Hello, and good morning.
I am Rabbi lsidor Chemelwitz...
of the Bronx Home for Aged Hebrews.
We are here this morning to pay respect...
for the passing of Sarah Aaronson...
devoted wife of...
Benjamin Aaronson.
Also deceased.
Loving and caring mother of their sons...
Morris, Abraham, and Samuel...
and their daughters Esther and Rachel.
Beloved grandmother of Max...
Mark, Louis, Angela...
Doris, Luke, and Eric.
Eric is a Jewish name?
A large and loving family.
We assemble that we may collectively mourn...
this good and righteous woman.
This woman...
I did not know this woman.
I cannot accurately describe her attributes...
nor do justice to her...
dimensions.
She was not a person...
but a whole kind of a person.
The ones that crossed the ocean...
that brought with us to America...
the villages of Russia and Lithuania.
And how we struggled...
and how we fought...
for the family...
for the Jewish home.
Descendents of this immigrant woman...
you do not grow up in America...
you, your children, and their children with the goyish names.
You do not live in America.
No such place exists.
Your clay is the clay...
of some Litvak shteti.
Your air is the air of the steppes...
because she carried that old world on her back...
across the ocean in a boat...
and she put it down...
on Grand Concourse Avenue.
Around Flatbush.
You can never make that crossing that she made...
for such great voyages in this world do not anymore exist.
But every day of your lives...
the miles, that voyage from that place to this one...
you cross...
every day.
You understand me?
In you...
that journey...
is.
Hold.
I wish I was an octopus, a fucking octopus.
Eight loving arms and all those suckers. Know what I mean?
-No. -You want lunch?
No, that's okay.
Aileen, Roy Cohn.
What kind of greeting is that?
I thought we were friends.
This will take a minute. Here, eat a little something.
What is this? Tasty sandwich here?
I already told you, it wasn't a vacation, it was business.
I have clients in Haiti.
Listen, Aileen, you think I'm the only lawyer in history...
who ever missed a court date? Don't make such a big fuck...
Hold.
You hag.
-If this is a bad time-- -No, it's a good time.
Baby doll. Fuck, wait.
Hello?
Sorry to keep you holding, Judge Hollins, I just...
-Mrs. Hollins? -Yeah, it's Mrs. Hollins.
Sorry, dear. What a deep voice you got.
You enjoying your visit?
She sounds like a truck driver, he sounds like Kate Smith.
It's very confusing.
Nixon appointed him. All the geeks are Nixon appointees.
How many tickets, dear? Seven?
For what, Cats, 42nd Street, what?
You wouldn't like La Cage, trust me. Trust me, I know.
For God's sake, hold.
Baby doll, seven for Cats or something.
Anything hard to get. I don't give a fuck what. Neither will they.
-You've seen La Cage Aux Folles? -No.
It's the best thing on Broadway, maybe ever.
Yeah, who?
Couldn't find her there.
Couldn't see her.
-At least I didn't see her in there. -She was...
It's all right. I'm gonna take the bus.
What do you mean you're gonna take the bus?
I'll see you there.
How's life in Appeals? How's the judge?
-He sends his best. -He's a good man. Loyal.
Not the brightest man on the bench, although he has manners...
-and a nice head of silver hair. -He gives me a lot of responsibility.
Like writing his decisions and signing his name.
-He's a nice man. You cover admirably. -Thanks, Roy.
Who's this? Well, who the fuck are you?
Hold.
-So, baby doll, what? -It's gonna be Cats.
Cats.
Cats: it's about cats. Singing cats. You'll love it.
8:00. Theater's always at 8:00.
Fucking tourists.
Eat already, Joe. For Christ's sake, live a little.
-Roy, could you... -Yeah, what?
Mrs. Solfa.
-Oh, God fucking damn it. -Roy, I really...
Baby doll, ring up The Post. Get me Susie.
-Christ! -Roy.
What?
Could you please not take the Lord's name in vain?
I'm sorry, but please.
At least while I'm...
Right...
Sorry, fuck. Only in America.
Baby doll, tell them all to fuck off, tell them I died.
So, Joe.
-I'm sorry, Roy, it's just that-- -No, no.
Principles count. I respect principles.
I'm not religious, but I like God, God likes me.
-Baptist, Catholic, what? -Mormon.
Mormon?
Delectable. Absolutely.
Only in America.
So, Joe, what do you think?
-It's a... -It's a crazy life.
-Chaotic. -God bless chaos, though, right?
Mormons?
I knew Mormons in Nevada.
-Utah, mostly. -No, these Mormons were in Vegas.
How would you like to go to Washington and work for the Justice Department?
-Sorry? -How would you like to go to Washington...
work for the Justice Department?
All I got to do is pick up the phone, talk to Ed, and you're in.
In what, exactly?
Associate, Assistant, something big.
Internal Affairs, heart of the woods, something nice, with clout.
-Ed-- -Meese, Attorney General.
-All I gotta do is pick up the phone. -But I have to think.
-Okay, great time to be in Washington, Joe. -Roy.
It's incredibly--
It means something to me, too, you understand.
I can't say how much I appreciate this, Roy. I'm sort of stunned.
Thanks, but I have to give it some thought. I have to ask my wife.
-Your wife, of course. -But I really appreciate it.
Of course. Talk to your wife.
To deep-throat a man, to give him intense pleasure...
a woman can simply lick the penis...
without actually putting the whole organ in her mouth...
and still provide the man with a lot of pleasure.
When women tell me that they have a problem with fellatio...
I often tell them to think of the penis as an ice cream cone.
Scientists say the hole in the ozone layer high above the Antarctic...
is now a record at 7 million square miles.
That's three times the size of the whole of the United States.
The hole appears as a giant blue blob totally covering Antarctica...
stretching out to the southern tip of South America.
Scientists say that with the hole so big this early in the year...
it could be set to grow even bigger.
I wish I could go traveling.
Things aren't right with me.
Cash, check, or credit card?
-You startled me. -Cash, check...
I remember you. You're from Salt Lake.
You sold us the plane tickets when we flew here.
-What are you doing in Brooklyn? -You said you wanted to travel.
How thoughtful!
Mr. Lies...
of the International Order of Travel Agents.
We mobilize the globe. We set people adrift.
We are adepts of motion...
acolytes of the flocks.
Cash, check, or credit card, name your destination.
Antarctica maybe? I want to see the hole in the ozone.
-I heard on the radio-- -We'll arrange a guided tour.
-Now? -Soon, maybe soon.
I'm not safe here, you see.
Weird stuff happens.
-Like? -Like you, for instance.
Just appearing. Or last week.
Never mind.
People are like planets, you need a thick skin.
Joe stays away, and now look, my dreams are talking back to me.
The price of rootlessness, motion sickness.
-Only cure, keep moving. -I'm undecided.
I feel that something's going to give. It's 1985...
fifteen years to the third millennium.
Maybe Christ will come again...
or maybe the troubles will come and the end will come.
The sky will collapse and there'll be terrible rain...
and showers of poison light...
Or maybe my life is really fine...
maybe Joe loves me and I'm only crazy thinking otherwise.
Or maybe not.
Maybe it's even worse than I know.
Maybe I want to know, maybe I don't.
The suspense, Mr. Lies, it's killing me.
I suggest a vacation.
That was the elevator. Oh, God, I should fix myself a...
You have to go. You shouldn't be here. You aren't even real.
-Call me when you decide. -Go.
Hey, buddy.
You're early.
I was just walking...
and I guess I came home.
-Are you... -Yeah, I'm a little anxious.
Buddy kiss.
Nothing to get anxious about.
How would you like to move to Washington?
Washington?
She was pretty crazy.
She was up there in that home for ten years, talking to herself.
I never visited.
She looked too much like my mother.
Poor Louis, I'm sorry your grandma's dead.
Tiny little coffin.
I'm sorry I didn't introduce you.
I always get so closety at these family things.
You're getting butch.
Hey, Cousin Doris, you don't remember me, I'm Lou.
Rachel's boy, Lou.
Not Louis, cause if you say Louis, they'll hear the sibilant "s."
-I don't have a sibilant "s." -I don't blame you hiding.
Bloodlines. Jewish curses are the worst.
I personally would dissolve...
if anyone ever looks me in the eye and said fat.
Fortunately, Wasps don't say fat...
and by the way, darling...
Cousin Doris is a dyke.
No! Really?
You don't notice anything.
If I hadn't spent the last four years fellating you...
I'd swear you were straight.
You're in a pissy mood. Cat still missing?
-Not a fur ball in sight. It's your fault. -It is?
I warned you, Louis, names are important.
Call an animal Little Sheba, you can't expect it to stick around.
-Besides, that's a dog's name. -I wanted a dog in the first place, not a cat.
-He sprayed my books. -He was a female cat.
Cats are stupid high-strung predators. Babylonians sealed them up in bricks.
-Dogs have brains. -Cats have intuition.
A sharp dog is as smart as a really dull 2-year-old child.
-Cats know when something's wrong. -Only if you stop feeding them.
They know. That's why Sheba left. She knew.
Knew what?
I did my best Shirley Booth this morning.
Floppy slippers, housecoat, curlers, can of Little Friskies.
"Come back, Little Sheba...
"come back."
To no avail.
See?
That's just a burst blood vessel.
Not according to the best medical authorities.
What? Tell me.
Chaos, baby. Lesion number one.
The wine-dark kiss of the angel of death.
Oh, please.
I'm a lesionnaire. Foreign lesion.
The American lesion.
-Lesionnaire's disease. -Stop.
-My troubles are lesions. -Will you stop?
Don't you think I'm handling this well?
-I'm gonna die. -Bullshit.
-Let go of my arm. Let go. -No.
No.
I can't find a way to spare you, baby.
No wall like the wall of hard scientific fact.
Chaos, wham.
-Bang your head on that. -Fuck you.
Now that's what I like to hear, a mature reaction.
Let's go see if the cat's come home.
Louis.
When did you find this?
-I couldn't tell you. -Why?
-I was scared, Lou. -Of what?
That you'll leave me.
Bad timing, funeral and all, but...
