUCENT SQUID’S TENTACLESLITHERS ACROSS THE IRONWORK...
...IT DISAPPEARS INTO THEDARKNESS.
OLD (CONT’D)
(louder) Veritas...
YOUNG’s eyes widen.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY - DAY
YOUNG pumps water into a cup inthe sink.
He drinks. Pumps again. Drinks.Goes to pump again, but something stops him...
At the bottom of the cup is a darkfilm.
He sweeps it up with a finger andlooks: strange.
Then, TAP, TAP, TAP on the window.He doesn’t seem to hear it
YOUNG pumps the water onceagain... it makes a rusty gurgling sound... the water is more and more tainted,almost black.
Just then, he hears THE PLAINTIVE CRY OF A GULL, outside.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. CISTERN - DAY
YOUNG exits the back door of thequarters. He looks out to the cistern.
The CRY continues.
He walks slowly toward thecistern.
THE CISTERN'S HATCH IS OPEN.
The CRY gets louder as heapproaches.
He looks in:
DEAD GULLS float in the bloodycistern. ONE SEAGULL is trying to escape –- pathetically, desperately --crying. Its wing is broken.
JUST THEN, A LOUD FLUTTER OF WINGSIS HEARD ABOVE... and the sound of a gull landing.
YOUNG LOOKS UP...
THE ONE-EYED GULL STANDS ON TOP OFTHE CISTERN... HE RAISES HIS WINGS AND STANDS STRAIGHT UP, STRUTTINGAGGRESSIVELY... HE STRETCHES HIS BEAK WIDER THAN EVER AND LETS OUT A LOUDHORRIFYING LONG-CALL TOWARD YOUNG!
YOUNG is frozen.
Then, THE GULL swoops his beakinto the cistern... he grabs the gull in his beak, and begins to eat it.
YOUNG tries to intervene...
ONE-EYE ATTACKS YOUNG’S FACE!
YOUNG TEARS IT AWAY IN WILDRAGE...
IN ONE SWIFT MOTION, HE GRASPS THEGULL BY THE LEGS AND BEATS IT AGAINST THE EDGE OF THE CISTERN...
OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVERAND OVER...
AND OVER...
UNTIL IT IS A BLOODY PULP OF FEATHERS...
THE ONE-EYED GULL IS DEAD.
YOUNG breathes heavily. Guilty.
Hold.
The wind blows softly.
He makes himself a cigarette,shaking. He looks sheepishly up to the tower to see if OLD is watching.
CAMERA BOOMS UP THE LIGHTHOUSETOWER, past the catwalk, past the lamp, past the conical roof to...
THE WEATHERVANE: THE ARROW POINTS WEST...
Suddenly, the wind gusts... THEARROW starts to jiggle a bit...
The wind picks up... THE ARROWspins around, and around, and around...
It settles. Jiggling slightly in the wind, THE ARROW POINTSHARD: EAST.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. BUNKROOM –LATER
YOUNG stands in the open doorwayof the bunkroom, wiping his face with a handkerchief.
YOUNG
Cistern was open, sir and...
He sees OLD sobbing into hispillow and blankets. He’s asleep -- isn’t he? It's a strangely vulnerablesight.
YOUNG doesn’t know what to do.
Hold.
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. MACHINE ROOM –DAY
YOUNG’S face is reflected in theshining brasswork. His expression is still affected by the previous two scenes.He spits on the brass and keeps polishing.
OLD watches YOUNG work, writing inhis logbook.
OLD Wind’s changed.
YOUNG Good riddance.
OLD
Don’t be so darn foolish. It’s the calm afore thestorm, Winslow. She were a gentle westerly wind yer cursin’. Only feels roughly‘cause you don’t know nothin’ bout nothin’ and there ain’t no trees on thishere rock like your Hudson Bay bush. Nor’Easterly wind’ll come soon a-blowin’like Gabriel’s horn. Best board up themsignal house winders.
YOUNG Aye, sir.
OLD
‘Twill keep steady afore the tender comes in themorn, I ‘spect... but there’s dirty weather knockin’ about.
YOUNG won’t look OLD in the eye.
OLD (CONT’D) Somethin’ stirring inye?
Yer gettin’ off this island tomorry Winslow, don’tstart grudgen me now.
YOUNG No, sir.
OLD
Keeping secrets, are ye?
YOUNG No, sir.
Pause.
I could use a hand with them boards, is all.
EXT. SIGNAL HOUSE – DAY
YOUNG boards up the windows. OLDhelps.
OLD (V.O.)
Now then, I’ve a surprise.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. SHORE – DAY
YOUNG stands precariously on arock, pulling a ROPE that leads out into the water. OLD watches him.
OLD
Pull, pull, me good lad. Pull, Winslow!
YOUNG pulls a wooden LOBSTER POTout of the water.
YOUNG SMILES. So does OLD.
OLD (CONT’D) Look at ‘em! Betterthan fin fishin’!
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY –NIGHT
Mutilated LOBSTER SHELLS are piledup on the plates. By the look on YOUNG & OLD’S faces, it was a satisfyingmeal.
OLD pours two cups of his grog.Passes one to YOUNG.
OLD
‘Tis no crime to take a snort now. A clear night.
(MORE)
OLD(CONT'D)
And bein’ our last afore relief, I never know’d aninspector what wouldn’t turn a blind eye, and I won’t take “no” for an answer.
YOUNG gives in. He takes the cup.
YOUNG
Should pale death and treble dread make the... uh...
Pause. He can’t remember the rest.
YOUNG (CONT’D) Ah hell –– torelief!
They clink.
OLD And how!
They drink.
YOUNG remembers how much he’s beenmissing the drink.
YOUNG
Damn! Like comin’ home.
OLD pours another round.
They drink.
OLD pours another round.
They drink.
- LATER
YOUNG AND OLD are singing andpounding on the table.
OLDAND YOUNG
(singing)
Hurrah, we'rehomeward bound, Hurrah, we're homeward bound!
OLD
(singing)
When we're arrivedon Bedford docks Them bloomers all comin’round in flocks
Them prettygirls, we hear 'em say "Here comes Jack with his ninemonth pay"
OLDAND YOUNG
(singing)
Hurrah, we're homeward bound, Hurrah, we're homeward bound!
-PARLOR. LATER
They keep drinking.
OLD smokes a cigarette. YOUNGsmokes OLD’S pipe.
OLD
...and a pretty lass, she were, takin’ off herbonnet... but as I says, I’d broke me leg, and banged myself all up. It was toa nuns' hospital... All of them nuns were Catholics, I tell ye...
They laugh.
OLD (CONT’D) Aye, but I never wentto Salem since without hoping that I should see her, for beddin’ down wer’ntthe same since. I don't know, but if I was a-goin’ to begin me life overagain... well, womenfolk are apt to be dreadful ashamed of it, anyhow.
YOUNG
You feel shame when you lie with a woman?
OLD
I ain’t ‘shamed of nothing.
Pause. They laugh.
OLD (CONT’D) Well, I’ll say it...I might even miss ye, Ephraim Winslow, yer fastly a true blue wickie in themaking, you is. Thought one night you was bound to split me skull in twain, butyer a good-un. Why you’ll be workin’ the lamp in no time –
YOUNG Why haven’t I?
Pause.
OLD What?
YOUNG The light?
OLD
I’m the keeper of this station, lad.
YOUNG OLD (CONT'D)
The... Iain’t... Some other station y’can tendthe light.
YOUNG
The manual says--
OLD
My log is the only book on this rock--
YOUNG OLD (CONT'D)
Imean, I’m a wickie, you ‘TisGospel!
says, but I ain’t trimmed one wick once--
OLD (CONT’D)
I’m the keeper of the light, lad, I never let no mantouch her--
YOUNG OLD (CONT'D)
I ain’t –- the book says we Don’t concern yerself withalternate-– the beacon! Mine, lad!
OLD pours himself another drink.
YOUNG laughs. The tension goesaway.
YOUNG
Have it yer way... uh... Say, I never... I don’t knowyer name.
OLD Wake.
YOUNG
Yer Christian name?
OLD Thomas.
YOUNG looks odd, troubled.
YOUNG Thomas?
OLD Thomas Wake, aye.
YOUNG seems a little disturbed.
OLD (CONT’D) Call me Tom.
OLD pours them another round.
YOUNG
To my friend Tom, and to gittin’ off this goddamnedrock!
They drink, spilling a bit of the liquor down their chins.YOUNG snaps out of whatever seemed to be bothering him.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. BUNKROOM –NIGHT
YOUNG stumbles around, undressingas he makes his way to the bed.
