The Best of Subterranean
Page 55
When he reached the house he shared with Lutiel he found a note pinned to his pillow:
Have handed in my resignation. Setting out for Sisivondal this afternoon. When he publishes my excavation, make sure that my name is on the paper somewhere.
Best of luck, old friend. You’ll need it.
L.
Hawid Zakayil said, “And are you going to resign also?” The Superintendent of Antiquities spoke in what was for him a surprisingly mild, non-confrontational tone. He sounded merely curious, not in any way angry or menacing.
“No,” Simmilgord replied at once, before anything to the contrary could escape his lips. “Of course not. This is strictly Lutiel’s decision. I don’t happen to share his philosophical outlook.”
“His philosophical outlook on what?” asked the Skandar, in not quite so mild a way.
Evasively Simmilgord said, “Ends. Means. Ultimate purposes. Lutiel takes everything very seriously, you know. Sometimes too seriously.” And then he went on, quickly, to keep Hawid Zakayil from continuing this line of inquiry, “Sir, I’ve had some interesting thoughts since yesterday about how we might handle certain features of the monument. If I might share them with you—”
“Go ahead,” said the Skandar gruffly.
“Those wheel-like structures shown in the murals, with a line of what look like celebrants approaching them: they must surely have had some sort of ritual purpose in the days when Dvorn’s tomb was an active center of worship. Perhaps we could recreate that ritual in the monument—every hour, let’s say, stage a kind of reenactment of what we think it might have been like—”
“Good! Very good!”
“Or even hire people to keep the wheels in constant motion—revolving steadily, powered by some sort of primitive arrangement of pedals—to symbolize the eternal cycle of history, the ongoing continuity of the world through all its millions of years—”
Hawid Zakayil smiled a shrewd Skandar smile.
“I like it, Simmilgord. I like it very much.”
* * *
And so it came to pass that Simmilgord of Gloyn became the first administrator of the Tomb of Dvorn, as the monument in the black basalt mountain came to be called after a while, and looked after it in the blossoming of its first growth until it became known as the most sacred site of western Alhanroel, where every Coronal would make a point of stopping to pay homage when he made one of his long processional journeys across the world.
The Toys of Caliban
(script)
by George R. R. Martin
THE TWILIGHT ZONE
FADE IN
INT.—LIVING ROOM—NIGHT—CLOSE ON TOBEY
TOBEY ROSS, a special needs sixteen-year-old boy, sits on the worn carpet, playing with a doll. He’s a big boy; pale, overweight, his clothing old but clean. His shirt is misbuttoned. His eyes are rapt as he walks the doll along the floor with large, uncoordinated movements. When he lets go of the doll, and it falls over, Tobey looks briefly annoyed. He stands it up, and it falls over again.
ANGLE PAST TOBEY ON ERNEST
ERNEST ROSS, Tobey’s father, a man of about sixty, sits in an old wingback chair reading a newspaper. Tall, gaunt, gray-haired, with a careworn face and a weary strength, Ernest glances at Tobey frequently as he reads.
MARY (O. S.) Ernest? It’s so quiet. Is he all right?
CLOSE ON ERNEST
He turns the newspaper and answers, almost by rote.
ERNEST (wearily)
He’s fine, dear. He’s just playing.
TOBEY
(overlapping, O.S. ) Bring.
Ernest quickly glances back at Tobey, then relaxes again and goes back to his paper.
MARY (O.S. )
You know I worry, Ernest. The boy doesn’t understand.
ERNEST
(patient, reading) I know, dear.
We HEAR the clatter of plates and silverware from the kitchen, the sound of the dinner table being set.
BACK TO TOBEY
Who holds a Robbie the Robot toy that was NOT in evidence in the previous shot. The doll lies beside him, on top of a thick catalog from a toy store opened to a picture of the robot in Tobey’s hands. The boy presses a button on the robot’s chest, starting a short taped speech. As Tobey claps his hands in delight, we PULL BACK to show the living room.