I figured since we're on the subject of death...
Here's the bus. I have to go bury my grandma.
Lou...
-then you'll come home? -Then I'll come home.
Washington.
-It's an incredible honor-- -I have to think.
-Of course. -Say no.
-You said you were gonna think about it. -I don't wanna move to Washington.
Well, I do.
It's a giant cemetery. Huge white graves. Mausoleums everywhere.
We could live in Maryland or Georgetown.
-We're happy here. -That's not really true, buddy.
Happy enough, pretend happy, it's better than nothing.
-It's time we make some changes, Harper. -No changes. Why?
I've been chief clerk for four years.
I make $29,000 a year. That's ridiculous.
I graduated fourth in my class, I make less than anyone I know.
I'm tired of being a clerk.
I wanna go where something good is happening.
Nothing good happens in Washington.
We'll forget Church teachings...
and buy furniture at Conran's...
and become yuppies.
-I have too much to do here. -Like what?
-I do have things. -What things?
I have to finish painting the bedroom.
You've been painting in there for over a year.
I know, it just isn't done, because I never get time to finish it.
That doesn't make sense.
You have all the time in the world.
-You could finish it when I'm at work. -I'm afraid to go in there alone.
-Afraid of what? -I heard something in there.
Metal scraping on the wall, a man with a knife, maybe.
There's no one in the bedroom.
-Not now. -Not this morning, either.
How do you know? You were at work this morning.
There's something creepy about this place. Remember Rosemary's Baby?
-Rosemary's Baby? -Our apartment looks like that one.
-Wasn't that apartment in Brooklyn? -No.
Well, it looked like this.
-It did. -Then let's move.
Georgetown is worse. The Exorcist was in Georgetown.
-The devil everywhere you turn, buddy? -Yeah, everywhere.
How many pills today, buddy?
None.
One.
Three, only three.
Thank you, that was a lovely...
My grandma, just buried.
Why are there just two little wooden pegs holding the lid down?
So that she can get out easier if she wants to.
I hope she stays put.
I pretended for years that she was already dead.
When they called to say she had died, it was a surprise. I had abandoned her.
I don't speak Yiddish.
Sharper than the serpent's tooth is an ungrateful child.
Shakespeare.
King Lear.
Rabbi, what does the Holy Writ say...
about someone who abandons someone he loves...
at a time of great need?
Why would a person do such a thing?
Because he has to.
Maybe this person can't...
incorporate sickness into his sense of how things are supposed to go.
Maybe vomit and sores and disease really frighten him.
Maybe he isn't so good with death.
The Holy Scripture has nothing to say about such a person.
Rabbi, I'm afraid of the crimes I may commit.
Please, mister, I'm a sick old rabbi...
facing a long drive home to the Bronx.
You want to confess, better you should find a priest.
I'm not a Catholic, I'm a Jew.
Worse luck for you, bubeleh.
Catholics believe in forgiveness. Jews believe in guilt.
Thanks.
You just make sure those pegs are in good and tight.
Don't worry, mister, the life she had, she'll stay put.
She's better off.
Look...
I know this is scary for you, but try to understand what it means to me.
-Will you try? -Yes.
Good. Really try.
Things are starting to change in the world.
-I don't wanna-- -Wait. For the good.
Change for the good.
America has rediscovered itself.
Its sacred position among nations.
People aren't ashamed of it like they used to be.
This is a great thing. The truth restored, law restored.
That's what President Reagan's done, Harper.
He says truth exists and can be spoken proudly...
and the country responds to him.
We become better, more good.
I need to be a part of that. I need something big to lift me up.
Six years ago, the world seemed in decline...
horrible, hopeless, full of unsolvable problems...
and crime, confusion, hunger...
But it still seems that way, more now than before.
You see the ozone layer...
Today out the window on Atlantic Avenue...
there was this schizophrenic traffic cop who was making--
Will you stop it? I'm trying to make a point.
-So am l. -You aren't even making sense.
My point is the world seems just--
It only seems that way to you because you never go out...
and you have emotional problems.
-I do so get out in the world. -No, you don't.
You stay in all day fretting about imaginary--
I get out.
I do. You don't know what I do.
-You don't stay in all day? -No.
-Yes, you do. -That's what you think.
-Where do you go? -Where do you go when you walk?
-And I do not have emotional problems. -I'm sorry.
If I do have emotional problems, it's from living with you or--
I'm sorry, I didn't mean--
Then you should have never married me. You have all these...
secrets and lies.
-I want to be married to you, Harper. -You shouldn't. You never should...
Hey, buddy.
Buddy kiss.
I heard on the radio how to give a blow job.
-What? -Do you want to try?
-You shouldn't listen to such-- -Mormons can give blow jobs.
It was a little Jewish lady with a German accent.
Now is a good time for me to make a baby.
Then they went on to a program about holes in the ozone layer...
over Antarctica.
Skin burns...
birds go blind...
icebergs melt.
The world's coming to an end.
-Morning. -Good morning, Counselor.
Sorry, I don't know your name.
Don't bother. A word processor, the lowest of the low.
-Joe Pitt, I'm with Justice Olsen. -I know that.
Counselor Pitt, Chief Clerk.
-Are you okay? -Yes, thanks.
What a nice man.
-Not so nice. -What?
Not so nice. Nothing.
What's wrong?
-Life just sucks shit. -I'm sorry?
Forget it.
Thanks for asking.
I mean, it really is nice of you.
-Sorry. Sick friend. -I'm sorry.
That's sweet.
Three of your colleagues have preceded you to this baleful sight...
and you're the first one to ask.
The others just opened the door, saw me, and fled.
I hope they had to pee real bad.
They just didn't want to intrude.
Reaganite, heartless, macho, asshole lawyers.
That's unfair.
What is? Heartless, macho, Reaganite...
Lawyer?
-I voted for Reagan. -You did?
-Twice. -Twice!
-Well, oh, boy, a gay Republican. -Excuse me?
Nothing.
I'm not... No, forget it.
Republican, not Republican?
What?
-What? -Not gay. I'm not gay.
Sorry.
It's just that...
Yes?
Sometimes you can tell from the way a person sounds.
-You sound-- -No, I don't.
-Like what? -Like a Republican.
Do I sound like a...
What, like a Republican?
Or do l?
-Do you what? -Sound like a--
Yeah, like a...
-I'm confused. -Yes.
My name is Louis, but all my friends call me Louise.
I work in word processing. Thanks for the toilet paper.
"I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. De Mille."
One wants to move through life with elegance and grace.
Blossoming infrequently, but with exquisite taste...
and perfect timing.
Like a rare bloom...
a zebra orchid.
One wants...
but one so seldom gets what one wants.
Does one?
No.
One does not.
One gets fucked over.
One dies at 30.
Robbed of decades of majesty--
Fuck this shit.
I look like a corpse.
A corpse-ette.
My queen!
You know you've hit rock bottom when even drag is a drag.
Who are you?
What are you doing in my hallucination?
I'm not in your hallucination. You're in my dream.
You're wearing makeup.
-So are you. -But you're a man.
My hands and feet give it away.
There must be some mistake here. I don't recognize you.
Are you my...
-some sort of imaginary friend? -No.
Aren't you too old to have imaginary friends?
I have emotional problems, I took too many pills.
Why are you wearing makeup?
I was in the process of applying the face, trying to make myself feel better.
I swiped the new fall colors at the Clinique counter at Macy's.
You stole these?
I was out of cash, it was an emotional emergency.
Joe will be so angry. I promised him no more pills.
These pills you keep alluding to...
Valium, I take Valium. Lots of Valium.
And you're dancing as fast as you can.
I'm not addicted. I don't believe in addiction and I...
-I never drink and I never take drugs. -Smell you, Nancy Drew.
-Except for Valium. -Except Valium in wee fistfuls.
It's terrible. Mormons are not supposed to be addicted to anything.
-I'm a Mormon. -I'm a homosexual.
In my church, we don't believe in homosexuals.
In my church, we don't believe in Mormons.
What church do...
I get it.
I don't understand this.
If I didn't ever see you before...
and I don't think I did, then I don't think you should be here...
in this hallucination...
because in my experience, the mind, which is where hallucinations come from...
shouldn't be able to make up anything that wasn't there to start with...
that didn't enter it from experience from the real world.
Imagination can't create anything new, can it?
It only recycles bits and pieces from the world...
and reassembles them into visions. Am I making sense right now?
Given the circumstances, yes.
When we think we've escaped the unbearable ordinariness...
and untruthfulness of our lives...
it's really only the same old ordinariness and falseness rearranged...
into the appearance of novelty and truth.
Nothing unknown is knowable.
Don't you think it's depressing?
-The limitations of the imagination? -Yes.
It's something you learn after your second theme party.
It's all been done before.
The world, finite...
terribly...
This is the most depressing hallucination I ever had.
Apologies. I do try to be amusing.
Don't apologize, you...
I can't expect someone who's really sick to entertain me.
-How on earth did you know? -That happens.
This is the very threshold of revelations sometimes. You can see things.
How sick you are.
Do you see anything about me?
-Yes. -What?
-You are amazingly unhappy. -Big deal.
You meet a Valium addict, you figure out she's unhappy...
that doesn't count. Of course... Something else?
Something surprising?
-Something surprising? -Yes.
Your husband's a homo.
Ridiculous.
-Really? -Threshold of revelation.
I don't like your revelations. I don't think you intuit well at all.
Joe's a very normal man.
Oh, God!
Do homos take, like, lots of long walks?
Yes, we do. In stretch pants with lavender coifs.
-I just looked at you and there was-- -A sort of blue streak of recognition.
-Yes. -Like you knew me incredibly well.
-Yes. -Yes.
I have to go now, get back, something just...
fell apart.
Oh, God!
I feel so sad.
I'm sorry.
I usually say fuck the truth.
But mostly the truth fucks you.
I see something else about you.
Deep inside you, there's a part of you...
the most inner part...
entirely free of disease.
I can see that.
Is that...
That isn't true.
Threshold of revelation.
People come and go so strangely here.
I don't think there is any uninfected part of me.
My heart is pumping polluted blood.