He leaves clothes here and there.
He struggles to get his boots off.He can’t. Too drunk.
He sits and breathes.
He tries again. He gets one off.
He tries the other... no use... Hepulls harder, it comes loose, but the force is so great, YOUNG hits his head ona lamp, mounted on the wall...
He and the lamp crash to the floor. He passes out with hispants around his ankles. His hair absorbs the kerosene of the broken lamp.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. BUNKROOM –MORNING YOUNG wakes up.
He is so hung over. He wants todie.
He needs water...
The pitcher... the basin... bothempty. He knocked them over the night before. When did that happen?
He looks down the staircase: OLDis asleep, sprawled out on the steps.
YOUNG goes to his chamber pot:it’s full of piss and shit.
He goes to Old's: piss and shit.
EXT. PILOT ROCK – LATER THATMORNING
YOUNG wears his oilskins, smokes acigarette, and carries the full piss pots. THE WIND FIGHTS HIM. So does thehangover.
THE GALE HAS ARRIVED. IT'S STRONG. RELENTLESS. IT ALMOSTKNOCKS HIM TO THE GROUND.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. CLIFFS - LATER
YOUNG stands over the cliffside.
He tosses the contents of theCHAMBER POTS off the cliffs...
IT ALL SPLASHES BACK IN HIS FACE.
YOUNG Fuck!
He drops the chamber pots... theytumble to the rocks.
YOUNG (CONT’D) FUCK!!
EXT. PILOT ROCK. PATHWAY – LATERTHAT MORNING
YOUNG hauls coal, his face covered in shit. It rains.
INT. FOG SIGNAL HOUSE – LATER THAT MORNING
YOUNG stokes the fire. The siren is up and running.
EXT. PILOT ROCK – LATER THATMORNING
YOUNG stumbles around the slipperyrocks, pushing an empty wheelbarrow. Rain pissing on him. The hangover beatingdown upon his head.
THE FOGHORN blasts relentlessly.
As he rounds a corner, he seessomething WHITE in the black rocks of the shore... He walks a few more paces...
It is a BODY, lying still. Is it adead sailor?
He gasps... He drops thewheelbarrow and runs toward it!
THE FOGHORN blasts.
As he gets closer, it appears tobe a WOMAN... A NUDE WOMAN washed up on the rocks. White legs and arms splayedout.
He calls for Old, but he can’thear him.
He runs closer.
THE FOGHORN blasts again.
THE WOMAN appears to be DEAD,entangled in seaweed.
YOUNG has to save her if he can.
YOUNG goes to his knees...
Wipes seaweed away from herface...
SHE IS BEAUTIFUL. The mostbeautiful woman he has ever seen.
The blood rushes to his head. Hisheart throbs. He looks her over. He wants to touch her. He hesitates... but hedoes.
He checks her pulse...
Puts his head to her chest: Dead.
Slowly, he touches her cheek, thenher mouth...
He moves his hand down her body,in the horror and grief of her death, but also fascinated by her beauty, herperfect feminine shape... He makes his way past her breasts, to her ribs...
Her ribs seem to have wounds --deep slices. They aren’t bloody. They look almost like... GILLS.
He moves his hand past her waist,toward her genitals, then he sees:
SHE HAS A FISH’S TAIL! SHE IS A MERMAID!!
He is frozen in terror. Then helooks back at her face...
She opens her eyes and smiles athim.
She raises her arms, wanting hisembrace...
YOUNG opens his mouth to scream inhorror...
THE FOGHORN blasts!
YOUNG runs away, fast as he can, flailing, stumbling overhimself. He has almost no control over his body as he hurls himself across theisland, his screams drowned out by the FOGHORN.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. PARLOR –MOMENTS LATER
YOUNG is out of breath fromscreaming. Wild eyed.
OLD
What’r y’splittin’ yer lungs fer?
YOUNG
I--
OLD
Y’smell o’ shit. Best swab this mess afore the tendercomes.
YOUNG
I--
OLD
Y’do as yer told, lad! The quarters are dire.
YOUNG Aye, sir.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY -LATER
THE GALLEY IS CLEAN. Well, as clean as it can be.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. BUNKROOM –LATER
THE BUNKROOM is orderly. Mattresses rolled up. Everything isin place. The CLOCK ticks monotonously.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. NEAR THE SHORE –LATER
OLD and YOUNG are in theirtopcoats, their gunny sacks over their shoulders, their ditty boxes by theirsides. They look out to sea, waiting for the tender.
It rains. The wind blows.
Hold.
The rain begins to pour.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY –NIGHT
YOUNG AND OLD sit at the tableperfectly still. Drenched.
A lit cigarette hangs on YOUNG’Sbottom lip.
The storm outside is somethingbiblical.
Very, very long pause.
YOUNG
They didn’t come.
Long pause.
EXT. PILOT ROCK – NIGHT
ANGLE ON: Huge waves crash.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. CLIFFS - NIGHTANGLE ON: Enormous waves crash.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. CLIFFS - NIGHT
Rain pours. A deluge.
OLD is in his oilskins. He standslike a magician in front of the BOATHOUSE, facing the waves. He holds his righthand over the sea with two fingers extended. He holds his bottle in the otherhand.
He counts the waves as they crashonto the shore.
OLD
...Four ...Five ...Six
The waves are growing higher!
OLD (CONT’D)
...Seven ...Eight ...Go down!
He makes the sign of the cross(like a Catholic) on the ninth wave, and DOUSES THE SEA with liquor from hisbottle.
THE WAVE FLOUNDERS AND DIES...
OLD smiles at himself. I’ve stillgot it, he thinks. He takes a swig from his bottle...
Did he really make the wavedescend? Or is it a coincidence?
Regardless, the wind comes backwith a vengeance ...
Behind him, the DORY that’s tiedup wracks in the wind, beating against the sides of the boat house.
The foghorn calls. The lightflashes.
OLD (CONT’D)
(singing “Blood Red
Roses”)
‘Tis frost and snowand winter storm.
(beat)
Go down ye blood redroses, go down!
(beat)
And there’s many aship lost round Cape Horn.
(beat)
Go down ye blood redroses, go down!
(beat)
Oh, ye pinks andposies... EIGHT... Go down!
NINE! He makes the sign of thecross. Douses the sea.
He stops singing and shouts:
OLD (CONT’D)
ABATE, O YE WAVES OF FATHER NEPTUNE! I BEG OF YE!DRINK OF THIS GIFT, QUENCH THY SPLEEN, AND ABATE!
He tosses some more liquor intothe sea, and takes another swig himself.
OLD (CONT’D)
(singing)
Well, the captainhe's o’er come with fear.
Go down –-
SUDDENLY, A MASSIVE WAVE CRASHESOVER OLD, KNOCKING HIM OFF HIS FEET.
HE TRIES TO STAND, TO CATCH HISBREATH...
HE IS TERRIFIED...
ANOTHER WAVE HITS HIM...
INT. FOG SIGNAL HOUSE - NIGHT
ANGLE ON: THE BAROMETER. The needle is falling. It fallsfrom
“RAIN” to “STORM.”
YOUNG has his shirt off, shovelingcoal. Sweaty.
He has bits rags shoved in hisears, trying to muffle the sound.
THE FOGHORN blasts.
YOUNG catches his breath. He hasone of OLD’S LIQUOR BOTTLES on his chair.
He uncorks the bottle of liquor.Smells it.
He thinks hard about drinking it.
No.
He corks it.
He lights a cigarette instead.
YOUNG turns...
OLD is in the doorway soaking wet,and crazed.
YOUNG wants to ask what happened,but decides it’s better not to.
YOUNG somehow feels too exposedwithout his shirt on.
OLD
(yelling over the noise)
THE DAMP’S GOT TO THE PROVISIONS.
YOUNG
(yelling over the noise) WHAT?
YOUNG pulls the scraps of fabricfrom his ears.
OLD
(yelling over the noise)
THE DAMP’S GOT TO THE PROVISIONS!
EXT. PILOT ROCK. PATHWAY – LATER THETWO walk through the storm.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY -LATER
OLD is shutting the door. YOUNG isshaking off the rain.
OLD
The damp‘s got to the foodstuffs. The salt cod isout.
YOUNG Out?
OLD Blasted. Gone to rot.
YOUNG Praised be.
OLD
Now will y’hear me?
YOUNG Hear what?
OLD
That we best be rationing.
YOUNG Rationing?
OLD
Insubordinate again--
YOUNG
It’s only been one day.
OLD
The Devil’s tail!
