SNOW FALLING ON CEDARS
Ronald Bass
First Draft Screenplay
March 3, 1997
EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - NIGHT
Fog. Penetrated only by sound. The LAPPING of sea at a drifting
hull. Tendrils of mist part, revealing...
...a face. Strong and blond and handsome.
SUPERIMPOSE: SEPTEMBER 15, 1954
LONG ANGLE...from below, we watch CARL HEINE, high on the cross
spar of his mast. He has pulled a SHUTTLE of TWINE from his rubber
overalls, and is LASHING a LANTERN in the cloud of mist, as MAIN
TITLES BEGIN...
ANGLE...the tiny, meticulously neat cabin. Empty, silent. A tin
COFFEE CUP on the counter's edge. The battery well open, revealing
two large BATTERIES in place. PAN to...
...the deck of this sturdy stern-picker. The fishing net stretched
from the huge DRUM into the sea. Keep PANNING to the bow, where...
...Carl stands with his kerosene lantern and his air horn, watching
as another BOAT comes slowly out of the mist. The silhouette of a
FISHERMAN, holding a long fishing GAFF. As fragments of fog part,
we CLOSE on the figure's face, to see...
...his eyes. They are Asian. SMASH CUT to...
EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - MORNING
Blinding sun. Our boat bobs lifeless on placid water. As CREDITS
CONTINUE, two figures slowly reel in the massive net. SHERIFF ART
MORAN is painfully thin, unimposing, methodical. Only the eyes
reflect his disquiet. His young deputy, ABEL MARTINSON, cuts
anxious looks between his mentor and the sea. As the net brings
silvered salmon across the gunnel, CUT to...
...the cabin. Tidy as before. Only two things have changed.
CLOSE on the tin coffee cup, which now lies OVERTURNED on the
floor. PAN above the open battery well, where a third MARINE
BATTERY now stands next to the wheel. CUT to...
...the stern, as the raveling net LIFTS from the water's surface...
...the face of Carl Heine. Turned to the sun. SMASH CUT to...
INT. CORONER'S LAB - DAY
WHITE fills the frame. A hand PULLS back the blanket-shroud
revealing Carl's face. As CREDITS CONTINUE, tilt up to the
coroner, HORACE WHALEY, gazing down. A shading of regret behind
the professional mask. A series of QUICK CUTS...
...Whaley's hand pulls the SHUTTLE of TWINE from Carl's pocket...
...examines the open, empty KNIFE SHEATH at Carl's belt...
...Carl's wrist, its WATCH stopped at 1:47...
Whaley bends over Carl's body, presses on his solar plexus,
watching pink FOAM rise from Carl's mouth and nose. And then.
He sees something more. His fingers gently pull back the hair
from above Carl's left ear, to reveal...
...a skull wound. The bone caved in. Four inches across.
EXT. SAN PIEDRO ISLAND - DAY
Snow falling on cedars.
SUPERIMPOSE: DECEMBER 6.
The heavens descend softly onto our island. Exquisite, silent,
hypnotic. An epic snowfall inspiring awe at our frailness against
the limitless scope of nature. As CREDITS CONCLUDE, a series of
QUICK ANGLES...
...cars pirouetting, skating on their tires, past an abandoned
school bus, where kids throw snowballs at is windows...
...Fisk's Hardware Center, its endless queue of orderly citizens
waiting stoically for their snow shovels and kerosene...
...the harbor, with its moored fleet of tiny fishing vessels
blanketed as if by volcanic ash, a pair of teenage lovers building
a snowman at the edge of a dock, she pushes the boy into the water,
and he rises laughing, steam rising from his clothes...
...undulating strawberry fields of pure white, untouched and
flawless as the Sahara...
Finally, to a public building, cars gathering as best they can,
people streaming up snow-laden steps to the entrance, and as we
FOLLOW them, SMASH CUT to...
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
CLOSE on impassive EYES. They are Asian. We have seen them
before. PULL BACK to see...
KABUO MIYAMOTO. Early 30's, dark blue suit, clean shirt. He sits
ramrod straight, utterly motionless, expressionless, the eye of a
storm of movement in...
...the assembling COURTROOM. A packed gallery of buzzing locals,
the scent of anticipation. A bank of REPORTERS and PHOTOGRAPHERS,
cosmopolitan in attire, bearing themselves as jaded dignitaries
from the civilized world. As we PAN their ranks...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
It was the first murder trial on
the island in thirty-one years.
...we look over the right shoulder of ISHMAEL CHAMBERS, early 30's,
dark, a rugged, somber man jotting notes on a pad which rests on
his right leg.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Our only newspaper was the San
Piedro Review, a four-page weekly
that I operated alone.
He glances blandly at his nonchalant colleagues.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
What, I wondered, could the Seattle
boys know of the hearts of these
people...
To the JURY BOX. Truck farmers, grocers, fishermen, in sober
neckties. A waitress, a secretary, fisher wives in Sunday dresses.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Neighbors, sitting in judgement.
On their neighbor.
To the neighbor. The ramrod-still defendant.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Kabuo Miaymoto sat with the rigid
grace of a Samurai warrior. As if
detached from his own trial.