I feel dirty.
Look up.
Hello?
Look up!
Who is that?
Look up. Prepare the way.
I don't see any--
Prepare for the parting of the air...
the breath, the ascent.
Glory to--
What the fuck.
Hello!
Is that it?
Hello!
Poor me.
Poor, poor me. Why me?
Why poor, poor me?
I don't feel good right now. I really don't.
Harper?
Where were you?
-Where were you? -Out.
-Where? -Just out, thinking.
It's late.
-I had a lot to think about. -I burned dinner.
I'm sorry.
Not my dinner. My dinner was fine. Your dinner.
I put it back in the oven and turned everything up high...
and I watched till it burned black.
It's still hot, very hot, want it?
You didn't have to do that.
I know. It just seemed like the kind of thing...
a mentally deranged, sex-starved, pill-popping housewife would do.
So I did it. Who knows anymore what I have to do?
-How many pills? -A bunch. Don't change the subject.
-I won't talk to you. -No, don't do that. I'm fine.
Pills are not the problem, not our problem.
I wanna know where you've been, and I wanna know what's going on.
-Going on with what? The job? -Not the job.
I said I needed more time.
I talked to Mr. Cohn on the phone, he said that I had to hurry.
-But I can't get you to talk sensibly about-- -Shut up!
-Stick to the subject! -I don't know what that is!
You have something you wanna ask me, ask me.
Ask me. Go.
I can't. I'm scared of you.
I'm tired. I'm going to bed.
Tell me without making me ask, please.
This is crazy. I'm not...
When you come through the door...
your face is never exactly the way I remembered it.
I get surprised by something mean and hard about the way you look...
even the weight of you in the bed at night...
the way you breathe in your sleep...
seems unfamiliar. You terrify me.
I know who you are.
Yes, I'm the enemy. That's easy. That doesn't change.
You think you're the only who hates sex? I do. I hate it with you.
I dream that you batter away at me till my joints come apart like wax...
and I fall into pieces. It's like a punishment.
It was wrong of me to marry you. I knew...
It's a sin and it's killing us both.
I can always tell you've taken pills because it makes you red-faced and sweaty.
And frankly, that's very often why I don't want to...
-Because... -Because you aren't pretty.
Not like this.
-I have something I wanna ask-- -Then ask! What the hell are you--
Are you a homo?
Are you?
You try to walk out right now...
I'll put your dinner back in the oven and turn it up so high...
the building will fill with smoke, and everyone in it will asphyxiate.
So help me God, I will. Now answer the question.
-What if I... -Then tell me, please, and we'll see.
No.
I'm not.
I don't see what difference it makes.
Jews don't have any clear textual guide to the afterlife.
I mean even that it exists.
I don't think much about it.
I see it as a perpetual rainy Thursday afternoon in March...
dead leaves...
Very Greco-Roman.
For us, it's not the verdict that counts, it's the act of judgment.
That's why I can never be a lawyer. In court, all that matters is the verdict.
You can never be a lawyer because you're oversexed.
And too distracted.
Not distracted, abstracted.
-I'm trying to make a point. -Namely?
The shaping of the law, not its execution.
The point, dear, the point.
That it should be the questions and shape of a life...
its total complexity, gathered, arranged, and considered...
which matters in the end.
Not some stamp of salvation or damnation...
which disperses all the complexity in some unsatisfying little decision.
-The balancing of the scales-- -I like this.
Very Zen.
It's reassuringly incomprehensible and useless.
We, who are about to die, thank you.
You are not about to die.
It's not going well, really.
Two new lesions...
my leg hurts, there's protein in my urine, the doctor says...
but who know what the fuck that portends.
Anyway it shouldn't be there. The protein.
My butt is chapped from diarrhea.
And yesterday I shat blood.
I really hate this.
-You don't tell me-- -You get too upset.
I wind up comforting you.
-It's easier. -Oh, thanks.
If it's bad, I'll tell you.
Shitting blood sounds bad to me.
-I'm telling you-- -And I'm handling it.
Tell me some more about justice.
I am handling it.
Well, Louis, you win trooper of the month.
I take it back. You aren't trooper of the month.
This isn't working.
Tell me some more about justice.
You are not about to die.
-Justice... -Is an immensity, it's confusing.
Vastness, justice is God.
Prior.
You love me?
Yes.
What if I walked out on this?
Would you hate me forever?
Yes.
I think we ought to pray.
Ask God for help.
Ask him together.
God won't talk to me.
-I have to make up people to talk to me. -You have to keep asking.
I forgot the question.
-Oh, yeah. God, is my husband a homo? -Stop it!
I'm warning you!
Does it make any difference that I might be one thing deep within?
No matter how wrong or ugly that thing is...
so long as I have fought with everything I have to kill it?
What do you want from me?
What do you want from me, Harper, more than that?
For God's sake, there's nothing left.
I'm a shell. There's nothing left to kill.
As long as my behavior is what I know it has to be, decent, correct...
that alone in the eyes of God...
No, not that. That's Utah talk, Mormon talk. I hate it, Joe.
Tell me, say it.
All I will say is that I'm a very good man...
who has worked very hard to become good...
and you wanna destroy that.
You wanna destroy me but I am not gonna let you do that.
I'm gonna have a baby.
-Liar. -You liar.
A baby born addicted to pills.
A baby who does not dream, but who hallucinates...
who stares up at us with big mirror eyes...
and who does not know who we are.
-Are you really? -No.
Yes.
No. Yes.
Get away from me.
Now we both have a secret.
Nobody knows what causes it.
And nobody knows how to cure it.
The best theory is that we blame a retrovirus.
The human immunodeficiency virus.
Its presence is made known to us by the useless antibodies...
which appear in reaction to its entrance into the bloodstream through a cut.
Or an orifice.
The antibodies are powerless to protect the body against it.
Why? We don't know.
The body's immune system ceases to function.
Sometimes the body even attacks itself.
At any rate, it's left open to a whole horror house of infections...
from microbes it usually defends against.
Like Kaposi's sarcomas...
those lesions on your arms, or your throat problem.
Or the glands.
We think it may also be able to slip past the blood-brain barrier into the brain.
Which is, of course, very bad news.
It's fatal in we don't know what percent of people with suppressed immune responses.
Very interesting...
Mr. Wizard.
Why the fuck are you telling me this?
Well, I have just removed one of three lesions...
which biopsy results will probably tell us is a Kaposi's sarcoma lesion.
And you have a pronounced swelling of glands...
in your neck, groin, and armpits.
Lymphadenopathy is another sign.
And you have oral candidiasis.
And maybe a little more fungus under the fingernails...
of two digits on your right hand.
So?
That's why I'm...
-This disease... -Syndrome.
Whatever.
It afflicts mostly homosexuals and drug addicts.
Mostly.
Hemophiliacs are also at risk.
Homosexuals and drug addicts.
So why are you implying that I...
What are you implying, Henry?
-I don't think I was implying anything. -I'm not a drug addict.
-Come on, Roy. -What? "Come on, Roy" what?
You think I'm a junkie, Henry?
Do you see tracks?
This is absurd.
So say it.
Say what?
Say, "Roy Cohn, you are a..."
-Roy. -"You are a..." Go on.
Not, "Roy Cohn, you are a drug fiend."
"Roy Marcus Cohn, you are a..."
Go on, Henry, it starts with an "H."
-I'm not gonna get into-- -With an "H," Henry...
and it isn't "hemophiliac."
Come on!
-Why are you doing this, Roy? -No, I mean it. Say it.
Say, "Roy Cohn, you are a homosexual."
And I will proceed systematically...
to destroy your reputation.
And your practice.
And your career in the state of New York, Henry.
Which you know I can do.
You have been seeing me since 1958.
Apart from the face lifts, I have treated you for everything from syphilis--
From a whore in Dallas.
...from syphilis to venereal warts in your rectum...
which you may have gotten from a whore in Dallas.
But it wasn't a female whore.
So say it.
Roy Cohn, you are...
You have had sex with men. Many, many times, Roy.
And one of those men or any number of them has made you very sick.
You have AIDS.
AIDS?
You know, your problem, Henry, is that you are hung up on words...
on labels...
that you believe they mean what they seem to mean.
AIDS, homosexual, gay, lesbian.
You think these are names that tell you who someone sleeps with?
-They don't tell you that. -No?
No.
Like all labels, they tell you one thing and one thing only.
Where does an individual so identified fit in the food chain...
in the pecking order?
Not an ideology or a sexual taste, but something much simpler:
Clout.
Not who I fuck or who fucks me...
but who will pick up the phone when I call.
Who owes me favors.
This is what a label refers to.
Now, to someone who does not understand this...
homosexual is what I am because I have sex with men.
But really, this is wrong.
Homosexuals are not men who sleep with other men.
Homosexuals are men...
who, in 15 years of trying...
cannot pass a pissant anti-discrimination bill through city council.
Homosexuals are men who know nobody and who nobody knows.
Who have zero clout.
Does this sound like me, Henry?
-No. -No!
I have clout. Lots.
I pick up this phone, I punch 15 numbers, you know who's on the other end?
-In under five minutes, Henry. -The President.
Better, Henry. His wife.
I'm impressed.
I don't want you to be impressed. I want you to understand.
This is not sophistry and this is not hypocrisy.
This is reality.
I have sex with men...
but unlike nearly every other man of whom this is true...
I bring the guy I'm screwing to the White House.
And President Reagan smiles at us and shakes his hand...
because...
what I am is defined entirely by who I am.
Roy Cohn is not a homosexual.
Roy Cohn is a heterosexual man, Henry...
who fucks around with guys.
Okay, Roy.
And what is my diagnosis, Henry?
-You have AIDS, Roy. -No. Henry, no.
AIDS is what homosexuals have.
I have liver cancer.
Whatever the fuck you have...
it's very serious.
And I haven't got a damn thing for you.
The NIH in Bethesda has a new drug called...
AZT...
with a two-year waiting list that not even I can get you onto.
So pick up the phone, Roy...
and dial the 15 numbers...
and tell the First Lady that you need in on an experimental treatment for liver cancer...
because you can call it any damn thing you want, Roy.