YOUNG can’t figure out OLD’S trainof thought.
YOUNG
Look, maybe the tender, maybe she did come. We missedher, is all. I can take the dory out--
OLD
Weeks, Winslow.
YOUNG What?
OLD
What d’ye mean, what?
YOUNG Weeks?
YOUNG is beginning to feelconfused, afraid.
OLD
Weeks, aye. Weeks.
YOUNG
We slept in. Dead drunk.
OLD
It’s been weeks ago since we missed her, Winslow. AndI’ve been askin’ ye to ration fer weeks now, too, and you’ve kept barking at melike a mad dog, sayin’ you can “take the dory out”--
YOUNG
Now look--
OLD
Don’t be losing yer head now.
YOUNG
This ain’t funny.
OLD
No, it ain’t. And I ain’t wantin’ to be stranded herewith some damned lunatic.
YOUNG Stranded?
OLD
That’s what I said.
YOUNG
I thought you said relief was comin’.
OLD
If we can wait out this storm.
YOUNG
The tender is comin’.
He says, trying to convincehimself.
OLD
In ‘75 ‘Ol Striker were marooned here for seven longmonths, he was. The storm died on the mainland but here, waters were toorageful neither to launch nor land.
YOUNG
Yer just tryin’ to scare me.
YOUNG is worried he is losing hismind. Or is it OLD who’s losing it?
OLD
Look at ye. Pretendin’. But ye wellknow yer lot.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. BEHIND THEQUARTERS – NIGHT
The storm continues. OLD holds twoSHOVELS. He throws the shorter one at YOUNG.
OLD DIG.
OLD starts digging like a madmanin the wind and rain.
OLD (CONT’D) DIG, SAYS I!
YOUNG joins, afraid of what they might be digging up.
- LATER
THEY have dug a deep, muddy hole.About the size of a GRAVE.
OLD
HERE SHE LIES.
OLD unearths...
A WOODEN CRATE.
He gives it to YOUNG.
-MOMENTS LATER
They open it...
INSIDE ARE TEN FULL BOTTLES OFBOOZE.
YOUNG
(to himself, ironic) Rations.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY -NIGHT
THE TWO DRINK while they rationout supplies. OLD is marshalling YOUNG. They are pretty drunk already.
YOUNG EYES A LEDGER written in theLOGBOOK, marked with pounds of coal, number of tins, gallons of oil, etc.
OUTSIDE, THE RAIN HAMMERS DOWN.WIND HOWLS.
OLD
... their gums grew swollen, the color of bone, thento rot. Tarry blood oozed, teeth droppin’ to deck with none to hold on to.
OLD proudly shows off his missingfront teeth.
Their legs withered and turned gangree’nous, everyshade of the peacock’s tail. The worst of us couldn’t fend ‘gainst the shiprats what gnawed at the soles of our feet.
“Land ho!” hears I, but only grass and trees on thatisland. So we drunk upon the sap, and et upon the grass. ‘Twas providence savedus from turnin’ to each other’s flesh, like bare-naked savages. And ‘twas thatscurvy what left me locked ever since.
He knocks on his leg again.
Pause.
YOUNG
Thought you said you broke it.
OLD Eh?
YOUNG
Yer leg. Catholic nuns, and such like.
OLD
...No, y’must’a misheard.
YOUNG looks at OLD suspiciously.OLD reciprocates.
CAMERA REVEALS: YOUNG is secretly pocketing a DINNER KNIFE.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. BUNKROOM -LATER THAT NIGHT
YOUNG is on the floor, pouringhimself another. TWO EMPTY BOTTLES are by him. He takes another swig.
YOUNG
No, no, no. No! And I says git off me, I says.
OLD sits on Young’s bed, staringout the window, fixated on the horrible STORM which is tearing the outbuildingsapart. He holds A MOSTLY EMPTY BOTTLE.
OLD
Fallin’. Fallin’.
YOUNG
But they never listened... they’d never... if I hadthe chance, they’d never –- none of them Goddamned lily-livered Canadianbastards. Lack-gall cowards. Those bastard didn’t fight no revolution – never–- and look at em! Cowards and he-women all of ‘em. Goddamn ‘em!
OLD keeps staring out the window.
OLD
The eaves be fallin’ fast.
YOUNG
Never! Any day, breaking my back, working a manharder than two horses, but Winslow, Winslow... I told that dumb bastard...
OLD
Yep. Them eaves is gonners.
YOUNG
Give me yer cant hook, I says to him, but foremanWinslow that goddamned Canady son-of-a-bitch fool bastard... always callin’ mea dog. A filthy dog.
OLD turns.
OLD Winslow?
YOUNG
Yeah, that bastard. “I’ll show you who’s a dog.”
OLD Winslow?
YOUNG What of him?
OLD
Who, Winslow? The eaves befallin’--
YOUNG
He’s always raggin’ on me, like you. Damn foolnonsense.
OLD Raggin’?
YOUNG
How’d you find yourself off that grass island anyhow?
OLD
Raggin’? Who’s raggin’? What island? That’s thetrouble with ye, Winslow.
YOUNG
Yeah, that’s the trouble with Winslow.
OLD
That’s the trouble with ye!
Pause.
YOUNG takes a swig and looks OLDin the eye.
YOUNG
The trouble with you is eatin’ grass without noteeth.
OLD Come now?
YOUNG
Yer sea maties’ teeth was fallen out--
OLD
What’re ye getting at, Winslow?
YOUNG
Just... just, it seems powerful hard to eat grasswithout no teeth. Goats and sheeps and cows. Well now, they all got teeth,don’t they?
OLD
Y’know how y’eat grass without haven’ yer teeth?
YOUNG Oblige me.
OLD
Ye rip it out and ye swallow it.
YOUNG
You rip it out and you swallowit.
OLD
Ye rip it out and--
YOUNG
I don’t know ‘bout that.
OLD Y’don’t?
YOUNG I don’t.
OLD What?
Pause.
YOUNG What?
Pause.
OLD What?
YOUNG What?
OLD What?
YOUNG What?
OLD
(quickly, on his heels) What?
YOUNG
(faster) What?
OLD
(even faster) What?
YOUNG
(as fast as possible) What?
OLD
(faster than that) What?
YOUNG OLD (CONT'D)
What? What?
YOUNG OLD (CONT'D)
What? What?
YOUNG OLD (CONT'D)
What? What?
YOUNG OLD (CONT'D)
What? What?
YOUNG OLD (CONT'D)
What? What?
YOUNG OLD (CONT'D)
What? What?
YOUNG
That’swhat I mean.
OLD What?
YOUNG
That’s the trouble with you.
OLD
That’s the trouble with ye!
YOUNG With you!!
OLD With YE!!!
YOUNG NO!!!!
Pause.
(Suddenly)
I want a steak! I want a goddamned STEAK!!!!
OLD Shut it.
YOUNG
A steak! A steak! A rare, bloody steak. If I had asteak, I could, oh boy, I could fuck it.
OLD
You don’t like my cookin’?
YOUNG
Don’t be such an old bitch.
OLD
You’re drunk, you don’t know what yer talkin’--
YOUNG
How could I possibly like the horseshit you fix usfor supper?
YOUNG (CONT’D) OLD
Them tin kitchen shanty cooks Yer drunk, or yewouldn’t be gave us fried donuts three sayingthat! Yer drunk! Yer times a day and country ham drunk! Yer drunk! bigger than yer fist.
YOUNG
I’m drunk? I’m drunk?
OLD Ye heard me.
YOUNG
You’ve been drunk since...
OLD Damn ye.
YOUNG
Drunk since I first laid eyes on you.
OLD
Yer fond of me lobster, ain’t ye?
YOUNG
Yer drunker than a Virginy fence.
OLD
I seen it, yer fond of melobster.
YOUNG
--
OLD Say it.
YOUNG
--
OLD Say it.
YOUNG
--
OLD is furious.
OLD Damn ye!
YOUNG
I don’t have to say nothin--
OLD
Let Neptune strike ye dead, Winslow!
OLD becomes dreadfully serious.
YOUNG is afraid. Silent.
OLD speaks more powerfully andpassionately than any Tamburlaine or Lear. He calls out to the gods of the sea-- a man possessed:
OLD (CONT’D) Hark, Triton, Hark!
Bellow, and bid our father, the sea king, rise up fromthe depths, fullfoul in his fury, black waves teeming with salt-foam, tosmother this young mouth with pungent slime...