The light is dim; all the windows are covered by heavy drapes, and the room has a dark, creepy, claustrophobic feel. The furniture is comfortable but old, on the edge of shabby. A big television console stands against one wall, but inside there’s an ornate dollhouse instead of a TV. Above, unfaded wallpaper shows where a painting once hung, but there’s no painting there now. Against a second wall stands a large cabinet-style bookcase, glass fronted, its doors closed and chained, the chains secured with a heavy padlock. The books within are covered. And Tobey’s toys are everywhere. Tobey is surrounded by balls, robots, dolls. In one overstuffed chair sits a teddy bear the size of Merlin Olsen. Other stuff is scattered through the room: a cowboy hat, a hula hoop, a truck, battalions of toy soldiers.
Tobey pushes the robot’s button too hard, breaking the toy. He looks upset, then quickly pushes it away. He grabs his toy book, clumsily turns pages.
INSERT—THE TOY CATALOG
On a page covered with stuffed animals, the biggest feature is a bright pink stuffed unicorn with a long horn. Tobey GIGGLES.
CUT TO INT.— KITCHEN
MARY ROSS, bustling about nervously, sets a platter of fried chicken and a bowl of mashed potatoes on an old Formica table. She’s in her mid-fifties, frail-looking, thin and fussy. We HEAR Tobey call out from the living room.
TOBEY (O.S.) Bring!
Mary flinches when she hears the word, starts to call out to Ernest, then purses her lips firmly and finishes, setting the table. We FOLLOW her into the living room.
MARY
Dinner is ready.
(to Tobey)
Are you hungry, Tobey?
Tobey looks up eagerly. In his hands is the stuffed unicorn from the toy catalog; he’s holding it by the horn. He jumps up at Mary’s call.
TOBEY Donuts! Donuts, mama!
Ernest folds up his paper, rises, takes Tobey by the hand.
ERNEST
You had donuts yesterday, Tobey. Come on, son. You like chicken.
CUT TO THE KITCHEN as the Rosses sit to dinner. Mary fusses with her food as Ernest fills Tobey’s plate and corrects the way he holds his fork. Tobey pushes the mashed potatoes around his plate clumsily, obvious disenchanted. He looks at his father hopefully.
TOBEY Donuts?
ERNEST Eat the dinner mama cooked.
MARY Maybe for dessert, Tobey. ERNEST If you eat your dinner.
Tobey attacks the chicken with enthusiasm now. His parents exchange a weary glance.
MARY
There’s no harm in it, Ernest.
(to Tobey) Chew your food, Tobey.
Ernest eats silently, methodically. We MOVE IN on Tobey’s plate as he eagerly attacks his dinner, anxious to get on to the promised dessert.
DISSOLVE TO KITCHEN—A SHORT TIME LATER
Tobey has cleaned his plate. He looks up eagerly.
TOBEY Donuts?
ERNEST
(sighs)
All right, Tobey. Let me get the picture.
Ernest rises, UNLOCKS a kitchen drawer.
CLOSE ON THE DRAWER as Ernest rummages through a stack of brightly illustrated, plasticized menus from restaurants and coffee houses, and extracts one with a Deelight Donuts logo.
BACK TO THE SCENE
Ernest turns, the menu in hand, but Tobey is grinning widely. He sticks out two large empty hands.
TOBEY Bring!
Two large chocolate-covered donuts suddenly APPEAR in Tobey’s hands, blinking into existence from nowhere. Tobey begins to stuff himself, alternating bites between the right-hand donut and the left-hand donut. Ernest looks nonplussed.
ERNEST
He didn’t look at the picture.
(to Mary)
Mary, he did it without looking at the picture. He’s never—
Mary interrupts him as she pours Tobey a glass of milk.
MARY
Yes, he has. Oh, it’s only donuts, Ernest. You know he loves them so.
Ernest puts the menu back in the drawer, locks it, and stares at his son with a concerned, unhappy look on his face.
CLOSE ON TOBEY as he eats happily.
MATCH CUT TO CLOSE ON TOBEY—HOURS LATER
His face is greenish, his brow sweaty. He’s in pain.
TOBEY Hurts, mama. Hurts!