But what it boils down to...
is very bad news.
Louis.
Please wake up.
Oh, God!
Please wake up.
What?
What? What is it?
Something horrible is wrong with me. I can't breathe.
-I'm calling the ambulance. -No, wait.
Wait? Are you fucking crazy? God, you're on fire, your head is on fire.
-It hurts. -I'll call an ambulance.
No, I don't wanna go to the hospital. I don't. Please let me lie here.
-No. Prior, stand up! -Don't touch my leg.
-We have to... God, this is so crazy! -I'll be okay if I could just lie here a little.
Really, if I could just sleep a little.
Louis, don't.
Don't call. You'll send me there and I won't come back.
Yes, yes. It's an emergency. I need an ambulance right away.
-Please, Louis! -Will you shut the fuck up?
-210... -I have to go to the bathroom.
I don't know. I don't know, he can't breathe!
Oh, God!
-Prior... -I'm sorry.
They'll be here in a minute. It's... Oh, God!
-What is that? -I had an accident.
-This is blood. -Maybe you shouldn't touch it.
Help! Oh, God. God help me! I can't!
Why are you sitting in the dark? Turn on the light.
No, I heard the sounds in the bedroom again.
I know someone was in there.
No one was.
Maybe actually in the bed, under the covers, with a knife.
Joe, I'm thinking of going away...
by which I mean I think I'm going off again. You know what I mean?
No, please don't. Stay. We can fix it.
I pray for that.
This is my fault, but I can correct it.
You have to try, too.
When you pray, what do you pray for?
I pray for God to crush me...
break me up into little pieces and start all over again.
Please don't pray for that.
I had a book of Bible stories when I was a kid...
and there was this picture I'd look at 20 times every day:
Jacob wrestles with the angel.
I don't really remember the story or why they're wrestling.
Just the picture.
Jacob is young, and very strong...
and the angel is a beautiful man...
with golden hair and wings, of course.
I still dream about it.
Many nights.
And...
it's me...
in that struggle.
Fierce and unfair.
The angel's not human and holds nothing back.
So how could anyone human win? What kind of a fight is that? It's not just.
Soul thrown down in the dust...
your heart torn out from God's...
but you can't not lose.
In the whole entire world...
you are the only person...
the only person I love or have ever loved.
I love you terribly.
Terribly.
That's what's so awfully, irreducibly real.
I can make up anything, but I can't dream that away.
Are you really gonna have a baby?
It's my time and there's no blood.
I don't really know. I suppose it wouldn't be a great thing.
Maybe I'm just not bleeding 'cause I take too many pills.
Maybe I'll give birth to a pill.
That would give a new meaning to pill-popping.
I think you should go...
to Washington alone.
-Change, like you said. -I'm not gonna leave you, Harper.
Maybe not...
but I'm gonna leave you.
-He'll be all right now. -No, he won't.
No, I guess not.
-I gave him something that makes him sleep. -Deep asleep?
Orbiting the moons of Jupiter.
-It's a good place to be. -Any place better than here.
-You his... -Yes.
I'm his...
-This must be hell for you. -It is.
Hell, the afterlife...
which is not at all like a rainy afternoon in March, by the way, Prior.
It's a lot more vivid than I'd expected. Dead leaves...
the kind of dying feeling that breaks your heart.
Yeah, we all get to break our hearts on this one.
He seems like a nice guy.
-He's cute. -Not like this.
Yes, he is. Was, whatever.
It's a weird name, Prior Walter. Like the Walter before this one.
Lots of Walters before this one.
Prior's an old, old family name in an old, old family.
Walters go back to the Mayflower and beyond...
back to the Norman conquest.
He says there's a Prior Walter stitched into the Bayeux Tapestry.
Is that impressive?
It's old, very old, which in some circles equals impressive.
Not in my circle.
-Will he sleep through the night? -At least.
I'm going.
Tell him...
If he wakes up and you're still on, tell him...
goodbye.
Tell him I had to go.
The pills are something she started when she miscarried.
No, she took some before that.
She had a bad time at home when she was a kid.
Her home was really bad. I think a lot of drinking and physical stuff.
She doesn't talk about that.
Instead, she talks about the sky falling down...
people with knives hiding under sofas, and monsters...
Mormons!
Everyone thinks that Mormons don't come from homes like that.
We aren't supposed to behave that way, but we do.
It's not lying or being two-faced.
Everyone tries very hard to live up to God's strictures, which are very...
Strict.
-I shouldn't be bothering you with this. -No, please, come on, heart-to-heart.
You want another? What is it, what you got? Seltzer?
Yeah.
The failure to measure up hits people very hard.
From such a strong desire to be good...
they feel very far from goodness when they fail.
What scares me is that maybe what I really love in her...
is the part of her that's farthest from the light, from God's love.
Maybe I was drawn to that in the first place...
and I'm keeping it alive because I need it.
Why would you need it?
There are things...
I don't know how well we know ourselves. I mean, what if...
I know I married her...
because I loved that she was always wrong, always doing something wrong.
Like one step out of step.
In Salt Lake City, that stands out.
I never stood out, on the outside...
but inside, it was hard for me to pass.
Pass?
Yeah.
Pass as what?
As someone cheerful and strong.
Those who love God with an open heart...
unclouded by secrets and struggles are cheerful.
God's easy, simple love for them shows in how happy they are, the saints.
But you had secrets?
Secret, secret struggles?
I wanted to be one of the elect, one of the blessed.
You feel you ought to be, that the blemishes are yours by choice...
which, of course, they aren't.
Harper's sorrow, that really deep sorrow...
she didn't choose that, but it's there.
-You didn't put it there? -No.
-You sound like you think you did. -I am responsible for her.
Because she's your wife.
That, and I do love her.
Whatever. She's your wife...
and so, there are obligations to her.
But also to yourself.
-God, she'd fall apart in Washington. -Then let her stay here.
-She'd fall apart if I leave her. -Then bring her to Washington.
I just can't, Roy. She needs me.
Listen, Joe, I'm the best divorce lawyer in the business.
Can't Washington wait?
You do what you need to do, Joe. What you need. You.
Let her life go where it wants to go.
You'll both be better off for that.
Somebody should get what they want.
What do you want?
I want you to fuck me, hurt me and make me bleed.
-I want to. -Yeah?
I want to hurt you.
-Fuck me. -Yeah?
-Hard. -Yeah, you been a bad boy?
-Very bad, very bad. -You need to be punished, boy?
-Yes, I do. -Yes, what?
Yes, what, boy?
Yes, sir.
I want you to take me to your place, boy.
-No, I can't do that. -No what?
No, sir, I can't. I don't live alone, sir.
Your lover know you're out with a man tonight?
-No sir, he... My lover doesn't know. -Your lover know you like--
Let's change the subject, okay? Can we go to your place?
I live with my parents.
Everyone who makes it in life makes it...
because someone older, more powerful takes an interest.
The most precious asset in life, I think, is the ability to be a good son.
You have that, Joe.
I've had many fathers. I owe my life to them.
Powerful, powerful men. Walter Winchell, Edgar Hoover...
Joe McCarthy most of all.
He valued me because I was a good lawyer...
but he loved me because I was, and am, a good son.
He was a very, very difficult man.
Very guarded and cagey.
I brought out something tender in him.
I don't know.
He'd have died for me.
And me for him.
Does this embarrass you?
I had a hard time with my father.
-Your father's living? -Dead.
He was what, difficult man?
He was in the military. He could be very unfair...
and cold.
-He loved you, though. -I don't know.
No, he loved you, Joe. This I know.
Sometimes a father's love has to be very, very hard.
Unfair, even.
Cold.
Make your son grow strong in a world like this.
This isn't a good world.
Relax.
Not a chance.
-I... -What?
I think it broke, the rubber.
You want me to keep going?
-Pull out? -Keep going, infect me, I don't care.
I'm sorry, but I think I wanna go.
And give my best to Mom and Dad.
It was a joke.
How long...
How long we known each other?
Since 1980.
Right. That's a long time.
I feel close to you, Joe.
Do I advise you well?
-You've been an incredible friend, Roy. -I wanna be family.
Famiglia...
as my Italian friends call it.
La famiglia.
Lovely word.
It's important for me...
to help you, like I was helped.
-I owe practically everything to you, Roy. -I'm dying, Joe. Cancer.
-Oh, my God. -Please, let me finish.
Few people know this.
I'm telling you this because...
I'm not afraid of death.
What can death bring that I haven't faced?
I've lived.
Life is the worst.
Listen to me, I'm a philosopher.
Joe, you must do this.
You must, must.
Love, that's a trap.
Responsibility, that's a trap, too.
Like a father to a son, I tell you this.
Life is full of horror. Nobody escapes.
Nobody. Save yourself.
Whatever pulls on you...
whatever needs from you, threatens you.
Learn at least this:
What you are capable of...
let nothing stand in your way.
Miss thing!
-Stella. -Stella for star.
Let me see.
You look like shit. Why, yes, indeed you do, comme la merde.
Not to despair. Magic goop.
What kind of crap is that?
Beats me. Let's rub it on your poor blistered body and see what it does.
This is not Western medicine.
Voodoo cream from the botanica round the block.
And you, a registered nurse.
Beeswax and cheap perfume cut with Jergens lotion.
Full of good vibes and love from some little black Cubana witch in Miami.
Get that trash away from me. I'm immune-suppressed.
I am a health professional. I know what I'm doing.
It stinks.
Any word from Louis?
Gone.
He'll be back, I know the type. Likes to keep a girl on edge.
It's been...
How long?
-I don't remember. -How long have you been here?
I don't remember. I don't give a fuck. I want Louis. I want my fucking boyfriend.
Where the fuck is he? I'm dying.
Where's Louis?
This is a very strange drug, this drug.
Emotional lability, for starters.
-Save a tab or two for me. -No, not this drug.
This drug, she is serious, poisonous chemistry.
And not just disorienting.
I hear things.
-Voices. -Voices?
A voice.
Saying what?
-I'm not supposed to tell. -You better tell the doctor, or I will.