(to Young)
... to choke ye, engorging yer organs till ye turnblue and bloated with bilge and brine and can scream no more... only when, he,crowned in cockle shells with slithering tentacled tail and steaming beard,takes up his fell, be-finnèd arm -– his coral-tined trident screechesbanshee-like in the tempest and runs you through the gullet, bursting ye, abulging bladder no more, but a blasted bloody film now -- a nothing for theHarpies and the souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon, only tobe lapped up and swallowed by the infinite waters of the dread emperor himself,forgotten to any man, to any time, forgotten to any god or devil, forgotteneven to the sea... for any stuff or part of Winslow, even any scantling of yoursoul, is Winslow no more, but is now itself the sea.
OLD is shaking like a lunatic.Veins popping in every direction. Exhausted... eyes drilling into YOUNG.
YOUNG sweats. What can he do? Whatcan he say? Has he been cursed? Doomed?
YOUNG
Alright. Have it your way. I like yer cooking.
EXT. PILOT ROCK - NIGHT
The cataclysmic storm continues.
Flash.
The wind.
Flash.
The rain.
Flash.
The waves.
Flash.
The foghorn.
Flash.
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. MACHINE ROOM -NIGHT
CAMERA PUSHES IN ON: YOUNGwatching the light through the lens deck. Hypnotized.
SMILING. SHAKING. INSANE?
WHISPERING ABOVE. Or is it justthe spinning lens?
The sound is familiar and alien.Male and female. Celestial.
He pulls out THE DINNER KNIFE andholds it to the light...
He smiles like a Jack-o'-lantern.
Hold.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. BREEZEWAY –MORNING
YOUNG unlaces his boots and putsthem in his pockets, heels up. He creeps toward the TOWER like astocking-footed burglar.
INT. TOWER STAIRS – MOMENTS LATERYOUNG slinks up the stairs.
INT. MACHINE ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
YOUNG is trying to pick the LOCKof the LANTERN ROOM with THE DINNER KNIFE.
HE is twisting and turning theKNIFE roughly in the lock...
Twisting...
Jiggling...
SUDDENLY, the knife blade breaksin two...
YOUNG
(under his breath)Son-of-a-bitch.
He looks at the KNIFE. It’s now very thin. Needle-like. Anidea!
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. PARLOR –MOMENTS LATER
YOUNG tiptoes to Old’s DESK withTHE THIN, BROKEN DINNER KNIFE...
He can hear OLD snoring (O.S.)upstairs.
He brings it to THE LOCK...
He jiggles the knife... the topjiggles too...
It’s unlocked already!
He quietly opens the desk...
THE LOG BOOK is gone.
Son-of-a-bitch.
OLD keeps snoring (O.S.).
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. BUNKROOM -DAY
YOUNG watches OLD sleep. THELOGBOOK and spectacles rise and fall on his belly. His loud SNORE follows. THEBRASS KEYS hang on their chain, his watch tucked under his pillow.
WATER DRIPS from the ceiling,plinking into a pail.
YOUNG creeps forward toward OLD, trying not to make anynoise. The sounds of THE STORM outside help to disguise some of his movements.And the plink... plink... plink...
OLD keeps snoring...
Every step is silent...
Plink... plink... plink...
He reaches his hand out, unfurlinglike a lure in slowmotion, fishing for... the BRASS KEYS...
YOUNG sees OLD’S sweaty THROAT...
Pause.
YOUNG slowly brings the KNIFEout...
Another step forward...
The floorboards betray YOUNG witha loud GROAN.
YOUNG stops. Caught! He quicklythrows his knife hand behind his back.
OLD opens one eye.
OLD
Queer way to wear yer shoes.
YOUNG
Didn’t wanna wake you, is all.
Pause.
Long night.
Pause.
And such.
OLD Mm-hm.
The sun is over the yardarm. Best find me some winksafore the day draws farther on.
OLD FARTS.
Pause.
YOUNG stands still.
OLD (CONT’D)
Get to yer duties or I’ll give you a realkeelhauling.
Pause.
YOUNG stands still, thinking.
YOUNG
You ain’t even human no more.
Workin’ apart from folks so long. What’d you lose?
Pause.
YOUNG (CONT’D)
Yer only tol’rable when yer dunk.
OLD Get to work, says I!
YOUNG STANDS STILL, DEFIANTLY.
CAMERA REVEALS: THE KNIFE STILLHIDDEN IN YOUNG’S HAND.
OLD (CONT’D) To work!
Pause.
OLD FARTS.
YOUNG SMILES AGAIN, A WEIRD, FALSE SMILE.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. PATHWAY - DAY
YOUNG wears his OILSKINS, pushingthe wheelbarrow through the tempest. It’s almost impossible. Is he drunk orhung-over?
HE MUTTERS TO HIMSELF.
He has a BOTTLE in the barrow, floating in rain water.That’s it. No coal. YOUNG keeps his eye on the bottle. Watching it. Caring forit.
INT. FOG SIGNAL HOUSE - DAY
The fog machine whirls, pumpsand... BELLOWS!
YOUNG shovels a heap of coal into the furnace. Shirt off.
OILSKIN HAT on.
He takes a swig from the bottle.
THE FIRE ROARS.
ANOTHER BIG, LONG SWIG.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. SHORE – DAY
THE GALE IS MERCILESS AS EVER.
YOUNG is pulling up THE ROPE OF ALOBSTER POT...
IMAGE: THE MERMAID’S BREAST.
IMAGE: HER MOUTH.
YOUNG pulling the rope...
IMAGE: THE LIGHTHOUSE, at a 45degree angle, LOOKING LIKE A PENIS.
YOUNG pulling the rope...
IMAGE: THE MERMAID’S SLIMY VAGINA.
IMAGE: YOUNG’S HANDS TIGHTLY GRIPA CANT HOOK.
IMAGE: WET TENTACLES WRITHING
IMAGE: THE MERMAID’S FACE, UPSIDEDOWN. SCREAMING, MOANING. EYES ROLLED INTO THE BACK OF HER HEAD.
YOUNG pulling...
IMAGE: CLOSE ON: THE BACK OF AMAN’S HEAD. WOOL MACKINAW COLLAR.
QUICK CUT TO:
INT. SUPPLY SHED - DAY
YOUNG IS MASTURBATING IN THE DARK.FURIOUS. ANGRY. CONFUSED.
Shirt off. Oilskin hat on.Shivering. Rain pisses down through the holes in the roof.
He is holding the MERMAID CARVING.Staring at it. It’s not working.
He throws his head back, thinkingof someone, something. He does it with a fury... lust...
It’s taking too long to getanywhere.
Back to the MERMAID CARVING...
Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.
His hand is getting tired.
Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.
He can feel something coming, it’srising within him, he puts his other hand on the rickety wall... it’s coming...soon...
He’s lost it.
IMAGE: WIDE: YOUNG is straddlingthe MERMAID (the real one, not the carving), his pants half down, FUCKING HERWHILE THE SEA LAPS OVER THEM.
IMAGE: TENTACLES, FISHTAILS,SEAWEED ALL ENTWINED, WRITHING.
IMAGE: THE MERMAID’S HANDS GRABYOUNG’S THROAT, DRAGGING HIM INTO THE SEA AND SLIME.
IMAGE: A MAN’S FACE (not Young’s),SURROUNDED BY A MACKINAW COLLAR, GURGLES, SCREAMING, SUBMERGED IN WATER.
BACK TO THE SHED: YOUNG howls, ananimal in an iron trap!
HE THROWS THE MERMAID CARVING...
IT BREAKSIN TWO!
Desire quickly turns to shame.
The foghorn calls. The wind howls.Rain pours into the shed.
YOUNG looks at the broken MERMAIDand curls into a ball on the wet ground with his pants around his hips...
He seems like he is about tocry...
But he laughs. He laughs as if agreat weight has been lifted.
YOUNG
I fixed you. You bastard. You can’t git to me. I’llget yer gullet!
He crawls to the broken carvingand starts wildly stabbing it with theDINNER KNIFE!
IMAGE: YOUNG is pulling the ropedown by the rocks... HE PULLS UP THE LOBSTER POT...
BACK IN THE SHED: YOUNG, SEIZEDWITH FRIGHT.
BACK ON THE ROCKS: INSIDE THE POTIS THE SHRIVELEDCORPSE HEADOF A MAN with ONE EYE.
A SEAGULLFLIES RIGHT BY YOUNG, SQUAWKING AS IT GOES!
YOUNG ALMOST FALLS IN THE WATERFROM TERROR.
SMALL CRABS CRAWL OUT OF THE EMPTY EYE SOCKET.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY -NIGHT
THUNDER CLAPS.
