REDBURN From Man to Boy – His First Voyage – A Filmscript - 1. Part 1 – Letting Go

 

The Secret Melville [01]

 

REDBURN

From Man to Boy – His First Voyage

Film Script

 

 

“The mark of a mature man

is the ability to give love

and receive it joyously

without guilt .”
Leo Baeck

 

"For a man to pass on to a boy,

The essence of what a man is,

Does everything play a part?

Hunting, fishing, shaving,

Little deaths all – "

A.C. Benus

 

“Death is a delightful

hiding place for weary men .”
Herodotus

 

“There is no fear in love,

and perfect love,

dispels fear itself.”
Gospel According to John

 

---

 

 

 

Based upon the Novel:

 

Redburn:

His First Voyage

Being

The Sailor-boy Confessions

And

Reminiscences of the

Son-of-a-Gentleman,

In the Merchant Service, 1849

by Herman Melville

 

 

"Then I was first conscience of a wondrous thing in me… and was lost in one delirious throb at the center of the All. A wild bubbling and bursting was at my heart, as if a hidden spring had just gushed out there; and my blood ran tingling along my frame, like mountain brooks to spring freshlets."

Chapter 13

 

 

---

 

[Part 1 – Letting Go – I: A Soul to the Sea]

EXT. VILLAGE ON THE HUDSON – MORNING

A descending view unfolds over rooftops and smoking chimneys; over trees in early summer fullness; down to the riverbank; a quay, and along the berthed side of a green-hulled paddle wheeler. This is one of many ferries that ply the Hudson. A whistle BLOWS. ^[1]

EXT. QUAY AND GANGPLANK

From a low angle, REDBURN and PETER bump their way through the crowd and rush up the gangplank. The whistle BLOWS again, and MEN hoist the gangplank onboard.

INT. CROWDED PROMENADE DECK OF FERRY

The back shoulders of Redburn and Peter make their way through a chatty and festive crowd. They are not as well dressed as the other passengers. Redburn wears a red hunting jacket, a billowy cap, and has a homemade calico bag slung over a shoulder. Under his left arm is a rectangular mahogany case about 24” by 10”, by 4” high. Redburn’s long hair is tied back with a black ribbon. They push ahead; the opening and blue sky of the foredeck is in front of them. ^[2]

EXT. BOW OF FERRY

Out in the open, Redburn and Peter catch their breath and lean on the railing over the now-advancing prow. Redburn is nineteen, and Peter, a tall and comely man, is in his late twenties. Peter’s glance is one of concern for his kid brother; he knows the teen is not prepared for the world. Redburn beams in expectation, and both turn to watch the river be cut by the ferry’s prow. Redburn puts his right arm around his brother’s waist and hugs him. Peter raises his arm and places it on Redburn’s far shoulder, then squeezes him closer two or three times.

EXT. SURFACE OF WATER

The paddlewheel slaps still water into foam and raises soaking blades into the air. The prow creates whitecap wakes on the Hudson.

FADE IN: TITLE CARD: “The Secret Melville, REDBURN, From Man to Boy – His First Voyage”

While credits roll, shots of the water lift to show a perfect early summer day. Old-growth trees along the riverbank arch branches far over the water. Behind them, a blue plate-glass sky shines with cotton candy clouds. A rising shot of the branches, and slow ascent into the leaves, shows all of them in varied animation from the June breeze. Under the images and text of the credits, the title SONG “Loomings” plays:

Just as rill to rivulet

A creek to a torrent

A stream to a river hike

And a delta rushing waters free –

Follow any path you like

They all lead a soul to the sea.

 

A boy follows his own image –

Just where Narcissus had a seat –

Where fair heads will encourage

The moving waters to meet

His inextricable fortune

Where good and bad join again.

 

For as rain melts into the land

Gathered by pull of gravity

Channels swell to meet demand

That grow still more forcefully

To find their way to the ocean

And start the cycle again.

(recap: “Just as rill to rivulet…” etc.)