Don't, please. I want the voice. It's wonderful.
It's all that's keeping me alive. I don't wanna talk to some intern about it.
Do you know what happens when I hear it?
-What? -I get hard.
Oh, my!
-And you know I am slow to rise. -My jaw aches at the memory.
And would you deny me this little solace?
Betray my concupiscence to Florence Nightingale's storm troopers?
Perish the thought, ma bebe.
They'd change the drug, just to spoil the fun.
You and your boner can depend on me.
All this girl-talk shit is politically incorrect, you know.
We should have dropped it back when we gave up drag.
I'm sick. I get to be politically incorrect if it makes me feel better.
You sound like Lou.
At least I have the satisfaction of knowing he's in anguish somewhere.
I have to go.
If I wanna spend my whole lonely life looking after white people...
I can get underpaid to do it.
You're just a Christian martyr.
Whatever happens, baby, I'll be here for you.
Don't go crazy on me, girlfriend.
I already got enough crazy queens for one lifetime.
For two.
I can't be bothering with dementia.
I promise.
Ouch.
Ouch, indeed.
Why'd they have to pick on you?
And eat more, girlfriend. You really do look like shit.
Are you still here?
I can't stay.
I will return.
Are you one of those follow-me-to-the-other-side voices?
No...
I am no night bird.
I am a messenger.
You have a beautiful voice.
Stay with me?
Not now. Soon I will return.
I will reveal myself to you.
I am glorious.
Glorious.
You must prepare.
-For what? I don't-- -No death. No.
A marvelous work and a wonder we undertake...
an edifice awry we straighten...
a great lie we abolish.
A great error, correct...
with the rule, sword, and broom of truth!
I am on my way.
When I am manifest, our work begins.
Prepare for the parting of the air.
The breath, the ascent.
Glory to...
What?
It's a revolution in Washington, Joe.
We have a new agenda, and finally, a real leader.
They got back the Senate but we have the courts.
By the '90s...
the Supreme Court will be solid Republican appointees...
and the federal bench, Republican judges like landmines everywhere.
Everywhere they turn. Affirmative action?
Take it to court. Boom! Landmine.
Roy, are you feeling...
No, I'm fine.
We'll get our way in everything.
Abortion, defense, Central America, family values, a live investment climate.
We have the White House locked till 2000...
and beyond.
A permanent fix on the Oval Office? It's possible.
It's really the end of liberalism, Joe. The end of New Deal socialism.
The end of ipso facto secular humanism.
The dawning of a genuinely American political personality...
modeled on Ronald Wilson Reagan.
-It sounds great, Mr. Heller. -Martin.
And justice is the hub. Especially since Ed Meese took over.
He doesn't specialize in legal fine points. He's a flatfoot. Cop!
-He reminds me of Teddy Roosevelt. -I can't wait to meet him.
Too bad, Joe. He's been dead for 60 years.
-Martin? -Yes, Roy.
Rub my back.
-Roy. -No, no, I mean it, a sore spot.
I get them all the time now. Please, rub it for me, darling.
Do that for me?
Right there.
Yeah, right there. Yes, a little lower.
How do you think a handful of Bolsheviks...
turned St. Petersburg into Leningrad in one afternoon?
Comrades. Who do for each other.
Marx and Engels, Lenin and Trotsky...
Joseph Stalin and Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
Comrades, right, Martin?
This man, Joe, is a saint of the right.
-I know, Mr. Heller. -See what I mean?
-He's special. Isn't he? -Don't embarrass him, Roy.
Gravity, decency, smarts.
His strength is as the strength of 10 because his heart is pure.
-And he's a Roy-boy, 100%. -We're on the move, Joe, on the move.
-Mr. Heller, I'd really-- -We can't wait any longer for an answer.
Joe's a married man, Martin.
With a wife.
She does not care to go to D.C., and so Joe cannot go.
Keeps us dangling.
We've seen that before, haven't we?
-These men and their wives? -Yes, beware.
-I really can't discuss this-- -Then don't discuss. Say yes, Joe.
-Now. -Say, "Yes, I will."
Now.
Now I'm gonna hold my breath till you do.
I'm turning blue waiting. Now, God damn it!
-Roy, calm down. -Here. Fuck it.
Came today, read.
Roy, this...
Roy, this is terrible.
You're telling me.
New York State Bar Association, Martin, they're gonna try and disbar me.
-Oh, my. -Why?
-Why, Martin? -Revenge.
The whole establishment. Their little rules, because I know no rules.
Because I don't see the law as a dead and arbitrary collection...
of antiquated dictums. "Thou shall, thou shall not."
Because I know the law is a pliable, breathing, sweating organ.
Because, because...
Because he borrowed $500,000 from one of his clients.
-There's that. -And he forgot to return it.
Roy, that's...
You borrowed money from a client?
I'm deeply ashamed.
Roy, you know how much I admire you. I know you have your unorthodox ways...
but I'm sure you did what you thought you needed to at the time.
-And I have faith that-- -Not so damp, please. I'll deny it was a loan.
She has no paperwork. Can't prove a fucking thing.
I really appreciate your telling me this, and I'll do whatever I can to help.
I'll tell you what you can do. I'm about to be tried, Joe...
by a jury that is not a jury of my peers.
This disbarment committee...
genteel gentlemen, Brahmin lawyers, country-club men...
I offend them.
To these men I'm what, Martin? What would you say?
-Some sort of filthy little Jewish troll? -No, I wouldn't go so far as that--
I would. They're very fancy lawyers, these disbarment committee lawyers.
Fancy lawyers with fancy corporate clients and complicated cases...
antitrust suits, deregulation, environmental control.
Complex cases like these need Justice Department cooperation...
like flowers need the sun.
Wouldn't you say that was an accurate assessment?
I'm not here, Roy. I'm not hearing any of this.
No, of course you're not.
Without the light of the sun, Joseph...
these cases and the very fancy lawyers who represent them...
will wither and die.
A well-placed friend, someone in the Justice Department, say...
can turn off the sun.
Cast a deep shadow on my behalf.
Make them shiver in the cold...
if they overstep.
They would fear that.
Roy, I don't understand.
You do.
You're not asking me to--
Careful.
Even if I said yes to the job...
it would be illegal to interfere with the hearings.
It's unethical.
No. I can't.
Unethical?
Would you excuse us a moment, please?
-Excuse you? -Yeah, take a walk.
-Roy, are you, are you feeling-- -Unethical?
Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my friend?
It is unethical, I--
Boy, you are really something. What do you think this is, Sunday school?
No, but this is--
This is gastric juices churning, this is enzymes and acids.
This is intestinal, is what this is.
Bowel movement and blood-red meat.
This stinks. This is politics, Joe.
This is the game of being alive, and you think you're what?
You think you're above that?
Above alive is what? Dead. In the clouds.
You're on earth, God damn it! Plant a foot, stay awhile. I'm sick.
They smell I'm weak.
They want blood this time.
I must have eyes in Justice.
In Justice, you will protect me.
Why can't Mr. Heller--
Grow up. The administration can't get involved.
I'd be part of the administration, too.
No, not the same. Martin's Ed's man, Ed's Reagan's man.
So Martin's Reagan's man. You're mine.
This will never be. You understand me?
I'm gonna be a lawyer, Joe.
I'm gonna be a goddamn, motherfucking, legally licensed...
member-of-the-bar lawyer, just like my daddy was...
till my last bitter day on earth, Joseph.
Till the day I die.
Martin's back.
So, are we agreed?
Joe?
I will think about it.
I will.
It's the fear of what comes after the doing that makes the doing hard to do.
Amen.
But you can almost always live with the consequences.
Come on.
-Can I... -Sure.
Sure.
-Crazy cold sun. -Yeah.
Have to make the best of it.
So how's your friend?
My--
He's worse. My friend is worse.
-I'm sorry. -Yeah, thanks for asking.
It's nice.
You're nice.
I can't believe you voted for Reagan.
-I hope he gets better. -Reagan?
-Your friend. -He won't.
Neither will Reagan.
-Let's not talk politics, okay? -Gosh, you're eating three of those?
-I'm hungry. -They're really terrible for you.
Full of rat poo...
and beetle legs and wood shavings and shit.
-You're eating one. -Yeah, the shape. I can't help myself.
Plus, I'm trying to commit suicide. What's your excuse?
I don't have an excuse, I just have Pepto-Bismol.
Yeah, but then I wash it down with Coke.
-Are you always like this? -I've been worrying a lot about his kids.
-Whose? -Reagan's.
The ones he had with Jane and the ones with Nancy.
Little orphan Patti...
and Miss Ron Reagan, Jr., the you-should- pardon-the-expression heterosexual.
Ron Reagan Jr. is...
You shouldn't make these assumptions.
How do you know about him, what he is? You don't know.
Darling, he never sucked my cock, but...
-If you're going to get vulgar-- -No, I... Really.
I mean, what's it like to be the child of the Zeitgeist?
To have the American animus as your dad?
It's not really a family, the Reagans.
I read People. There aren't any connections there, no love.
They don't ever even speak to each other except through their agents.
So what's it like to be Reagan's kid?
"Enquiring minds want to know."
You just...
Whatever you feel like saying or doing, you don't care.
-You just do it. -Do what?
lt.
Whatever. Whatever it is you wanna do.
-Are you trying to tell me something? -No, I'm just observing that you--
Impulsive.
-Yes. I mean, it must be scary. -Land of the free, home of the brave.
Call me irresponsible.
It's kind of terrifying.
Yeah, freedom is.
Heartless, too.
-You're not heartless. -You don't know.
Finish your weenie.
Yesterday was Sunday...
but I've been a little unfocused and I thought it was Monday.
So I came here like I was going to work, and the whole place was empty.
And at first I couldn't figure out why...
and I had this moment of incredible fear...
and also...
it just flashed through my mind.
The whole hall of justice, it's empty, it's deserted...
it's gone out of business forever.
And I just wondered what a thing it would be...
if, overnight, everything you owe anything to:
justice...
or love...
had really gone away.
Free.
It would be...
heartless terror.
Yes, terrible, and very great.
To shed your skin, every old skin...
one by one.
