Funny Scene II: Backlash (Part Four of Four)

JAMES

sotto voce to SANGRE

I say the word, here’s what you do.

CUT TO: JAMES’ VIOLENT HALLUCINATION

JAMES kicks the table forward.

Placemats scatter in an arc. Old man Rubbermaid would shit himself.

JAMES

YEAH? YEAH?  Think I need twenty placemats? Think I'm 'messy infidel?' 

Sangre’s golden necklace gleams in the Moroccan sun. He leaps into the pile of rubber mats and tears into them with primal rage.

WAITER

HEY… (unrecognizable Berber words)

He begins to reach for the surviving placemats.

JAMES

Quietly, to Sangre.

Si.

Sangre goes for the waiter’s reaching hand. SANGRE lunges violently and rapidly, issuing multiple strikes before the man can pull away. This waiter will wear a shabby, woolen-glove for the rest of his days to hide the fingerless mound of weeping scar tissue, formerly known as, “right hand.”

JAMES

Take that you little bastard.

The WAITER clutches his hand, and goes into fetal position.
In an instant, he sees his future: pity will give way to teasing, which will devolve into malicious jeering:

“Too bad Michael Jackson’s dead, he could refer you to his surgeon,”

or from the visiting pidgin speaker:

“Hey, dat medical wase you bin stealin' ees leakin ow  yo glove. Oh wait. Dat yo han.”




END JAMES’ VIOLENT HALLUCINATION



SANGRE awaits the initiation sequence.

JAMES points to the ground.

The monkey leaps violently

at the goat’s head.


He resumes his peaceful gnawing.

The little man finishes washing one table, lays down a placemat,

and returns to JAMES’ table to get his next one.

JAMES

All for me?

JAMES smiles, exposing straight, white teeth.

WAITER

 Heh!

He gives his grin, exposing

one remaining upper tooth. It is hanging guiltily, the

sole survivor of this plane crash of a mouth.

JAMES

To SANGRE

See that? Caught him off guard. Now we're buddies.

EXT, AFTAS SURFER CAFÉ: Evening.

JAMES, RASTA and HORACE sip ginger-kiwi-orange smoothies while the sun retreats.

JAMES

 And at that moment, I didn’t give a shit anymore about his placemat transgression.

RASTA

You have to sympathize with these waiters. Economically speaking, they’re stuck here.

JAMES

 There was a moment when culture faded away and we shared a universal connection.

HORACE

Got ourselves a regular goddamn rainbow coalition. ‘We all experience the human condition’- are ya gonna say that next?

JAMES

 Today I became expansive, my limey friends. I realized none of it is personal.

RASTA 

 Exemplary self-restraint. I would’ve moved the mats straightaway.

HORACE

 Naw. You's just a manipulative bastard, you is. Jealous of RASTA kissin’ all the locals, thought you’d get a suck on that wing-y tooth a his, did ya?

An man wearing a Hash Point Surf Shop tee-shirt approaches the diners.

He is carrying flyers.

HASH POINT GUY

Surfers?

HORACE

Bloody hell!

JAMES

I think we’re cool.

HASH POINT GUY

America?

HORACE

Collective consciousness, like ants. Know when you're talkin' about 'em.

JAMES

You prefer Canada?

HASH POINT GUY

No, America good. Too much British

HORACE

The whole colony will have a go at us now. 

JAMES

That’s true.

HORACE

Bugger off.

RASTA

Watch ‘im. He’ll be kissin’ ya soon.

HASH POINT GUY

Obama good. I think, good guy, but no power. Power is- how you say?

JAMES

Congress?

HORACE

And politics leads to locking lips.

HASH POINT GUY

Yes yes. Okay. Nice to see you, America.

The man smiles, shakes JAMES’ hand and walks on.

The trio is astonished.

HORACE

He shook your bloody hand’n moved on.

The table is silent.

JAMES

Breakthrough. I have tapped into the town’s collective-

SANGRE the monkey leaps from behind the boats.

He latches onto HASH POINT GUY’s back.

The table sits back to witness the carnage unfold.

JAMES

Brief breakthrough?

SANGRE clutches HASH POINT GUY’s hair in one paw, and

uses his other paw, with its’ freakishly long fingers,

to slap the man in the mouth.

The monkey leaps off, and scampers away behind the boats.

JAMES

Breakthrough.

HASH POINT GUY shakes it off,
chokes a bit on some smallish tooth fragments, but

his mouth looks human enough.



EXT. Evening. Main street, Taghazout

We see CALAMARI, back at work on the mail truck.
He and POSTMAN 2 are unloading the van. We get a close look at CALAMARI-

his mouth is full of gauze.   SANGRE approaches...

POSTMAN 2

Calamari!

SANGRE moves quicker now.

 Calamari makes a move to hide in the van.

 SANGRE is too quick. He gets in front of CALAMARI.

In a deft movement, SANGRE  removes his golden dog tags.

We see the tags gently placed in CALAMARI’s hand who cowers against the side of the van.

 It is a restitution for the shredded tongue.

CALAMARI attempts a smile.

SANGRE closes himself into a crate marked for the KIEV zoo.

JAMES gives him a little salute.



Fade Out.