 

[Part 1 – II: Arrangements]

EXT. LOWER MANHATTAN WHARF STREET – NOON

A small square is faced on two sides by low, old buildings, much neglected and battered by exposure to the bay. Cobblestones lead back to storefronts and taverns. One shop sports three gilded orbs on a rusted iron frame. The sign above it reads: “Port-Of-Call Pawn Shoppe.” To the left of the square, a street skirts the Hudson. Docks jut out where several green and white ferries are moored. There is a great deal of wheeled and foot traffic. By the ferries, well-dressed MEN, WOMEN and CHILDREN rush to and from the boats and hail cabs. In the square and by the shops, SAILORS, HUSTLERS, female PROSTITUTES and street URCHINS meander about. The barefoot urchins hawk newspapers, apples, etc. Working MEN push barrows and drive wagons and WHISTLE and HOOT at the rent- boys and girls. ^[3] Redburn and Peter come through the crowd, intent on what is unseen behind us. They pause, free of the crowd, and stare.

EXT. LOWER MANHATTAN WHARF

From their point of view, the street bends around, and tall ships line dock after dock. Their yardarms and rigging cut across a blue and summery sky, while behind and over them, seagulls sail and cry.

INT. SAILORS’ TAVERN

The large room is bright from mullioned windows onto the square. Redburn and Peter stand facing each other, one elbow each on the bar. Over Redburn’s shoulder is the door and front window; over Peter’s, the room, which Redburn surveys with open curiosity. Older SAILORS sit in groups of three and four at tables, while hovering near them, and leaning against walls, younger SAILORS chat and stay attentive to the older ones. Redburn’s eyes follow a few choice specimens. Between the brothers on the bartop is a plate of sugared donut-holes and two open ginger beer bottles. Redburn’s case sits on the counter by Peter, his hat rests by the teenager’s elbow, and his bag is tossed to his feet. Peter has to strike Redburn’s arm to get his attention. Redburn grins and pops a donut in his mouth.

 

PETER

It looks good on you.

 

Redburn stops chewing – a few grains of sugar fall from his mouth as he looks puzzled.

 

REDBURN

Huh?

 

Peter picks up and shakes the loose-fitting shoulders of the hunting jacket.

 

PETER

This old shooting jacket of mine; it’s just the thing. A bit big, but you’ll have room to fill it out.

 

Redburn continues chewing through a grin. He takes a swig of ginger beer, and his eyes follow a handsome sailor walking past him. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

Look, I know it’s not sailor garb, but it’s warm; it saves you the expense of another; it has fine long skirts…

 

Peter pokes his brother’s gut.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

…Stout horn buttons…

 

Peter tickles him a moment.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

…And plenty of pockets.

 

Peter dives his hands into the front pockets on the skirt of the jacket. Redburn playfully shoves him away and they wrestle for a moment. A sick cast creeps across Peter’s face. He stands upright, pulls out his handkerchief and coughs into it. It is a hollow, consumptive cough. Redburn’s grin is instantly gone. Peter stops, looks into his hankie, and quickly hides the slight hint of blood there from his brother.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

If we had the money – we’d send you out in the finest sailor gear: a new cap and monkey jacket – for a monkey boy – but, as it is…well, that’s why you have toted father’s fowling piece down the Hudson. Pawning it will at least give you pocket change.

 

Weighed down with worry for his brother, and the responsibility of reclaiming a family heirloom, Redburn’s eye is suddenly caught by the frank stare of a young sailor. Despite himself, he inhales in excitement. TOBY, with dark curly hair, and in his early twenties, leans on a wall and holds his gaze. Emboldened by the spirit of adventure, Redburn partially smiles and nods at Toby. Toby, abashed, looks into the mug in his hand. Peter knows what his brother is doing behind his back, and blinks a few sad times as he takes a drink of ginger beer.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

It’s hard to believe. Some boys at nineteen are men already; others, still boys. It’s difficult to conceive that my kid brother is ready to venture into the rough world.

 

REDBURN

(excited)

You know for months I’ve been poring over the New York papers – the shipping columns – and the ads that possess the strangest, most romantic pull on me are the South Sea voyages; maybe on a whaler!