-I can't go back in there today. I-- -Then don't.
I can't go back in, I need...
I can't be...
this anymore.
-I should just... -Do you want some company?
For whatever.
Sometimes even if it scares you to death, you have to be...
willing to break the law.
Know what I mean?
-Yes. -I moved out.
I moved out on...
I haven't been sleeping well.
Me, neither.
Antacid mustache.
Mom.
-Joe? -Hi.
You're calling from the street. It must be 4:00 in the morning.
-What's happened? -Nothing.
Nothing, I...
It's Harper. Has Harper...
Joe?
Yeah, hi.
No, Harper's fine.
No, she's not fine.
-How are you, Mom? -What's happened?
I just wanted to talk to you.
I...
I wanted to try something out on you.
Joe, you haven't...
Have you been drinking, Joe?
Yes, ma'am, I'm drunk.
That isn't like you.
No.
But I mean, who's to say?
Why are you out on the street at 4:00 in the morning...
in that crazy city? It's dangerous.
Actually I'm not on the street, Mom.
I'm near the lake in the park.
What park?
Central Park.
My lord, what on earth are you doing in Central Park...
at this time of night?
Are you...
Joe, I think...
you ought to go home, right now...
and call me from there.
Joe?
I come here to watch...
Mom, sometimes.
-Just to watch. -Watch what?
What's there to watch? At 4:00 in the...
Mom...
did Dad love me?
What?
Did he?
You have to go home now and call me from there.
-No, answer. -Really, this is maudlin.
I don't like this conversation.
Yeah, it gets worse from here on.
Joe?
Mom.
Momma.
I'm a homosexual, Momma.
Boy, did that come out awkward.
Hello?
I'm a homosexual.
Please, Momma, say something.
You're old enough to understand your father didn't love you...
without being ridiculous about it.
-What? -You're being ridiculous.
I'm what?
You ought to go home to your wife, right now.
I need to go to sleep.
This phone call. We will just forget this phone call.
-Mom. -No more talk tonight.
And drinking is a sin!
A sin!
I raised you better than that.
God.
Home.
The moment of truth has arrived.
I'm gonna move out.
The fuck you are.
Harper, please listen.
I still love you very much.
You're still my best buddy. I won't leave you.
I don't like the sound of this. I'm leaving.
I'm leaving, I already have.
Please, listen.
-This is really hard, we have to talk. -We are talking, aren't we?
Now, please shut up.
Bastard, sneaking off while I'm flat out here. That is low.
If I could get up now, I'd beat the shit out of you.
-Did you take pills? How many? -No pills, bad for...
You aren't pregnant. I called your gynecologist.
I'm seeing a new gynecologist!
You have no right to do this!
-That's ridiculous. -No right. It's criminal.
All right, forget about that. You want the truth?
This is the truth. I knew this when I married you.
I've known this for as long as I've known anything.
But I thought that with enough will and effort...
I could change myself. But I can't!
Criminal.
-There ought to be a law. -There is a law, you'll see.
I'm losing ground here. I go walking, you wanna know where I walk?
I go to the park, or up and down 53rd Street...
or places where...
And I keep swearing I won't go again, but I just can't.
I need some privacy.
-That's new. -Everything's new, Prior.
I try to tighten my heart into a knot, a snarl.
I try to learn to live dead, just numb.
But then I see someone I want and it's like a nail...
like a hot spike right through my chest, and I know I'm losing.
The court will come to order.
Let's talk practicalities, schedules. I'll come over when you want--
-Has the jury reached a verdict? -I'm doing the best I can!
Pathetic, who cares?
My whole life has conspired to bring me to this place...
and I can't despise my whole life.
I think I believed, when I met you, I could save you.
You, at least, if not myself, but...
I don't have any sexual feelings for you, and I don't think I ever did.
-I think you should go. -Where?
-Washington, it doesn't matter. -What are you saying?
Without me.
Without me, isn't that what you wanna hear?
Yes.
You can love someone and fail them.
You can love someone and not be--
You can, theoretically, yes. A person can.
Maybe an editorial "you" can love, Louis, but not you. Specifically you, I don't know.
I think you are excluded from that general category.
You were gonna save me, but the whole time you were spinning a lie.
I just don't understand that.
A person could theoretically love, and maybe many do.
But we both know now you can't.
-I do. -You can't even say it.
I...
-I love you, Prior. -I repeat, who cares?
This is so scary. I want this to stop, to go back.
We have reached a verdict, your honor, this man's heart is deficient!
He loves, but his love is worth nothing.
Mr. Lies! I wanna get away from here.
Far away right now!
Before he starts talking again, please!
As long as I've known you, you've been afraid of men under the bed.
Men hiding under the sofa, men with knives.
I'm dying, you stupid fuck!
Do you know what love is? Do you know what that means?
We lived together four-and-a-half years. You animal! You idiot!
I have to find some way to save myself.
Who are these men?
-I never understood it, but now I know. -What?
It's me.
It is?
Get out of my room!
I'm the man with the knives.
You are.
If I could get up now, I would kill you, I would.
Go away.
Go away or I'll scream.
-God. -I'm sorry.
You, I recognize you now.
Please don't scream.
-Go. -Please.
God, I'm bleeding.
Mr. Lies, get me away from here!
Mr. Lies!
Right here.
I wanna go away. I can't see him anymore.
-Where? -Anywhere far away.
Absolutamento.
When I open my eyes, you'll be gone.
Harper?
It worked.
I hurt all over.
I wish I was dead.
Okay. No, thanks. I got it from here. I can walk.
Thank you, guys.
Welcome home, doucet.
Call me if you get confused about which pill's when...
and stay quiet, rest your sad self.
Bye, pussums. Men are beasts.
Who are you?
-My name's Prior Walter. -My name is Prior Walter.
-I know that. -Explain.
You're alive, I'm not. We have the same name.
What do you want me to explain?
-A ghost. -An ancestor.
Not the Prior Walter, the Bayeux Tapestry Prior Walter?
Great-great grandson, fifth of the name.
I'm the 34th, I think.
Actually, the 32nd.
Not according to mother.
Then she's including the two bastards.
I say leave them out.
I say, no room for the bastards.
-These little things you swallow? -Pills.
For the pestilence. l, too.
Pestilence, you, too, what?
The pestilence in my day was much worse than it is now.
Whole villages of empty houses.
Look outdoors and you see Death walking in the morning...
as plain as I see you now.
You died of the plague.
The spotty monster. Like you, alone.
-I'm not alone. -You have no wife, no children.
-I'm gay. -Be gay.
Dance in your altogether for all I care. But why can't you have children?
Gay, homosexual. Not "bonny, blithe" and... Never mind.
I had 12 when I died.
And I was three years younger than him.
God, another one!
Prior Walter.
Prior to you by some 17 others.
-He's counting the bastards. -Are we having a convention?
We've been sent to declare her fabulous incipience.
They do love a well-paved entrance with lots of heralds.
The messenger comes. Prepare the way.
The infinite descent, a breath in air.
We have been chosen, I suspect, because of the mortal affinities.
With a family as long-descended as the Walters...
there are bound to be a few carried off by the plague.
-The spotty monster. -Black Jack.
Mine came from the water pump. Half the city of London.
His, from fleas.
Yours, I understand...
from the lamentable consequences of venery.
Fleas on rats. Who'd have known?
Am I gonna die?
We are not allowed to discuss that.
But when you do, you won't have the ancestors to help you through it.
-You die alone. -I'm afraid.
So you should be. There isn't even a torch.
The path is dark, steep, and rocky.
Don't alarm him.
There's good news before there's bad.
You are a prophet.
Seer. Revelator.
-It's a great honor for the family. -He hasn't got a family.
I meant for the Walters, for the family in the larger sense.
Calm.
This is no brain fever.
Even now...
from the mirror-bright halls of heaven...
across the cold and lifeless...
infinity of space...
the Messenger comes...
trailing orbs of light...
fabulous, incipient.
So, Prophet, to you.
Prepare...
the infinite descent.
A breath, a feather.
Glory to...
Why has democracy succeeded in America?
Of course, by succeeded I mean comparatively, not literally...
not in the present. But what makes for the prospect...
of some sort of radical democracy spreading outward and growing up?
Why does the power that was once so carefully preserved...
at the top of the pyramid by the original framers of the Constitution...
seem drawn inexorably downward and outward...
in spite of the best effort of the Right to stop this?
It's the really hard thing about being Left in this country.
The Left can't help but trip over all these petrified little fetishes.
-Freedom. That's the worst. -And OJ.
Jeane Kirkpatrick, for God's sake, will go on and on about freedom.
What does that mean, the word "freedom, " when she talks about it?
Or human rights. You have Bush talking about human rights.
What are these people talking about?
They might as well be talking about the mating habits of Venusians.
I mean, these people don't begin to know what, ontologically...
freedom is, or human rights.
It's like they see these bourgeois property-based Rights of Man type rights...
but that is not enfranchisement, it's not democracy, it's not what's implicit...
what's potential, in the idea. It's not the idea with blood in it.
That's just liberalism. The worst kind of liberalism: bourgeois tolerance.
What I think what AIDS shows us is the limits of tolerance.
It's not enough to be tolerated.
When the shit hits the fan, you find out that tolerance is worth nothing.
Underneath all the tolerance is intense, passionate hatred.
Here you go.
-Don't you think that's true? -It is.
Power's the object, not being tolerated. Fuck assimilation.
But in spite of all this, the thing about America...
is that we're different from every other nation...
in that, with people here of every race, we can't...
Ultimately, what defines us here isn't race, but politics.
Not like any European country where there's an insurmountable fact...
of a kind of racial or ethnic monopoly or monolith.
Like, all Dutchmen, I mean, Dutch people, are Dutch.
And the Jews of Europe were never Europeans.
Just a small problem facing the monolith.
-Whereas, here in America-- -Race doesn't count.
No...
You can't be hearing that.
Look. Race, yes.
But ultimately, race here is a political question.
Racists just try to use race here as a tool in a political struggle.
It's not really about race. There are no angels in America.
No spiritual past, no racial past. There's only the political.