YOUNG AND OLD are singing,dancing, do-si-do-ing, swinging each other with linked elbows around the roomin circles.
OLD
(singing)
She swung herhips, she winked her eyes, that sassy little whore, So I took her in, I gaveher gin, and danced her on the floor!
YOUNGAND OLD
(singing)
Doodle let me go, megirls, doodle let me go,
Hurrah, meyaller girls, doodle let me go!
OLD
(singing)
Oh 'round and 'roundthe sofa, boys, wasn't it a show
She grabbed holdof my bobstay and she wouldn't let it go!
They laugh, and break away fromeach other...
OLD begins diddling “TenPenny Bit” and dancing a jig. (Diddling is a kind of maritime scat-singing thatmimics a fiddle)
YOUNG claps while OLD dances. Hisdancing is pretty impressive, especially with his bad leg. How’s it possible?
YOUNG joins the diddling andjigging...
OLD begins clapping, too. He clapsa little faster, YOUNG matches his tempo.
IT’S COMPETITIVE. FIERCE. MEAN.
They diddle, jig, and clap fasterand faster and faster and faster...
OLD (CONT’D)
Dance! Dance, Winslow! Dance!
YOUNG
(singing, very, very, very fast)
Come all you boyswho wish to hear How we got up to the woods last year,
Oh, into the sleighwe jacked our boots
Our teamster pointedto the big blue spruce
Timmy-ran-tin-ahFalla-doo-a-dah Rant-and-roar and drunk-on-the-way! Timmy-ran-tin-ahFalla-doo-a-dah--
LIGHTNING FLASHES THROUGH THE WINDOW.
- LATER
YOUNG AND OLD are slow dancing.Arms around each others’ shoulders. Tired.
YOUNG looks at him with anger andsuspicion.
OLD sings a ballad. His voiceisn’t exactly pretty, or always on key, but the ballad is beautiful, with ahaunting melody -- and his performance is moving. He’s deep into it,experiencing every moment.
OLD
(singing)
Oh, where have allthe evenings gone?
Oh, where is the aleand whisky I’ve tasted?
Gone the same way asthe pay I done wasted,
On a Mondaymorning.
If but the birdswere gin, If but the sun was a hearty reveler,
If I might givesomeone else me liver,
On a Mondaymorning.
(MORE)
OLD (CONT'D)
My lover she liesasleep, My lover is warm, and her heart is mellow,
I would give thewhole world just to share her pillow,
THE SONG has changed YOUNG’S mood,he has softened...
Timidly and quietly, he joins thelast line...
OLD AND YOUNG
(half-singing)On a Monday morning.
Thunder rumbles...
They lean into each other...
It is very tense...
It seems like they might kiss...
No, that’smadness.
Pause.
YOUNG pushes OLD away. He puts uphis fists like an old-timey boxer.
OLD does, too.
They take turns hitting eachother, play fighting. OLD keeps hitting YOUNG, as YOUNG is more drunk.
YOUNG You bastard.
THE PLAY-FIGHTING ESCALATES... THEPUNCHES GROW HARDER...
THEN...
YOUNG grabs OLD and hurls himagainst the moldy cabinet! OLD cackles. THEY send the whole cabinet of cups anddishes clattering down.
OLD throws plates at YOUNG, almosthitting him... dinnerware smashing on the walls.
They start throwing the scraps offish bones and potato skins from their plates at each other... laughing.
They’re hysterically drunk.Demented.
YOUNG throws the soapbox... Itbreaks apart against the range!
They get closer to each other, running out of things tothrow. Howling laughing...
-PARLOR. LATER
OLD pulls out another bottle andslams it down in front of YOUNG.
OLD Drink.
YOUNG Aye, aye, sir.
OLD In one draft.
YOUNG You do it.
OLD
GODDAMN YER CALUMNY! The law says ye do as I command!Any word but “aye” be mutiny!
Pause.
YOUNG pulls the cork off. Hedrinks, and drinks, liquor pouring down the sides of his stubbly face.
OLD (CONT’D) Atta boy!!
YOUNG Aye, aye, AYE, AYE! AYE!AAAAAAYYYYYEEE!!!!!!
- LATER
BOTH of them pour booze all overtheir faces.
THUNDER CLAPS. LIGHTING FLASHES THROUGH THE WINDOW.
- LATER
YOUNG is so drunk, it’s hard tobelieve. He is soaked in liquor.
OLD has his head on YOUNG’Sshoulder. He falls in and out of consciousness.
YOUNG Thomas.
OLD Aye?
YOUNG It’s Thomas.
OLD Aye.
YOUNG No, I... I’m Thomas.
OLD
I’m Thomas. You’re Ephraim.
YOUNG I lied.
OLD Well, I’ll be scuppered.
YOUNG I’m Thomas. Tommy.
OLD Tommy?
(laughs) Tommy Winslow.
YOUNG Tom Howard.
OLD What’s Winslow?
YOUNG Nothing.
OLD Nothing?
YOUNG
It ain’t my fault... I...
Pause.
YOUNG (CONT’D) No.
Pause.
YOUNG (CONT’D) Can I trust you?
OLD sits up.
Thunder rumbles.
OLD
Don’t be spilling any of yer beans to me.
YOUNG No...
It wasn’t that way, is all...
OLD I ain’t interested.
YOUNG
So I can trust you?
OLD
Never did like being confided to.
YOUNG
I know what you’re fixin’ to do. Git me all liquoredup--
OLD
Yer guilty conscience is ever as tiresome-borin’ asany a guilty conscience.
YOUNG
It was a drive, see...
OLD Worse.
YOUNG
A log drive and... he’s raggin’ on me.
No –– I see what yer doing...
OLD Nothing.
YOUNG
Look, I mean, look, Tom... don’t be working to twistwords out of my head.
OLD I ain’t.
YOUNG
I... look...
I can’t, I can’t.
OLD
Shut up yer own rag box.
YOUNG
I can trust you.
OLD No.
YOUNG
I trust you, Tom.
OLD Y’trust me?
YOUNG
No. I don’t trust you at all.
They laugh. They drink.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. BUNK ROOM -LATER, THAT SAME NIGHT
The CLOCK ticks monotonously.Somehow, the sounds of the storm have diminished. The plinking slowlydisappears, too.
CLOSE ON: YOUNG lookingferal-eyed. Utterly still.
YOUNG
And I had ‘im handy and helpless. Alone. Too fardownstream. And I wanted to do ‘im in. I admit I did. Seein’ the back of hishead. One swipe of the cant hook’d be all. It was... I didn’t... but Ididn’t... I did not. The day was long as hell on that drive. I was lead-tired.I admit it. But I saw him slippin’, not me. And we saw the jam comin’. And Istood and he slipped. He shouted up. And I just stood. “Tom, you dog!” And Istood, is all. Just stood and watched ‘im git swallowed down by them logs.
(MORE)
YOUNG(CONT'D)
All I thought when he was done is, “I could use me asmoke.” That’s it. So, I packed up his kit and fixins, as if they was mine.And, well, Ephraim Winslow has a spiffy clean slate. Thomas Howard, he don’t.No prospects. How else am I gonna find respectable work?
Pause.
YOUNG turns. OLD is gone... Did heeven hear this?
YOUNG (CONT’D) Tom?
Long pause.
YOUNG (CONT’D) Tom?!
OLD(O.S.)
(far away, whispered, echoing)
Why’d y’spill yer beans, Tommy?
INT. KITCHEN/BREEZEWAY DOORWAY -CONTINUOUS OLD’S voice echoes.
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. TOWER STAIRS -MOMENTS LATER
The chains clink, echoing too...
OLD(O.S.)
(whispered)
Why’d y’spill yer beans?
YOUNG ascends the stairs...
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. MACHINE ROOM - MOMENTSLATER THE DOOR to the CATWALK FLIES open...
Rain blows wildly into the machineroom.
YOUNG goes through the door...
EXT. LIGHTHOUSE. CATWALK – NIGHT
THE WIND AND RAIN ARE VICIOUS ONTHE WALKWAY ATOP THE TOWER.
They push and slap YOUNG as hecarefully makes his way to...
A BODY.
It’s face down. Isit the OLD man?
NO. But it’s familiar - theMACKINAW COAT...
THE HIGH LEATHER BOOTS WITH THICKHOBNAILED SOLES...
For some reason, known least toYOUNG, he reaches out for the familiar man and turns the wet body over:
IT'S YOUNG! HISDOPPELGANGER. PALE. DEAD.
AUDIO: WALK-DRAG. WALK-DRAG. WALK-DRAG.