 

Peter shuts down Redburn’s excitement.

 

PETER

Not for a brother of mine. Your mother and I agree: a quick passage on a clipper or schooner and a lively trip back to us from England is best.

 

Redburn is crestfallen, but Peter jocularly punches his shoulder.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

I’ve found a ship – the Highlander – set to sail tomorrow for Liverpool. We’ll see if she is right for you.

 

Redburn has a great deal of affection for his brother as substitute father.

 

REDBURN

Do you remember how Father, some evenings by the fire after telling us of Paris and London, with quickening breath, would say one day I was destined to be a great voyager – just as he had been.

 

PETER

One day always stays one day. Had you only heeded that – but today – today, you leave us. I only pray it won’t be a leave-taking for good.

 

Redburn chuckles and fingers a donut.

 

REDBURN

Too dower, brother – too dower. Soon enough, like Father, I’ll be back to our cozy drawing room relaying my adventures to an eager auditory.

 

Redburn pops the donut in his mouth; grins.

 

PETER

You go to sea a boy, mounted with dreams of glory, and leave no heavy hearts but those in your own home. You take with you the one and only true supporter of your actions – the heart that beats strains of wanderlust in your bosom.

 

Redburn smiles at his brother with warmness.

 

REDBURN

Too dower…

 

PETER

Your mother and I know there is no misanthrope like a boy disappointed, no December blast so bleak as his looks. So, go your way. Adventure yourself enough to want to come back to us.

 

Peter stands upright; pats his pockets.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

Look, now. You have the stationery I gave you?

 

Redburn nods; picks up his bag.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

Use it. Write your mother at least once a week.

 

REDBURN

I won’t be able to post—

 

PETER

Never mind that. Write to her every week; every day, if you can; even if you have to hand-deliver them to her yourself.

 

REDBURN

Yes, brother.

 

Peter starts buttoning his coat and drops a nickel on the counter.

 

PETER

Look lively, boy. We have to get you shipped!

 

Peter walks past Redburn towards the door. Redburn shoulders his bag, pops his cap on, and drains his ginger beer. The bell attached to the door RINGS – Peter is leaving. Redburn sloshes his brother’s bottle and drains it too. Glancing at the door, he uses his cap and tips the plate of donuts into it. He turns and jogs to the door. Then, a slow descent comes to rest on the mahogany case on the counter. The bell RINGS. In another moment, Redburn’s hands come and grip the case. He lifts it, but Redburn stops; an odd expression creeps over his face. Through the room, Toby walks towards him with a half-smile. Toby seems like he intends to walk past him, so Redburn reaches out and arrests him by the arm. Toby pauses, but says nothing.

 

REDBURN

I…just tell me – what is your name?

 

TOBY

(warm smile; shy look)

Toby.

 

 

[Part 1 – III: Save me the Pleasure]

EXT. DOCK OF THE HIGHLANDER – AFTERNOON

Turning off the street, PETER leads REDBURN along a wharf. Redburn’s cap is on his head; the donuts transferred to his pocket. With wide eyes, to his right is a ship with sparkling clean rigging: a clipper. On the left is an aging tub – a midsize barque – with dingy rigging and stained hull. Redburn’s gaze tracks the approaching figurehead on the dingy ship: a six-foot-tall Scotsman in ‘full fig.’ A bit overly manly, he is thus tipped to the fey side. He’s arrayed from head to toe with a blue cap; a mass of strawberry blond hair, curly beard and mustache; a fearsome face with a crooked nose apparently broken in a bar brawl; a ruffled shirt; a tight-fitting blue waistcoat with brass buttons. In addition, his right elbow is extended and bent to end in a fist near his heart. Under his left arm is a bagpipe with the reed in his mouth. His kilt is yellow and blue plaid; his left knee is raised; and he has yellow calf-socks and blue pumps. He is surprisingly vibrant compared to the ship he heads. Redburn trails past ‘Donald,’ and scans the name of the vessel: HIGHLANDER. ^[4]

EXT. MAIN DECK OF THE HIGHLANDER

PETER steps on deck from the gangplank. The SECOND MATE, an African American in his mid-thirties, is caulking a hatch nearby. He stands and pushes his knit cap back a bit on his forehead. Peter sees him and strides up to him confidently. REDBURN sheepishly appears at the head of the gangplank, and JACKSON, a skinny man in his mid-thirties with no hair, jaundiced skin, and one twitchy wall-eye, stares at the boy irritably. He starts to move towards him.