The shifting downwards and outwards of political power to the people.
Power to the people, amen. My goodness, look at the time.
You think this is racist or naive or something.
-It's certainly something. -What? I really...
I don't wanna speak from some position of privilege.
I'm sitting here thinking, "Eventually he's got to run out of steam"...
so I let you go on and on...
saying about seven or eight things that I find really offensive.
But I know you. I know that the guilt fueling this peculiar tirade...
is already swollen bigger than your hemorrhoids.
-I don't have hemorrhoids. -May I finish?
-So, finally-- -Prior told you.
-You promised. Prior's not a subject. -You brought him up.
-I brought up hemorrhoids. -It's indirect. Passive-aggressive.
Unlike banging me over the head saying that America has no race problem.
-Be fair. I never said that. -Not exactly, but close.
-You misinterpreted. -Stop interrupting.
-No, let me... -What, talk?
You've been running your mouth nonstop since I got here.
Up the hill and down the hill, playing with your monolith.
You could've joined in.
It's an awesome spectacle, but I got better things to do with my time...
than to listen to this racist bullshit because I feel sorry--
-I am not a racist. -Come on.
-So maybe I am a racist. -I really hate that.
It's no fun picking on you, Louis, you're so guilty.
It's like throwing darts at a glob of Jell-O.
There are no satisfying hits, just quivering. The darts just blop in and vanish.
You know what I think? You hate me because I'm a Jew.
-I'm leaving. -It's true.
You have no basis...
Louis, it's good to know you haven't changed.
You're still an honorary citizen of the Twilight Zone.
And after your pale white polemics on behalf of racial insensitivity...
you have a lot of nerve calling me an anti-Semite. Now I really have to go.
-You called me "Lou the Jew." -That was a joke.
-I didn't think it was funny. -It was three years ago.
You hate me because you hate black people.
I do not. But I do think most black people are anti-Semitic.
That's racist.
-Louis Farrakhan. -Ed Koch.
-Jesse Jackson. -Louis, that's pathetic.
You voted for Jesse Jackson. You sent checks to the Rainbow Coalition.
I'm ambivalent. The checks bounced.
All your checks bounce.
-You're ambivalent about everything. -What's that supposed to mean?
You may be dumber than shit, but I refuse to believe you can't figure it out. Try.
I was never ambivalent about Prior. I love him.
-I really do. -Nobody said different.
Love and ambivalence.
Real love isn't ambivalent.
I'd swear that's a line from my favorite best-selling paperback novel...
In Love with the Night Mysterious, except I don't think you've read it.
-I never read it. -You ought to...
instead of spending your life trying to get through Democracy in America.
It's about this white woman...
whose daddy owns a plantation in the Deep South...
in the years before the Civil War.
And her name is Margaret...
and she's in love with her daddy's number-one slave.
His name is Thaddeus.
She's married, but her white slave-owner husband has AIDS.
Antebellum Insufficiently-Developed Sex organs.
So there's a lot of hot stuff going down...
when Margaret and Thaddeus can catch a spare torrid ten...
under the cotton-picking moon.
Then, of course, the Yankees come and set the slaves free.
The slaves string up old daddy and so on. Historical fiction.
Somewhere in there, I recall...
Margaret and Thaddeus find the time to discuss the nature of love.
Her face is reflecting the flames...
of the burning plantation.
You know, the way white people do.
And his black face is dark in the night.
And she says to him:
"Thaddeus, real love isn't ever ambivalent."
Looking good. What else?
Ankle's sore and swollen, but the leg's better.
The nausea's mostly gone with the little orange pills.
BM's pure liquid, but not bloody anymore, for now.
My eye doctor says everything's okay, for now.
My dentist says "yuck" when he sees my fuzzy tongue...
and now he wears little condoms on his thumb and forefinger...
and a mask. So what?
My dermatologist is in Hawaii...
and my mother...
Leave my mother out of it.
Which is usually where my mother is. Out of it.
My glands are like walnuts, my weight's holding steady for week two...
and a friend died two days ago of bird tuberculosis.
That scared me.
I didn't go to the funeral today because he was an Irish Catholic.
It's probably open casket and I'm afraid of something:
the bird TB, or seeing him, or...
So I guess I'm doing okay. Except for, of course, I'm going nuts.
-How bad is he? -You want the laundry list?
There's the weight problem and the shit problem...
and the morale problem.
And he thinks he's going crazy.
We ran the Toxoplasmosis series. There's no indication--
I know.
But I feel like something terrifying is on its way, you know?
Like a missile from outer space, and it's plummeting down towards the earth.
And I'm ground zero.
And I am generally known where I am known...
as one cool, collected queen.
And I am ruffled.
There's really nothing to worry about.
I think that...
-Excuse me? -Everything's fine.
I don't understand what--
Why are you doing that? Stop it.
-Stop what? -You were just...
Weren't you just speaking in Hebrew or something?
Hebrew?
No, I didn't speak in Hebrew.
Oh, no. Oh, God.
-Please, I think... -Look, I'm sorry.
I have a waiting room full.
I think you're one of the lucky ones. You'll live for years, probably.
You're pretty healthy for someone with no immune system.
Are you seeing someone?
Loneliness is a danger. A therapist?
No, I don't need to see anyone.
-I just-- -Think about it.
You aren't going crazy. You're just under a lot of stress.
"Hebrew."
You're a nurse. Give me something. I don't know what to do anymore.
Last week at work, I screwed up the Xerox machine permanently...
and then I tripped on the subway steps. I fell and my glasses broke.
And I cut my forehead. Here, see?
So now I can't see much. And my forehead, it's like the mark of Cain.
Stupid, right? But it won't heal.
Every morning I see it and I think Biblical things.
Mark of Cain, Judas Iscariot and his silver.
I miss him so much.
But then those sores and the smell, and where I thought it was going...
I could be sick, too. Maybe I'm sick. I don't know.
Belize, tell him I love him. Can you do that?
I've thought about it for a very long time...
and I still don't understand what love is.
-I'm dying. -He's dying.
You just wish you were.
Cheer up, Louis.
Look at that heavy sky out there.
Purple.
Boy, what kind of homosexual are you, anyway? That's not purple, Mary.
That color up there is mauve.
Snow.
Ice. Mountains of ice. Where am l?
I feel better.
I do, I feel better.
There are ice crystals in my lungs, wonderful and sharp...
and the snow smells like cold, crushed peaches.
And there's something...
some current of blood in the wind.
How strange, it has that iron taste.
Ozone!
Where am l?
The kingdom of ice. Bottommost part of the world.
Antarctica? This is Antarctica?
Cold shelter for the shattered. No sorrow here. Tears freeze.
Boy!
Look at this, like, wow. I must have really snapped the tether.
Apparently.
That's great! I wanna stay here forever.
Set up camp and build things. Build a city, an enormous city.
I should build by a river. Where are the forests?
No timber here. Too cold.
No trees.
Details. I'm sick of details!
I'll plant them and grow them.
It'll be great, and I'm gonna make a new world here...
so that I never have to go home again.
As long as it lasts. Ice has a way of melting.
No. Forever.
I can have anything I want here.
Maybe even companionship.
Someone who has desire for me.
You, maybe.
It's against the bylaws of the International Order of Travel Agents...
to get involved with clients.
Rules are rules. Anyway, I'm not the one you really want.
There isn't anyone?
Maybe an Eskimo who can ice-fish for food...
help me to build a nest for when the baby comes--
There are no Eskimo here, and you're not really pregnant. You made that up.
All of this is made up, so if the snow feels cold, I'm pregnant, right?
Here, I can be pregnant and I can have any kind of baby I want.
This is a retreat. A vacuum.
Its virtue is that it lacks everything.
Deep freeze for feelings. You can be numb and safe here.
That's what you came for.
Respect the delicate ecology of your delusions.
You mean, like, no Eskimo in Antarctica?
Correcto. Ice and snow, no Eskimo.
Even hallucinations have laws.
Then who's that?
An Eskimo.
An Antarctic Eskimo.
Fisher of the polar deep.
I'm gonna like this place. It's my own National Geographic special.
I think I felt her kicking.
Maybe I'll give birth to a baby covered with thick white fur...
and that way she won't be cold.
My breasts will be full of hot cocoa so that she doesn't get chilly...
and if it gets really cold, she'll have a pouch I can crawl into.
Like a marsupial. And we'll mend together.
That's what we'll do. We'll mend.
Excuse me.
I said, excuse me.
Can you tell me where I am?
Is this Brooklyn?
Do you know a Pineapple Street?
Or is there some train or bus that I...
I'm lost.
I just arrived from Salt Lake City.
Utah?
And I took the bus that I was told to take and I got off.
It was the very last stop, so I had to get off.
And I asked the driver, was this Brooklyn? And he nodded yes.
But he was from one of those foreign countries...
where they think it's good manners to nod...
even if you have no idea what you're nodding at.
In truth, I think he spoke no English at all.
Which I think would make him ineligible for employment on public transportation...
the public being English-speaking.
Mostly. Do you speak English?
I was supposed to be met at the airport by my son.
And he didn't show.
And I don't wait more than three and three-quarters hours for anyone.
So I should have been more patient, I guess.
-But is this-- -Bronx.
Is that the Bronx?
How in the name of heaven did I get to the Bronx, when that--
Slurp.
Will you stop that disgusting slurping...
you disgusting, slurping, feeding animal.
Feeding yourself.
What would it matter to you or anyone if you just stopped feeding...
and died!
Can you just tell me--
Why was the Kosciuszko Bridge...
named after a Polack?
-I don't know what you're talking about. -That was a joke.
What's the punch line?
-I don't know. -For Pete's sake.
-Is there anyone who can tell me-- -Stand further off, you fat loathsome whore!
You can't have any more of this soup. Slurp, you animal.
I know you'll pee it all away, and where will you do that?
Behind what bush? It's fucking cold out here, and I...
That's right...
'cause it was supposed to have been a tunnel.
Not very funny.
Have you read the Prophecies of Nostradamus?
-Who? -Some guy I went out with once somewhere.
Nostradamus. Prophet. Outcast.
