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