 

PETER

Good morning. Is your captain, Captain Riga, on board at this time?

 

SECOND MATE

Aye.

 

Peter points astern.

 

PETER

Is that his cabin?

 

SECOND MATE

Aye.

 

PETER

Thank you. Good day.

 

Peter glances over his shoulder, expecting to find his brother there. He is not. He sees him still by the gangplank.

 

JACKSON

What’ye want, baby-boy?

 

Peter steps up and takes Redburn by the elbow. He gives a friendly nod to Jackson.

 

PETER

Let’s go.

 

Peter leads the way to the cabin. Redburn glances back at Jackson, who makes a show of hocking phlegm and spitting on the deck. He never takes his eyes off of Redburn.

 

INT. CABIN OF THE HIGHLANDER

Paneled in mahogany, the room has a desk and smaller round table. The table is covered, and a place setting is laid for lunch. Along the wall opposite the door is a built-in credenza. CAPTAIN RIGA works at his desk with his head down. He is in his fifties, well-fed and wears clothes better suited to a high-priced lawyer. LAVENDER, with a long yellow silk scarf tied on his head as a turban, arranges dishes of food on the credenza. He wears a slightly big snuff-colored swallowtail jacket and breeches with taupe stockings and shoes. He is a light-skinned African American teenager. KNOCK; KNOCK. Lavender looks to the Captain, who flicks some downward fingers at him. The Steward opens the door, and PETER strides in with a nod and smile. As Peter moves to the desk, REDBURN trails in, lingering by the door. Lavender returns to stand by the credenza, and Redburn makes eye-contact with the handsome young man.

 

PETER

Good morning, sir!

 

CAPTAIN RIGA

(rising)

Good morning to you, sir.

(to Redburn)

Good morning, lad.

 

REDBURN

Good morning, sir.

 

CAPTAIN RIGA

Steward, bring chairs for the young gentlemen.

 

PETER

(to Lavender)

Oh, never mind. We are fine.

 

Riga is miffed. This bit of impoliteness means he will have to stand too. Redburn comes deeper into the room; leaves the door open.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

(to Riga)

I merely called to see whether you want a fine young lad to go to sea with you. Here he is.

 

Peter needlessly gestures to Redburn.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

He has long wanted to be a sailor, and his friends and family – for I am his brother – have concluded to find a quick first passage to test his resolve, and – well, frankly – his fitness for a life at sea.

 

Riga puts his hands behind his back and paces up to Redburn.

 

CAPTAIN RIGA

Ah. Indeed?

 

Redburn stiffens as Riga moves behind him. Suddenly Redburn’s cap is knocked from behind and falls into his hands. Lavender snickers, and Redburn tries to suppress a smile. Riga emerges from the other side.

 

CAPTAIN RIGA (CONT’D)

I like him. He seems to be a fine fellow.

 

Riga suddenly turns and comes close to Redburn’s face.

 

CAPTAIN RIGA (CONT’D)

So, you want to be a merchant-sailor, my boy, do you?

 

As Redburn opens his mouth, Riga turns and singsongs back to his desk.

 

CAPTAIN RIGA (CONT’D)

It’s a hard life, though – a hard life.

 

Redburn thinks the Captain is playing with him.

 

REDBURN

Well, sir, I am ready to prove myself; more than ready, sir.

 

CAPTAIN RIGA

(to Peter – confidentially)

I hope he’s a country lad. These city tykes are mostly ‘hard cases.’

 

PETER

Oh, yes! He’s from the country, and of a highly respectable family. His great-uncle died a senator.

 

Riga grows half hostile; half sardonic.

 

CAPTAIN RIGA

But his ‘great-uncle,’ the senator, won’t be shipping with the lad, will he?