-Eyes, like, scary shit-- -Shut up!
Please stop jabbering for one minute...
and pull your wits together and tell me how to get to Brooklyn.
Because you know, and you'll tell me, because there's no one else to tell me...
and I'm cold and I'm wet...
and I'm very, very angry.
So I'm sorry that you're psychotic, but just make an effort.
Pull yourself together and take a deep breath.
Do it!
Good. Now exhale.
Good. Now tell me how to get to Brooklyn.
Don't know. Never been, I'm sorry.
You want some soup?
Manhattan? Do you...
I don't suppose you know the address of the Mormon Visitor's Center.
65th and Broadway.
-How do you know that? -Go there all the time.
Free movies. It's boring, but you can stay all day.
-How can I get there? -Take the D train.
It's the next block. Make a right.
-Thank you. -Yeah.
In the new century...
I think we will all be insane.
I can't go to Washington.
The answer's no. I'm sorry.
Oh, well. Apologies.
I don't see that there's anyone asking for apologies.
-I'm sorry, Roy. -Oh, well, apologies.
My wife is missing.
My mother's coming from Salt Lake to help look, I guess.
I'm supposed to be at the airport picking her up now...
but I just spent two days in a hospital, Roy, with a bleeding ulcer.
I was spitting up blood.
Blood?
-Look, I'm very busy here-- -It's just a job.
A job?
A job? Washington?
Dumb Utah Mormon hick shit.
-Roy-- -Washington?
When Washington called me, I was younger than you.
You think I said, "Oh, fuck, no, I can't go.
"I got two fingers up my asshole and a little moral nosebleed to boot"?
When Washington calls you, my pretty young punk friend, you go...
or you can go fuck yourself sideways...
'cause the train has pulled out of the station and you're out!
Nowhere. Out in the cold. Fuck you, Mary Jane. Get out of here!
-Look, just let me-- -What, explain?
Ephemera! Explain.
-You broke my heart, explain that. -I love you, Roy.
There's so much that I want to be.
What you see in me...
I wanna be a participant in the world.
In your world, Roy. I wanna be capable of that.
I've tried, really, I have. But I can't do this.
Not because I don't believe in you, but because I believe in you so much.
And what you stand for at heart. The order, the decency.
I would give anything to protect you, but there are laws I can't break.
It's too ingrained, it's not me.
There's enough damage I've already done.
Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm dead.
You're not dead, boy, you're a sissy.
You love me, that's moving. I'm moved. It's nice to be loved.
I warned you about her, didn't l, Joe?
You don't listen to me. Why? Because you say:
"Roy. He's smart, he's a friend...
"but, Roy, well, you know, he isn't nice."
And you wanna be nice, right? A nice, nice man.
You know what my greatest accomplishment was, Joe?
In my life, what I am able to look back on and be most proud of?
And I have helped make presidents and unmake them.
And mayors, and more goddamn judges than anyone in New York City ever...
and several million dollars tax-free.
And you know what means the most to me?
You ever hear of Ethel Rosenberg, Joe?
-Yeah, I guess, yes. -Yeah, you've heard of Ethel Rosenberg.
Maybe even read about her in the history books.
If it wasn't for me, Joe, Ethel Rosenberg would be alive today...
writing some personal advice column for Ms. Magazine. She isn't.
Because during the trial, Joe...
I was on the phone every day talking with the judge.
Every day, doing what I do best.
Talking on the telephone.
Making sure that that timid yid nebbish on the bench...
did his duty to America, to history.
That sweet, unprepossessing woman...
two kids, boo-hoo-hoo...
reminded us all of our little Jewish mamas, she came this close to getting life.
I pleaded till I wept to put her in the chair. Me, I did that.
I'd have fucking pulled the switch myself if they let me. Why?
Because I fucking hate traitors.
Because I fucking hate Communists.
Was it legal? Fuck legal!
Am I a nice man? Fuck nice!
They say terrible things about me in The Nation. Fuck The Nation!
You wanna be nice? Or you wanna be effective?
You wanna make the law or subject to it?
Choose! Your wife chose.
A week from today, she'll be back.
She knows how to get what she wants. Maybe I'll send her to Washington.
-I don't believe you. -Gospel.
You can't possibly mean what you're saying.
You were Assistant United States Attorney on the Rosenberg case.
Ex parte communication with the judge during the trial...
would be censurable, at least, probably conspiracy.
In a case that resulted in execution, it's...
What? Murder?
You're not well, is all.
What do you mean, I'm not well? Who's not well?
-You said-- -I did? I said what?
-You have cancer. -No, I don't.
-You told me you were dying. -What the fuck are you talking about, Joe?
I never said that. I'm in perfect health.
There's not a goddamn thing wrong with me.
Shake.
It's okay that you hurt me...
because I love you, baby Joe.
That's why I'm so rough on you.
Prodigal son.
The world is gonna wipe its dirty hands all over you.
-It already has, Roy. -Get out.
I'll always be here waiting for you. And what did you want from me?
What was all this? What do you want?
Treacherous, ungrateful--
Transgress a little, Joseph.
So many laws. Find one you can break.
Andy, get in here!
Who the fuck are you? The new nurse?
Fuck. Ethel.
You don't look so good, Roy.
Ethel, I don't feel so good.
And you've lost a lot of weight. That suits you.
You were heavy back then. Zaftig, mit hips.
I haven't been that heavy since 1960.
We were all heavier back then before the body thing started.
Now I look like a skeleton. They stare.
The shit's really hit the fan, Roy?
The fun's just started.
What is this, Ethel, Halloween? You trying to scare me?
You're wasting your time...
'cause I'm scarier than you are any day of the week.
So, beat it, Ethel. Boo!
Better dead than Red.
Somebody trying to shake me up?
From the throne of God in heaven to the belly of hell...
you can all fuck yourselves.
You can go jump in the lake...
because I am not afraid of you!
Or death!
Or hell!
Or anything!
I'll be seeing you soon, Roy.
-Julius sends his regards. -Yeah?
Send this to Julius.
You really are a very sick man.
He doesn't hear you, I guess.
We should send for an ambulance.
Buttons.
Such things they got now. What's the number, Roy?
911.
It sings.
Yes, you should please send an ambulance...
to the home of Mr. Roy Cohn, the famous lawyer.
What's the address, Roy?
251...
East 87th.
No apartment number. He's got the whole building.
My name?
Ethel Greenglass Rosenberg.
R-O-S-E-N-B-E-R-G.
No, not a relation, an old friend.
They said a minute.
I got all the time in the world.
-You're immortal. -I'm immortal, Ethel.
I have forced my way into history.
I ain't never gonna die!
History is about to crack wide open.
Millennium approaches.
Tonight's the night. Aren't you excited?
-Tonight she arrives. -Right through the roof.
Lumen! Phosphor!
-Phosphor! -Fluor!
Candle!
An unending billowing of scarlet.
Look. Garlic. A mirror.
Holy water. A crucifix.
Fuck off! Get the fuck out of my room! Go!
Hard as a hickory knob, I bet.
We all tumesce when they approach.
We wax full, like moons.
-Dance. -Dance?
Stand up, damn it, give us your hand, dance.
Listen.
Delightful sounds.
Care for a dance?
Please leave me alone. Please just let me sleep.
He wants someone familiar. A partner who knows his steps.
Close your eyes. Imagine.
I don't...
Close your eyes.
And now open them!
Dance with me.
I can't. My leg.
It hurts at night.
Are you a ghost, Lou?
No, just spectral.
Lost to myself.
And sitting all day on cold park benches, wishing I could be with you.
Dance with me, babe.
Now I see why he's got no children.
He's a sodomite.
Be quiet, you medieval gnome.
-Let them dance. -I'm not interfering. Done my bit.
Hooray, the messenger's come.
Now I'm blowing off. I don't like it here.
The 20th century.
Oh, dear.
The world's got so terribly, terribly old.
Prepare!
Don't come in here. Don't come in!
No.
My name is Prior Walter.
I am the scion...
of an ancient line.
Abandoned? No.
No, my...
My name is Prior and I live here...
and now...
And in the dark, in the dark, the recording angel...
opens its hundred eyes and snaps the spine of the book of life.
Hush.
I'm talking nonsense.
No more mad scene.
Hush.
Do you know the story of Lazarus?
Lazarus?
-I can't remember what happens, exactly. -I don't...
He was dead, Lazarus...
and Jesus breathed life into him. He brought him back from death.
-Come here often? -No.
Yes.
Back from the dead. You believe that really happened?
I don't know anymore what I believe.
I mean, this is quite a coincidence, us meeting.
I followed you.
From work. I followed you here.
You followed me?
You probably saw me in the washroom that day and thought, "There's a sweet guy...
-"sensitive, cries for friends in trouble." -Yes.
-Thought maybe I'll cry for you. -Yes.
Well, I fooled you. Crocodile tears.
Nothing.
-What are you doing? Don't do that. -No, I'm sorry.
I think if you touch me, your hand might fall off or something.
Worse things have happened to people who've touched me.
Please.
Oh, boy. Look, can I...
I want to touch you.
Can I just touch you...
here?
I'm going to hell for doing this.
Big deal. You think it could be any worse than New York City?
Come on.
-Where? -Home with me.
-This makes no sense. I don't know you. -Likewise.
Yeah, and what you do know about me, you don't like.
-The Republican stuff? -Yeah, well, for starters.
I don't not like that. I hate that.
Then why on earth should I go to your place...
Strange bedfellows. I don't know.
I never made it with one of the damned before.
I would really rather not have to spend tonight alone.
-I'm a pretty terrible person, Louis. -Lou.
No, I really, really am.
I don't think I deserve being loved.
There, you see, we already have a lot in common.
That sound.
What is that, like birds or something?
Like a really big bird?
I'm frightened. No.
No fear. Find the anger.
My blood is clean, my brain is fine. I can handle pressure!
I am a gay man, and I am used to pressure, to trouble!
I am tough and strong and...
Oh, my goodness.
All right.
I'm hot.
I must have a fever.
Greetings, prophet.
The great work begins.
The messenger has arrived.