INT.—TOBEY’S ROOM—NIGHT
We PULL BACK to see a pajama-clad Tobey rolling about in bed, clutching his stomach. Mary is shaking down a thermometer. Ernest stands at the foot of the bed. The bedroom is even more cluttered with toys, junk, and bric-a-brac than the Ross living room. Some of the toys are strange indeed: a full-sized traffic light, bowling pins, a huge anchor draped by old clothes (might be fun to sprinkle the set with props from past TZ episodes, to give the room a suitably weird, disturbing look).
MARY
It’s all right, Tobey. Let mama take your temperature.
She puts the thermometer in his mouth, but Tobey spits it out.
TOBEY (louder) Hurts, mama! Hurts!
Mary tries to hold him still, feels his stomach.
ERNEST
I was afraid of this. Those donuts—
MARY Two. He only had two.
ERNEST
If he doesn’t need to see the picture any more, he could have had another dozen after we put him to bed. Or anything else, for that matter. You know as well as I do that he’ll eat anything he can fit in his mouth.
MARY
His tummy is burning up.
(beat)
Call that nice Doctor Keller, he’ll come, I know he will.
ERNEST
(patiently)
He doesn’t make house calls any more. No one makes house calls any more.
Tobey MOANS and rolls away, crying.
MARY
(hysterical)
He has to! Tell him it’s an emergency.
ERNEST
And he’ll tell me that’s what emergency rooms are for. We’ve been through this before.
MARY Tell him, just tell him—
ERNEST Tell him what?
Tobey suddenly SCREAMS and doubles over in pain. Ernest, stricken, turns away and exits. We FOLLOW him as he walks to the living room, lifts up a telephone, begins to dial.
MARY Ernest, what are you doing? ERNEST Calling an ambulance.
MARY
(overlapping, very scared) But we can’t!
O.S. we HEAR Tobey scream again.
ERNEST
(grimly, to Mary)
We have no choice.
(into phone)
Hello, I need an ambulance. This is Ernest Ross at—
CUT TO EXT.— HOSPITAL — NIGHT
An ambulance screeches up to the emergency room door and Tobey is bundled out. Ernest and Mary follow him inside.
INT.—WAITING ROOM—LATER
Ernest and Mary rise anxiously as a resident comes through a set of swinging doors.
MARY
Is he all right? Is Tobey all right? What’s wrong with him?
RESIDENT
It’s food poisoning. We’ve pumped his stomach. I’m sure he’ll be fine, but I’d like to keep him overnight for observation.
ERNEST
Overnight? Is that necessary? The boy—he’s uncomfortable away from home.
RESIDENT
Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him. The children’s ward has a color television, lots of comic books, a—
ERNEST
(sharply, interrupting)
No. If you say he must stay, he will stay, but he must have a private room, and my wife and I will stay with him. No television, no comic books.
RESIDENT
(startled, uncertain)
Well, certainly, we can arrange a private room if you prefer, but I’m sure the boy would—
MARY
Tobey—he’s not like other children. He’s special, he has—
ERNEST
(firmly)
Mary, I’m sure the doctor has more important things to think about.
RESIDENT
On the contrary. I’m very interested in Tobey and his well-being.
(beat, harder)
Frankly, the contents of Tobey’s stomach—we have a nutritionist here who’d be glad to talk to you.
ERNEST
We don’t need advice on how to feed our son, doctor.
The resident obviously thinks there’s something strange about these two.
RESIDENT
Very well. I’ll make the arrangements about the room.
As the resident walks off, Mary looks to Ernest, worried.
MARY
Ernest—a private room, it costs so much money.
ERNEST
It’s only for one night. It has to be. If Tobey were put in with other children, there’s no telling what they might show him.
Frightened, Mary nods grimly.
CUT TO INT.—HOSPITAL ROOM—NIGHT
The room is dark, all the lights out. Tobey is asleep in the hospital bed, his expression peaceful and innocent. In b.g. Mary is curled up, sleeping, in a nearby chair, a hospital blanket thrown across her legs. Ernest sits by his son, wary, watching. He looks down at Tobey’s face, gently strokes his son’s forehead. We can see his love for the boy.