 

PETER

Oh, no – OH…

 

Peter thinks it’s a joke; laughs.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

…No...!

 

Riga mimics Peter’s laugh; turns to Redburn.

 

CAPTAIN RIGA

You know there’s no country-life of coddled eggs and jugs of milk onboard a ship.

 

REDBURN

Yes, sir, I know. My father crossed the ocean, even if I haven’t.

 

PETER

Yes, our father was a gentleman of one of the finest families in America, and he crossed the Atlantic several times on important business.

 

Riga’s insolent tone reasserts itself.

 

CAPTAIN RIGA

Ambassador, extraordinary?

 

Peter hardens at the realization of Riga’s mock.

 

PETER

No. A fine and prosperous textile merchant.

 

CAPTAIN RIGA

(incredulous)

A son of a gentleman?

 

Riga gestures to Redburn, but intentionally slights both brothers. Peter draws in a deep breath to suppress his growing anger.

 

PETER

Certainly. He is only going to sea for the humor of it. We wanted him to travel with a tutor, but he is an erring and headstrong boy – so he will go as a sailor. You’ll sign him on as a ship’s ‘boy?’ Or, do we need to find better passage?

 

CAPTAIN RIGA

(sits)

Well. It so happens, we are in need of a ‘boy’ – gentleman’s son or not.

(to Redburn)

Shall you and I finish the paperwork?

 

PETER

(sitting too)

I shall sign for him, as he is still a minor.

 

Riga opens his desk drawer and makes a great show of extracting the ship’s articles. He and Peter bend heads and begin to go over details. Redburn glances at Lavender, who seems to be suppressing riotous laughter. Redburn turns, sees the open door, and noiselessly exits.

 

EXT. MAIN DECK OF THE HIGHLANDER

Sailors stand around. DUTCHIE, a short, red-haired man in his mid-forties; BLUNT, a dark-haired and sprightly twenty-five-year-old with clothes too big for his body; THE GREENLANDER, a tall Nordic type, twenty-eight, with long strawberry-blond hair in a ponytail and a commanding build – all talk to JACKSON. As REDBURN wanders forward, they cling around the boy.

 

DUTCHIE

Twig that coat of his! Tell us, sonny, how’d ya Pa pay for buttons like those?

 

The sailors laugh. Dutchie whips off his cap and squeezes it while genuflecting before Redburn. He holds out supplicant hands.

 

DUTCHIE (CONT’D)

Oh, please, sir. Just one for the baby, sir. Just one for the poor!

 

Blunt helps Dutchie stand.

 

BLUNT

Leave off ‘im, boys – that chappy ain’t going to sea. No, not dressed like that he ain’t.

 

Blunt puts his arm around Redburn’s shoulder.

 

BLUNT (CONT’D)

He must be setting out to ‘do a spot of hunting’ – sea elephants I suppose!

 

Redburn raises his arm and detaches Blunt, but Dutchie is right back in front of him, pinching his lapel and fingering a button.

 

DUTCHIE

Say, matey – lookie here – tell a chap how one goes about liquidating heirlooms like those – scrap ‘em by the pound?

 

Dutchie yanks on a button. Redburn looks down, and Dutchie’s finger comes up to flick the tip of Redburn’s nose. The others laugh, except Jackson who refuses to join the merriment. Now it’s the Greenlander’s turn. He sidles up and grabs Redburn’s shoulders as Blunt had.

 

THE GREENLANDER

Now – you ruffians – leave off the lad. Leave off, do ye hear?

 

The Greenlander partially smiles and holds steady on Redburn’s eyes.

 

THE GREENLANDER (CONT’D)

I suppose his ma wouldn’t let Little Darling here go to sea without stuffing those great big pockets with sweetmeats – hand ‘em over!

 

The Greenlander shoves his fingers in Redburn’s front coat pockets. Redburn twists and shoves The Greenlander’s hands out of his private region. The Greenlander is utterly surprised to be holding a donut. He laughs and holds it up for everyone to see; the sailors laugh riotously as The Greenlander pops it into his mouth. He chews and gleefully eyes Redburn. The commotion leads the FIRST MATE and the SECOND MATE to storm over. The First Mate is a big man, about thirty, dresses like an expensive accountant, and has good humor written on all his features. The sailors back off a bit, fully exposing Redburn.

