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vw #A-33578 11
19 CONTINUED 19
STRINGFELLOW
(thin little smile)
What is it now?
SNYDER
Now it's rummy. I hocked my
medical bag a long time ago.
STRINGFELLOW
(a vast pretense
of thought)
Snyder...Snyder...
(opens his eyes)
I knew a surgeon named Snyder. In
the Paris Institute where I was
studying at the time. And there
was another Snyder who was a collea-
gue of mine when I was brought to
Bulgaria to perform surgery on the
then-King ---
Snyder stands there and guffaws in his face.
STRINGFELLOW
The joke eludes me, sir.
Snyder
Does it? A phony pitchman and a
discredited sawbones joined by
one common denominator -- a desper-
ate incompetence.
(voice turns
cold)
But I'll tell you something, "Doctor,"
Stringfellow. Whereas my shaking
hands could no longer be trusted
to remove a sliver -- I can still
diagnose death when it knocks at
the door.
(points to buckboard)
That little girl in there, bathed
in sweat, the right side of her
body one giant pit of agony. Now,
Dr. Stringfellow, listen to this
diagnosis. If the pain is on the
right side, it’s appendix. And if
the face is gray and the pain is
insufferable -- it's probably peri-
tonitis. And if it is the appendix,
and it's been going on for a week
-- all that's needed now is a shovel
and a small plot of earth.
CONTINUED
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CONTINUED
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vw #A-33578 12
19 CONTINUED - 2 19
Stringfellow very fastidiously removes Snyder's hand from
his lapel, enunciating with vast superiority:
STRINGFELLOW
A diagnosis from a drunk ---
Snyder stumbles a little as he moves backwards.
SNYDER
Doubtless. But with a far sight
more truth than the labels on those
bottles of yours. We're neither
of us very exemplary citizens, but
at least, "Doctor" -- I only lie to
myself.
20 ANGLE - STRINGFELLOW 20
as he stalks past Snyder toward his wagon.
21 INT. MEDICINE WAGON - DAY 21
Rolpho is corking bottles and packing as Stringfellow enters.
The wind is a continuing droning howl outside. Preoccupied,
Stringfellow moves to the cash box, opens it, takes the
two bills he's just received, adds them to the contents of
the box and proceeds to count the take. Rolpho watches
him.
STRINGFELLOW
Nine dollars!
(flings the
money back in
the box)
That's what you get for three
hundred miles, sweating your flesh
off. Nine dollars!
ROLPHO
What about the little girl?
STRINGFELLOW
(absently)
Little girl? Oh, that little girl.
That little girl will be dead in
under forty-eight hours. Said
demise is hardly a testimonial to
Dr. Stringellow's Rejuvenator, so
after a quick supper we'll be on
our way, and hopefully fifty miles
from here when the sad event takes
place.
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CONTINUED
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vw #A-33578 13
21 CONTINUED 21
ROLPHO
Couldn't you do nothing for her?
STRINGFELLOW
(turns to him)
Short of a resurrection, Rolpho,
lad -- nothing.
ROLPHO
What's a resurrection?
STRINGFELLOW
The bringing back of the dead.
ROLPHO
(wide-eyed)
Could you do that? Could you
bring her back from the dead?
22 CLOSEUP - STRINGFELLOW 22
STRINGFELLOW
I'll put it to you this way,
moon-struck boy -- if there was
money it it, I'd sure give it one
powerful try.
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(steps to window,
stares out at the
swirling sand, the
darkened sky, musing)
And this would be the night for
it!
23 INT. HOTEL DINING ROOM/BAR - NIGHT 23
Even through closed door and windows, there's the continuing
banshee wail of the wind and the rattle of sand against the
glass. The place is almost empty save for Rolpho and
Stringfellow sitting at a table, a deadly bored Bartender
who serves as a waiter, and a couple of farmers at the bar,
Snyder amongst them. Camera closes in on Stringfellow's
table. He's just finishing killing a bottle of very bad
booze. Rolpho sits quietly alongside, looking at him
side-eyed and always fearful. Stringfellow is obviously
deep in his cups. He looks across the room at the Bartender,
holds up the empty bottle.
STRINGFELLOW
Bartender -- another, if you will.
Bartender nods, takes a bottle from behind the bar and carries
it over to the table.
CONTINUED
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