THE HULKING FOOTSTEPS ARE LOUD.VIOLENT. RIGHT BEHIND YOUNG!
SOMEONE GRABS HIS WRIST FROMBEHIND. A BRUTAL GRIP. ITSPINS YOUNG AROUND... IT'S OLD. NAKED.
HE HAS YOUNG WITHIN HIS POWER. HISWILL. BUT... THE OLD MAN'S EYES ARE CLOSED.
YOUNG tries to get away. But hecan't. The OLD man is too strong. And something starts to happen. Somethinghorrible...
THE OLD MAN SLOWLY OPENS HIS EYES.
YOUNG's expression tells it all:fascination moves quickly through confusion and deep, unknown terror as...
A LIGHT BRIGHTER THAN ANYTHINGBATHES YOUNG'S FACE!
OLD’S EYES SHINE LIKE THE LIGHTHOUSE BEACON INTO YOUNG’SFACE.
EXT. PILOT ROCK – DAWN
CLOSE ON: YOUNG RUNS THROUGH THE STORM!
INT/EXT. BOATHOUSE - MOMENTS LATER
YOUNG tries with utter desperationto launch the DORY out to sea. He throws on a CORK LIFE VEST.
HUGE WAVES CRASH AGAINST HIM.
It is a bitter struggle as hedrags the DORY along the runners...
YOUNG throws the OARS in theboat...
Suddenly...
OLD
DON’T LEAVE ME!
OLD SWIPES THROUGH THE AIR WITH AFIRE AXE, SMASHING THE DORY RIGHT BY YOUNG!
YOUNG RUNS...
EXT. PILOT ROCK - CONTINUOUS
OLD chases YOUNG across theisland, wielding the axe...
YOUNG runs into the QUARTERS.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY –CONTINUOUS
OLD bursts in and swings the AXEat YOUNG, missing...
OLD buries THE AXE deep in thekitchen table. He falls with exhaustion. They are both soaking wet.
YOUNG
You crazy son-of-a-bitch! You smashed up the lifeboat!
OLD
Yer abandoning yer post!
YOUNG storms into the...
INT. PARLOR – CONTINUOUS
WATER is leaking from the ceiling,heavily. It flows down one of the walls.
YOUNG
What’re you gonna do? Send for the lighthouseestablishment?
OLD
Certain, says I! I’ll report ye,
I’ll bring the inspector up--
YOUNG
I’ll report you. I know what you done...
OLD Who’s reportin’ who?
Ephraim Winslow?
Or Thomas Howard?
I know what you done--
YOUNG
(suddenly)
You killed yer second.
YOUNG SMILES.
OLD
--
For once, OLD is speechless. Inhorror.
YOUNG is happy as can be. Crazed.Manic.
YOUNG
I found him. Yer one-eyed junior man.
In the lobster pot.
He went mad? You made him mad with that charm! Thatscrimshaw trinket, it’s a sea spell to keep him from yer secret... But I brokeit, see. I’m free.
YOUNG rummages awkwardly throughhis pockets and finds the broken pieces of the IVORY MERMAID. He throws it toOLD’S feet! Young smiles in triumph and does a celebratory jig!
YOUNG (CONT’D) Free from yerdesigns!
OLD makes no expression.
YOUNG stops jigging.
YOUNG(CONT’D)
And I got it all figgerd out, ‘cept what’s the secretmischief yer keepin’...
He points to THE LANTERN ROOM.
... up there!
OLD
--
YOUNG
I figgerd you, old timer. This whole time, I’ve beenwatchin’ you and I’ve got you figgerd.
OLD looks at YOUNG with pity.
OLD
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Tommy.
Last night you made a confession ‘twould make a saintswear. I don’t have nothin’ to confess, but you, Tommy, a-spillin’ yer beans...now look what it’s done to ye. It’s made ye mad. I knew ye was mad wheny’smashed up the life boat just now, a-chasing me with an axe, tryin’ to kill‘Ol Tom. Don’t y’trust me, Tommy?
YOUNG
--
OLD
Better hand me the dinner knife you pocketed.Y’aint safe with it.
YOUNG
--
OLD
Them’s government property.
YOUNG does so, looking like aguilty child.
OLD (CONT’D) There’s a good lad.
OLD, stepping on it, breaks it intwo and throws it in the stove.
OLD (CONT’D) Deducted from yerpay.
YOUNG
--
OLD
Look at yer shiverin’. Yer so mad, y’know not up fromdown. How long have we been on this rock? Five week? Two days? Where are we?Help me to recollect, who are you again, Tommy?
YOUNG
--
OLD
I’m probably a fig’ment of your ‘magination. Thisrock is a fig’ment of yer ‘magination, too. Yer probably wand’rin’ through agrove of tag alders, up in north Canady, like a frostbitten maniac atalkin’ toyerself, knee-deep in the snow, the blizzard overtakin’ ye.
Pause.
YOUNG
I could use a smoke.
OLD
We’re outta drink.
They smile at each other like old friends.
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. OIL ROOM - LATER
HONEY DRIBBLES into a BRASS KEROSENECANISTER.
YOUNG still wears the cork vest ashe drips the HONEY, smoking his cigarette.
OLD watches with intensecuriosity.
YOUNG TAKES OUT A TIN OFTURPENTINE. He pours it into the CANISTER, too. He begins to stir it with ascrap of rebar.
YOUNG Thieves’ oil.
YOUNG smells it. He likes it.
He pours OLD a cup.
OLD drinks.
OLD
Oooooh, monkey pump!
They both drink... fighting over it like giddy children.
INT. FOG SIGNAL HOUSE. NIGHT
ANGLE ON: THE BAROMETER. The needle is falling. It fallsfrom “storm” to a blank space below. Off the chart, so to speak.
EXT. THE SEA - NIGHT
WIDE: GIGANTIC WAVES CRASH. THUNDER. LIGHTNING. THE END ISNEAR.
EXT. LIGHTHOUSE - NIGHT
WIDE: THE LIGHTHOUSE IS ASSAILEDBY FEROCIOUS, 50-FOOT WAVES.
ANGLE ON: THE LIVING QUARTERS, WATER RUSHING OVER THE ROOF.Will it survive?
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY -NIGHT
YOUNG and OLD laugh and laugh andlaugh, holding cups of thieves’ oil. YOUNG still wears the life vest. WATERDRIPS AND POURS FROM THE CEILING
THE AXE in the table top betweenthem.
They keep laughing in afrighteningly hysterical manner...
Laughing...
Laughing...
Laughing...
Laughing...
Laughing...
SUDDENLY, THE FORCE OF A WAVECRASHES THROUGH A WINDOW... WATER FLOODS INTO THE ROOM WITH RAPID SPEED. ButYOUNG & OLD don’t notice. They keep laughing...
Laughing...
Laughing...
Laughing...
Laughing...
Laughing...
HOLD.
BLACK.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY -MORNING
THE KITCHEN is an absolutecatastrophe. However terrible it looked the night before, it is even worse now.Mess is everywhere and every surface is soaking wet. Water drips in a way thatsuggests the storm is over. The quarters utterly destroyed, and by the looks ofit, not just by the storm.
THE AXE still stays buried in thetable.
YOUNG is sitting in the SINK,drinking TURPENTINE straight from the tin. He’s in his undershirt and trousers,but still wearing the life vest.
YOUNG
This place is a sty.
OLD (O.S.) Mornin’ to you, too.
YOUNG
I wish I could go fer a walk.
OLD (O.S.)
Be my guest. You’ll get drowned.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. PARLOR -LATER
The CLOCK ticks monotonously.
The room is half flooded. YOUNGstands in ankle deep water, pissing, missing the chamber pot, following itaround as it floats across the room. As he does this, he is taking off the lifevest...
Suddenly, he begin to retch... hethrows up.
He falls to his knees... splash...and sees...
OLD’S LOGBOOK... it floats by...OPEN.
YOUNG fumbles around to snatch itup, to bring it to the dim window light.
He begins to leaf through thepages...
There are beautiful mementos ofOld’s past, newspaper clippings, tintypes...
YOUNG finds locks of Old’schildren’s hair... he touches them gently...
Then...
HE FINDS THE LOG ENTRIES...(CAMERA doesn’t see the entries.)
YOUNG almost slams it shut. But hedoesn’t. He keeps reading...
YOUNG’S face drops. The CLOCK’Sticking seems to grow louder every second.
YOUNG looks like a ghost.
HE SMASHES THE CLOCK WITH HISFIST. No more ticking.