 

FIRST MATE

(to the crew)

Hush, you rascals! The night shift is trying to get some shuteye.

(to Redburn)

And, you! Ashore with you, young loafer! There’ll be no stealings on this vessel. Sail away, ya hear!

 

REDBURN

I ship tomorrow with you.

 

SECOND MATE

As what, Pillgarlic – as what!

 

REDBURN

A ship’s ‘boy,’ sir.

 

The Mates are amazed, and dismayed.

 

FIRST MATE

Be gone with ye, I say. You and your shooting jacket. Ship tomorrow? What as, a games-keeper? As a hound-runner? – Disassemble I say, young one, disassemble!

 

REDBURN

But I do. My brother signs the ship’s articles as we speak.

 

SECOND MATE

If you’re going to sea, then where’s your sea chest; your gear?

 

Redburn peevishly holds up his bundle.

 

SECOND MATE (CONT’D)

Well lad, if that’s all you prepared for; all you think worthy for a hard life at sea, chuck it over the bulwarks – you won’t need it anyway!

 

The sailors laugh.

 

FIRST MATE

(slowly warms)

Now listen here, my fine punky lad, whatever your doddering old dam christened you with – it won’t do onboard this ship. You need what the French tars call a nom de mer, get me? And I’m the one who gets to pick it.

 

SECOND MATE

(laughs)

‘Doddering ole dam!’ You know what a

dam is, pogue?

 

REDBURN

A dog’s mother

 

There is a riot of laughter from the sailors.

 

SECOND MATE

(scolding)

‘A dog’s mother.’ Well, what the First Mate is calling you son, in a sophistic’s way, is a son of a—

 

The First Mate slaps a hand on Redburn’s shoulder and roughly half-turns him. He flicks Redburn’s ponytail, and spins him back around forward.

 

FIRST MATE (CONT’D)

As for a name…. Long hair, eh? Red shooting jacket, eh? From now on…

(announcing it to the crew)

…You will be known as ‘Redburn.’

 

The First Mate bends down, half-squints and winks so none can see but Redburn.

 

FIRST MATE (CONT’D)

Fathom?

 

REDBURN

(bucking up)

Yes, sir.

 

FIRST MATE

First lesson, lad: there are no ‘yes, sirs’ on ship! You will say ‘Aye, aye’ from now on. Got it?

 

REDBURN

Yes… Aye, Aye. Sir!

 

FIRST MATE

And save the ‘sir’ for Captain Riga.

 

The First Mate walks away, telling the sailors:

 

FIRST MATE (CONT’D)

Green as grass – a regular cabbage-head.

 

Redburn is surprised and stiffens to find Jackson suddenly right next to him. Jackson speaks slowly, with menace.

 

JACKSON

Hayseed in your hair; cow shit behind your ears. It’s greenhorns like you that have been the death of many a sailor like me.

 

Jackson jerks his chin to the bulwarks.

 

JACKSON (CONT’D)

Go to. Follow the Second Mate’s maxim and chuck yourself overboard – save me from the pleasure.

 

Redburn starts as his brother’s hand rests on his shoulder.

 

PETER

Come along. This ship will do nicely.

 

Peter compels Redburn to the gangplank. There he pauses and makes Redburn look at him.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

Now we must turn Grandfather’s piece into some useful cash.

 

Peter taps the box and nearly dislodges it from Redburn’s grip.

 

[Part 1 – IV: Yellow Pawn Ticket]

INT. “PORT-OF-CALL PAWN SHOPPE” – EARLY EVENING

The PAWNBROKER’s hands grip the mahogany case. He is a man in his late fifties, dressed in old-fashioned tails, and sports an embroidered smoking cap on his head. He sets the case on the counter with care and opens the lid. A hand-forged fowling rifle is disassembled in fitted and green felt-lined compartments. The inside lid is taken up by an enormous white label with a Royal Warrant. The Pawnbroker’s face, despite effort, cannot conceal his wonder that such a piece walked into his shop. He eyes his clients REDBURN and PETER with shrewdness. ^[5]

 

PETER

It’s worth twenty dollars. What will you

lend on it?