DISSOLVE TO INT.—HOSPITAL ROOM—THE NEXT MORNING
Tobey is sitting up in bed, his breakfast tray empty, as Mary wipes his mouth with her handkerchief. The door opens to admit MANDY KEMP, a brisk, attractive young social worker. She carries a briefcase and wears a cheery professional smile.
MANDY KEMP Good morning. This must be Tobey.
TOBEY (beaming) Tobey!
MANDY KEMP I’m Miss Kemp, Tobey.
ERNEST
Miss Kemp, Tobey seems fine this morning. We’d like to take him home.
MANDY KEMP
I’m sure the doctor will be discharging him shortly. In the meantime, I’d like to have a little chat with you.
Mandy sets her briefcase on the foot of the bed and removes some papers. Ernest and Mary exchange a worried look.
MARY A—chat? I don’t—
ERNEST
I think we’d just prefer to take our son home as soon as possible.
Mandy turns toward Ernest, her manner cheerful, enthusiastic. MANDY KEMP
Yes, I understand, but I do have a few questions. I’m with Children and Family Services, Mr. Ross.
(looks through papers)
Now, about your son’s schooling, we have no record of any—
ERNEST
(sharply, interrupting) Tobey is special needs.
MARY
(earnestly, pleading)
He doesn’t understand. School wouldn’t—he’s a very special boy, very—excitable—
MANDY KEMP
Well, of course I wasn’t talking about an ordinary curriculum. Even the most severely disabled children are educable, you know, and there are special classes for boys and girls like Tobey.
Tobey, obviously bored by the conversation the adults are having, seems more and more restless.
ANGLE ON TOBEY as his eyes wander around the room, light on Mandy’s open briefcase
ERNEST
I appreciate your concern, but we prefer to care for Tobey ourselves.
MARY
He’s very suggestible. He’s a sweet boy, but he doesn’t understand.
TOBEY’S POV of the briefcase. Under the papers, case files, and reports he glimpses something interesting—the corner of a glossy, brightly colored magazine.
ANGLE ON TOBEY as he reaches toward the briefcase. The adults, intent on their discussion, don’t notice him at first.
MANDY KEMP
We’ve made great strides in working wi
th children like Tobey—special children. We can teach him—
ERNEST
(sharply)
What, Miss Kemp? What can you teach our son? Can you teach him to read and write? Can you teach him to take care of himself?
CLOSE ON BRIEFCASE as Tobey snags the corner of the magazine, a glossy news weekly of the TIME/NEWSWEEK variety, called TRUMPET. He pulls it out.
BACK TO THE SCENE
Tobey begins to leaf through the magazine while his father argues with the social worker, and Mary looks from one to the other.
ERNEST
(continued)
And what about right and wrong, Miss Kemp? Can you teach Tobey the difference between right and wrong?
MARY Ernest, she means well.
ERNEST
Yes. I suppose you’re right.
(less sharply)
Miss Kemp, we love our son. He’s an only child, and he came when both of us thought we were well past our child-bearing years. All we want is what’s best for the boy—
MANDY KEMP That’s all any of us want.
ERNEST
There are things about Tobey you don’t understand.
Ernest glances over at Tobey as he speaks, sees the magazine. Mary looks too, gives a small stifled GASP.
ERNEST (loud, stern) Tobey! NO! No. Tobey.
Tobey looks up guiltily. Ernest snatches the magazine away from him, gives it to Mandy. Tobey reaches for it again.
TOBEY Pictures! Pictures, give!
ERNEST No pictures. No, Tobey.
MANDY KEMP
It’s all right. I’ve read it, Tobey can have it if he likes the pictures.
(to Tobey) Here, would you like this, Tobey?
As she holds out the magazine to Tobey, Ernest SLAPS IT AWAY. The magazine flies from her grasp. Mandy is startled. Tobey begins to bawl loudly.
TOBEY (crying)
Pictures! Pictures, mama! Mama!
Mary wraps her arm around him, dries his tears with her handkerchief, begins to comfort him.
MARY
There, Tobey, it’s all right. Don’t cry, mama’s here. We’ll take you home and you can look at your toy book. Don’t cry, mama loves you.