Glass and blood.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY -MOMENTS LATER
OLD sits in a heap of trash. He’swearing only his sweaty, baggy, mostly unbuttoned union suit, his vest with hiswatch chain, and his cap.
He smokes his PIPE...
It goes out.
OLD Damn.
He tries to find a match in thechaos.
OLD (CONT’D)
(to himself)
Fiery pit! Ain’t there no justice left in this world?
He roots through the rubbish,throwing it around...
Suddenly, the sound of a MATCHstriking (O.S.)!
OLD turns around, startled.
YOUNG is right behind OLD... witha LIT MATCH... utterly still. Eerily still.
He calmly lights OLD’S PIPE.
OLD feels a bit uneasy.
OLD (CONT’D) Thankee.
Pause.
OLD (CONT’D) What’s wrong with yerhand?
YOUNG looks at the match hand inconfusion.
OLD (CONT’D) T’other one.
YOUNG looks: his left hand leavesblood marks on the table.
He slithers his cut hand away.
OLD (CONT’D) Ye hear o’ tetanus?
YOUNG
--
OLD YOUNG (CONT'D)
Tet-a-nus? (quietly, rigid)
Yep.
OLD
It started as a sliver of a cut is all...
YOUNG is motionless. Boiling.
YOUNG
I said I heard of it.
OLD
... from the forestaysail when we shoved off...
YOUNG
Can’t you never shut up.
OLD
... but come a fortnight...
YOUNG Stop.
OLD
The bosun was a-shakin’...
YOUNG
Shut up, I says.
OLD
... his chops was locked tighter than an anchorbend--
YOUNG explodes:
YOUNG
SHUT IT! I told you I can’t hear no more! Hold yerjaw!
OLD
What were it yer accused me of?
Y’already told me y’had mefiggerd--
YOUNG
I’m tired out of listening to your damned-fool yarnsand your Cap’n Ahab horseshit -- you sound like a goddamned parody. Givin’ andnagging orders like a spinster schoolmarm... and... and...
OLD YOUNG (CONT'D)
(to himself) all-the-while turning this ‘Nother conniption fit. station to the Devil’s own
(to Young) rum hole.
Yer makin’ a fool of yerelf.
YOUNG (CONT’D) Well, it’s allhorseshit, yer leg, and yer sea life, all of it. And I’m tired of it. If I hearone more word of horseshit coming from your foul, rotten tooth, smelly oldmouth––
OLD
Ye--
YOUNG
Shut up yer gum, Goddamn it -- I ain’t finished.
(MORE)
YOUNG(CONT'D)
I’m sick of lookin’ at you, I’m sick of lookin’ atweek-old food in yer beard starin’ me in the face like it ‘spects me ofsomethin’. You think yer so damned high and mighty cause yer a goddamnedlighthouse keeper? Well, you ain’t a captain of no ship and you never was, youain’t no general, no copper, you ain’t the president, and you ain’t my father -- and I’m sick of youactin’ like you is! I’m sick of yer orders! I’m sick of your laughing, yoursnoring, and your goddamned farts. Your damned goddamned farts. Goddamn yerfarts! You smell like piss, you smell like jism, like rotten dick, like curdledforeskin, like hot onions fucked a farmyard shit-house. And I’m sick of yersmell. I’m sick of it! I’m sick of it, you goddamned drunk. You goddamned,no-account, drunken, son-of-a-bitch-bastardliar! That’s what you are, you’re agoddamned drunken horse-shitting –- short -- shit liar. A liar!
Long pause.
OLD
Y’have a way with words, Tommy.
YOUNG Damn you.
OLD
Yer relieved of yer duties.
YOUNG
No need to tell me, old timer.
YOUNG reveals the LOG book. Hereads aloud:
YOUNG (CONT’D)Assistant slept late. Work below standard.
Turns the page.
YOUNG (CONT’D)Attitude Hostile
Turns several pages.
YOUNG (CONT’D)Assistant missing. Given to habitual ‘self-abuse’ in the supply shed.
A few more pages.
YOUNG (CONT’D)Drunk on duty.
Turns a page.
YOUNG (CONT’D)
Incoherentspeech.
Another page.
YOUNG (CONT’D)Attempted to abandon his post. Assault. Theft.
Another page.
YOUNG (CONT’D)
Ido not feel safe with him.
Recommend severance withoutpay.
SEVERANCE WITHOUT PAY?!
YOUNG throws THE LOGBOOK at him.
YOUNG (CONT’D)
Yer trying to ruin me?! I’m a hard worker! I am! Iwork as hard as any man!
OLD Ye lie, Thomas.
YOUNG OLD (CONT'D)
Stopit. Y’lie to yerself, but y’ain’t
have the sauce to see it.
YOUNG changes his tune:
YOUNG
Work as hard as a man and two horses, you said soyerself, I work like I’m a damn foreigner.
YOUNG works at getting into theBREEZEWAY toward the TOWER. OLD stands in his way.
YOUNG begs, desperately:
YOUNG (CONT’D) Please, please, letme into the light, old man, and I’llshow you what I can do for -- I can -- I can do better -- I can. I’ve learnedso much from you. Another chance. Let me show you. Forgive and forgit, I says-- just let me into that lantern, is all, don’t make me beg-- I will -- I’llbeg if that’s what you want, PLEASE--
OLD keeps his ground.
OLD Stand down.
YOUNG
SELFISH BASTARD! Keepin’ it all to yerself. Left yerold lady, yer children for what? For what?!
OLD smiles. Creepily.
OLD
Look at ye, handsome lad, with eyes bright as a lady.Come to this rock playin’ the tough, ye make me laugh with yer false grum. Yepretended to some mystery in yer quietudes, but there ain’t no mystery, yer anopen book. A picture, says I. A painted actress screaming in the footlights, abitch what wants to be coveted for nothin’ but being born, cryin’ bout thesilver spoon what should’ve been yers. Now look at ye cryin’.
YOUNG --
OLD
Boo! Boo! What’re y’to do?
Look at ye. Look at ye.
Will y’kill me? Will ye?
Will y’kill me like y’done that gull?
YOUNG
I didn’t–-
OLD
LIAR! YE MURDERING DOG! TWAS YE WHAT CHANGED THE WIND ON US!
YOUNG Damn you!
OLD
‘TWAS YE WHATDAMNED US, DOG! ‘TWAS YE! Will y’do whaty’wish y’done to ol’ Winslow?
YOUNG
--
OLD
Would ye best me then? If y’break, I win. If I breakye, I still win.
YOUNG
--
OLD
I always win because yer less a man than I -- andthem’s the rules of nature. Them’s truth.
I am truth. I make the truth as I see fit. Me. And thetruth is that yer a nothin’, Tommy-Tom-Tom. A nothing but a dog what thinkshe’s the master when he pulls on his master’s leash. Well if you pull on myleash, I’ll choke ye, Thomas Howard, I’ll strangle ye, fer
Winslow were right: You’re A DOG, THOMAS! A FILTHYDOG!! A DOG!!!
OLD AND YOUNG ATTACK EACH OTHER ATTHE SAME TIME -- GOING FOR EACH OTHERS’ THROATS! EYES BULGE.
OLD GRINS WILDLY... YOUNG GRINSBACK...
YOUNG STARTS KICKING OLD IN HISBAD LEG...
OLD CRUMBLES TO THE GROUND -- hetries to get up...
YOUNG KICKS OLD IN THE SPINE...
OLD’S FOREHEAD SMACKS AGAINST THEFLOOR. HARD. It bleeds.
YOUNG GETS ON TOP OF OLD AND TURNSHIM AROUND. OLD GRABS YOUNG’S SHOULDERS.
YOUNG
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
THEY ARE VIOLENTLY WRESTLING... ANIMALISTIC GRUNTING...
BREATHING... SWEATING... LEGSENTWINED... VEINY THROATS... VEINY BICEPS...
MOVING BACK AND FORTH, BACK ANDFORTH...
WRESTLING... BREATHING...GRUNTING... SWEATING...
SUDDENLY, YOUNG LOOKS DOWN... IT’SNO LONGER OLD...
IT’S EPHRAIM WINSLOW in his mackinawcoat...
YOUNG IS IN TERROR...
WINSLOW SPITS IN YOUNG’S FACE...
YOUNG GOES TO STRANGLE HIM, BUT ASHE DOES... WINSLOW HAS BECOME...
THEMERMAID! SHE STRANGLES YOUNG... HER TAILTHRASHES...
HE TRIES TO GET AWAY...
THEN, THE MERMAID BECOMES...
OLD...