 

PAWNBROKER

(sour-face)

Twenty dollars…?

 

There is a commotion at the next window. The ASSISTANT hands the Pawnbroker a man’s large diamond signet ring and gestures to the HUSTLER standing nervously at his window. The Hustler is an Irish-looking lad, 16 or 17, with slightly pimply face, a cap tightly squeezed in his hands, and rough clothes, but his neck is flourished with a colorfully tied scarf. The Pawnbroker browbeats him.

 

PAWNBROKER (CONT’D)

And where would a rapscallion pogue like you get a grown-man’s signet ring?

 

The Hustler looks around, not wanting Peter and Redburn’s scrutiny.

 

HUSTLER

I ain’t stole it. He give it me.

 

PAWNBROKER

‘Give it,’ for what?

 

HUSTLER

(steely)

That’s ‘tween me and the gentl’man.

 

The Pawnbroker sets the ring coldly on the counter in front of the Hustler.

 

PAWN BROKER

You stole it.

 

HUSTLER

(gets heated)

I ain’t. I works for it. He paid me with it.

 

PAWNBROKER

Work?

 

The Hustler gets anxious, grabs his ring and makes for the door.

 

HUSTLER

I ain’t took it!

 

PAWNBROKER

(shouts)

Don’t come back. Your kind aren’t welcomed here! Tell your little-birdie faygeleh friends too!

 

The Pawnbroker calms himself by straightening his smoking cap by the tassel. He remembers the gun.

 

PAWNBROKER (CONT’D)

Now – such an old-fashioned piece, made…?

 

PETER

Eighteen Hundred Five.

 

PAWNBROKER

OH – So old; but – not old enough….

 

PETER

It’s worth every penny of twenty dollars. What will you lend on it?

 

The Pawnbroker purses his lips; eyes the piece covetously.

 

PAWNBROKER

Um…three dollars.

 

PETER

Five dollars!

 

PAWNBROKER

OH – So hard to bargain with. Four dollars.

 

PETER

Four dollars.

(to Redburn)

It’s less you have to pay back.

 

EXT. “PORT-OF-CALL PAWN SHOPPE” – DUSK

PETER stands facing the ferries; he peers at his watch. REDBURN closes the door behind him. He has four dollar bills in his hand. Peter presses a yellow pawn ticket into his brother’s palm with the cash.

 

PETER

Here. You keep it safe. If something delays you – if you decide not to return – then both of you will be away from the family, possibly forever.

 

Redburn holds the ticket up to his brother’s eye level. He makes a show of putting it in his inner coat pocket.

 

REDBURN

I will keep it safe.

 

Peter lurches for his handkerchief; a coughing fit overtakes him. Redburn steps forward to support him, but Peter waves him off.

 

REDBURN (CONT’D)

Brother…take care…

 

Peter holds up his hand for Redburn to wait, then catches his breath. He can’t contain his emotions anymore.

 

PETER

It’s I who should bid you ‘take care of yourself.’ And hear another ‘take care’ from your mother’s heart, if but from my lips.

 

Redburn hugs his brother’s waist hard. Peter slowly lowers his hands onto Redburn’s back to hug in like kind. Redburn pushes back to hold his brother’s eye.

 

REDBURN

You bid me do what I must, and I ask you to do likewise. For who among us, self-imposed castaway or not, would not solemnly promise to look after himself, seeing that no one else will.

 

The ferry whistle BLOWS. Peter forces a handshake, and jogs across the street. He disappears in the crowd.

 

REDBURN (CONT’D)

Farewell, brother. You do not know the magic of your kindness upon me yet – but I swear – you will one day. Take care….

 

Redburn turns to gaze upon the forest of masts. Behind them, the sky is edged in crimson, and seagulls crisscross the air.

 

 

 

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