ONLY IT’S NOT: HE IS NAKED, HISBEARD IS LONGER, COVERED IN SEAWEED... AND HE HAS ENORMOUS SQUID TENTACLES FOR LEGS...
YOUNG PUNCHES OLD, AND SEA WATERFLOWS FROM HIS MOUTH...
OLD LAUGHS... TWISTING HISTENTACLES AROUND YOUNG... WRAPPING AROUND HIS ARMS AND LEGS, SQUEEZING...
YOUNG PUNCHES OLD AGAIN, BRUTALLY!
A TENTACLE WRAPS AROUND YOUNG’STHROAT, SQUEEZING...
YOUNG PUNCHES AGAIN!
TENTACLES SQUEEZING...
YOUNG PUNCHES AGAIN! AGAIN!!
OLD YELLS IN HORROR:
OLD
YER KILLING ME!
Suddenly...
YOUNG looks down.
It’s OLD. Bloody. Whimpering.
No mer-person, no Winslow, just anold, weeping man that YOUNG has beat to a pulp.
YOUNG stands, breathing heavily.He pulls up his suspenders. He wipes the sweat from his brow. OLD liesmotionless, just breathing and letting out his almost inaudible whimper.
YOUNG leans on the table.
Very, very long pause.
YOUNG Bark.
Pause.
Bark boy, bark, laddy.
Pause.
Bark!
OLD
(very, very weak) Woof.
YOUNG
Ain’t you never been to sea before, bark I says,bark!
OLD Arf.
YOUNG Bark, laddy!
OLD Ruff! Ruff!!
YOUNG
Now, there’s a good boy. There’s a good dog.
Long pause.
Now roll over.
EXT. PILOT ROCK. NEAR THE HOLE –AFTERNOON
The storm has indeed ended.Clapboards and shingles have been torn from the quarters. The supply shed isnowhere to be seen.
YOUNG walks OLD on a leash, well,a rope around his neck. OLD crawls on all fours.
YOUNG Good boy.
YOUNG walks OLD to the GRAVE-SIZEDHOLE they dug out.
YOUNG (CONT’D) Git in there, youold dog. Where you belong.
Pause.
YOUNG (CONT’D) You do as I say,dog!
OLD slinks into the wet, muddygrave. He settles down, semisubmerged in a foot or so of water and sludge.
YOUNG (CONT’D) That’s my good lad.
YOUNG picks up a shovel...
He begins to bury OLD.
OLD No!
YOUNG puts more dirt and mud onhim...
OLD (CONT’D) Y’wish to see what’s inthat lantern?
(MORE)
OLD(CONT’D)
So did me last assistant.
YOUNG shovels mud onto OLD’Sface...
YOUNG
Shut up, dog. Polish yerbrasswork.
He keeps shoveling...
OLD laughs, blood pouring out ofhis mouth. Dying.
OLD
Y’said yer a God fearin’ man, Tommy? (laughs) Them’struth, Tommy!
More mud on him...
OLD (CONT’D) O what Protean formsswim up from men’s minds and melt in hot Promethean plunder scorching eyes withdivine shames and horrors
More mud on him...
OLD (CONT’D) and cast them down toDavy Jones. And others, still blind, yet in it see all divine graces and toFiddler’s Green sent, where no man is suffered to want and toil, but is
Dirt on his face...
ancient
Mud...
mutable
More mud on his face...
and unchanging as the she who girdles ‘round theglobe.
More mud...
Them’s truth. And you’ll be punished.
OLD becomes stifled from the dirtand mud.
Long pause.
Is he dead?
Suddenly, YOUNG panics...
He jumps into the grave and startsdigging out OLD with his hands...
Digging and digging andsloshing...
He lifts OLD up. He holds him.
Pause. YOUNG catches his breath.
YOUNG takes the BRASS KEYS fromOLD’S vest...
He let’s OLD fall into the mud,still as a stone.
YOUNG walks away.
YOUNG doesn’t see it, but several GULLS fly into framebehind him.
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. OIL ROOM – AFTERNOONYOUNG slowly approaches the long staircase.
He looks up...
He puts his hands on therailing...
He is ready to go into the lanternroom at last.
But something stops him...
No, he can’t go on.
He pats his breast pocket... no smokes.
INT. LIVING QUARTERS. GALLEY –MOMENTS LATER
YOUNG walks through the galley. Hegoes to the table...
THERE IT IS: HIS POUCH OF TOBACCO.
He begins to roll a cigarette...
He looks down:
Staring at him is A HOLE IN THEMIDDLE OF THE TABLE -- BUT THE AXE IS GONE...
OLD (O.S.)
THE LIGHT B’LONGS TO ME!
OLD, covered in mud, barely alive,swings THE AXE, cutting into YOUNG’S shoulder. Blood gushes from the wound.
YOUNG picks up the IRON KETTLE andswings around, bashing OLD in THE FACE.
OLD falls hard to the ground,groaning...
YOUNG PICKS UP THE AXE...
HE LIFTS IT HIGH...
OLD tries to guard himself withhis hands...
YOUNG DRIVES THE AXE INTO OLD’SHEAD WITH A BLOOD CURDLING CRUNCH! (OLD’S head is O.S. but it is clear thatthis is what happened).
BLOOD SPLATTERS ACROSS THE ROOM.His old limbs seize for a moment and drop back to the floor.
Pause.
YOUNG limps, covered in blood,back to the table.
He rolls the cigarette, his handsshaking.
He smokes it.
He pours some turpentine into anearby cup.
He looks at OLD, the axe handlesticking up from his head.
YOUNG lifts the cup. Hand shaking.He toasts.
YOUNG
Should pale death with treble dread make the oceancaves our bed, God who hear'st the surges roll, deign to save the suppliantsoul.
He drinks.
Hold.
MUSIC CUE: The eerie “light”music. Continues to the end of the film.
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. BREEZEWAY – NIGHT
Crawling, trembling, and bleeding, YOUNG slowly works hisway to the tower...
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. TOWER STAIRS –MOMENTS LATER YOUNG continues, slowly...
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. MACHINE ROOM –MOMENTS LATER
YOUNG ascends the ladder, slowly,and using THE KEY, HE OPENS THE HATCH that leads into the LANTERN ROOM...
The dazzling LIGHT swirling...
YOUNG is hypnotized...
INT. LIGHTHOUSE. LANTERN ROOM -NIGHT
YOUNG looks ahead...
There it is: THE FRESNEL LENS. Itis a massive, six-foot-tall jewel of indescribable beauty with eight shimmeringbrass legs. It seems to sing...
He walks toward it...
As if by magic, the LENS’ rotationbegins to decelerate...
The LENS stops turning...
He marvels at it.
Slowly, the doors of the lens openlike wings, facing him...
The light grows brighter...
Pause.
He takes it in.
Pause.
A tear falls from his eye.
He smiles.
Slowly, he puts his hand into thelight...
A deep, bassy, fire-cracklingsound is heard as he touches the flames...
THE LIGHT grows brighter...
His hand is burning, but he keepsreaching...
The crackling sound growing louderand more otherworldly...
YOUNG starts to shake withinsanity...
His face distorts...
THE LIGHT GROWS BRIGHTER...
YOUNG SCREAMS...
BRIGHTER...
INCONCEIVABLY BRIGHT...
YOUNG starts trembling, crying,he’s terrified of what he has seen...
He cannot fathom it...
He foams at the mouth....
He teeters...
He’s loosing his balance... he’sfalling...
He falls backward out of frame...
OUT OF THE LANTERN ROOM...
SLAM.
INTO THE MACHINE ROOM...
BANG.
AND DOWN THE STAIRS...
...All the way down the longwinding staircase, tumbling, tumbling, grunting, twisting, bones breaking, andclanging down four stories of stairs until YOUNG lands with a dull, bloody...
THUD.
Is he breathing?
FADE TO WHITE.
EXT. PILOT ROCK – DAWN
YOUNG lies naked, splayed out onthe rocks, bones broken.
He is blind. His eyes are bloody,burnt-out sockets. He can’t move. Seaweed is wrapped around him.
A seabird pecks at his abdomen...
Peck. Peck. Peck.
It is THE ONE-EYED GULL...
It pulls at YOUNG’S liver...
YOUNG groans...
Dozens and dozens of BIRDS fly toYOUNG, overwhelming him.
Eating him.
CAMERA pulls back to reveal himalone, on PILOT ROCK. (CAMERA doesn’t pull back far enough to see thelighthouse or outbuildings.)
Only YOUNG and a swarm of seabirdseating him.
HOLD.
THE END.