Ishmael writing on the pad balanced precariously on his knee,
until...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Did he know how dangerous his demeanor
could be? With this jury.
...it falls with a CLATTER of pages. He reaches with his right
hand, replaces the pad on his thigh. Around him, CAMERAS are being
swung to the ready. Ishmael looks to see...
...a slender WOMAN of refined beauty, entering the courtroom.
A few flashes POP, and Ishmael's right hand retrieves a venerable
box camera from beneath his seat, as his notepad falls once more,
unheeded.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Hatsue Miyamoto had been without
her husband for 77 days.
Ishmael pivots, and we understand his struggle with the notepad.
For he is forced to rest his camera on the stump of his amputated
left arm, its empty sleeve pinned at the elbow.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
He was in jail. When his baby son
learned to walk.
Through his VIEWFINDER, we see HATSUE take her place in the first
row. And sensing her presence, her husband turns. Their eyes
meet. A string of FLASHES...
But none from Ishmael. He hesitates. As if considering whether he
will violate this woman's privacy. The camera lowers. HOLD on his
face...
INT. COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR - DAY
MATCH CUT to Hatsue's face. Staring, impassive, empty. PULL BACK
to see that she sits alone on a wooden bench by the courtroom door.
Her hands rest delicately on the purse in her lap. Her demeanor as
removed from this place as is her husband's.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Earlier, I noticed her in the
corridor.
PULL BACK to see him alone, in shadow. It is more than a notice.
Ishmael stares with fixed intensity at the motionless woman, as
she gathers her thoughts. A moment of decision. He approaches.
Stops, respectfully, at a distance which will not invade her
personal space. And softer than we might have imagined...
ISHMAEL
Are you all right?
She turns her head only slightly. It is enough. Her voice quiet
and firm at once...
HATSUE
Go away, Ishmael.
There is no anger. Only directness and resolve.
ISHMAEL
Please don't be like th...
HATSUE (softer)
Go away.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
PAN the back of the courtroom. Twenty-four citizens of Japanese
ancestry fill the last row, dressed in their most formal clothes.
Shades of Atticus Finch. As one, the Japanese-Americans watch...
...the prosecutor, ALVIN HOOKS, a crisp, even dapper man. There is
a quickness about the eyes, a tendency to sharpness of manner, that
he works carefully against...
HOOKS
...four inch gash, skull crushed,
and your thought was, what...?
JUDGE FIELDING, tall and gray and rawboned, leans on his elbows,
his eyelids droop slightly, a deceptive masking of keen attention.
HOOKS (O.S.)
That he...fell? Hit his head on
the gunnel going over?
The witness is Sheriff Moran. He answers as if this were a sincere
question. As if he had never heard it before.
MORAN
Well, Carl was six-four, went 235.
He was a grizzly bear and an able
seaman...
Ishmael watching. Thinking on that.
MORAN (O.S.)
For him to just...go over. Crush
his skull like that on the way in...
HOLD on Ishmael.
INT. TEAM BUS - DAY
Teenage BOYS in football uniforms. They ride with their helmets in
their laps.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
He was a mountain, all right.
Anchored the line for us little
fellers.
CLOSE on Carl and Ishmael at 18, riding together. Ishmael, dark
and rugged even then, is scarcely little. But dwarfed by the blond
giant at his side, who glares out the window, at...
CARL
Chambers. Y'see the geese?
...snow geese landing in low flooded wheat. The grace of it holds
both boys.
CARL
Picture'd be nice. In your pa's
paper.
Ishmael nods absently. They stare, side-by-side.
ISHMAEL
Lucky I got the camera in my
helmet.
They never look at each other. They never smile. But you can
almost hear one in...
CARL
Careful, Chambers. That was almost
a joke.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
Hooks now stands with his polished shoe up on the witness podium.
Like chatting with the Sheriff across the back fence...
HOOKS
And you weren't there, when the
coroner examined the wound.
MORAN
Nossir. I'd gone to tell the wid...
to tell Mrs. Heine.
And his glance inevitably goes to the first row behind the
prosecutor's table. Taking the glances of the jury with it.
SUSAN MARIE HEINE is pretty and blonde and full-bodied in her
modest black dress. Composure and dignity. Against her grief.
EXT. HEINE HOME - DAY
Moran climbs from his vehicle, as Carl's young SONS dash around the
corner of the house. Seeing the Sheriff, they stop cold. Silent,
shirtless, barefoot.
MORAN
Hey there, men. Is your mother
home a-tall?
He spits his Juicy Fruit into a wrapper. And as the younger boy
nods across the distance...
SUSAN MARIE (O.S.)
Sheriff Moran, hullo.
She has appeared in the doorway, smiling, spittle-marked baby's
diaper across her shoulder. And he smiles back. Tells the boys...
MORAN
You go on and play, now.
But they don't. So he follows into her entryway, closing the door
behind him. And at the foot of her curving staircase...
SUSAN MARIE
What can I do for you, Sheriff,
Carl's not home y...
MORAN
That's...
Too quick. He stops himself. And she sees that.
MORAN
It's why I'm here. I'm afraid I
have some...very bad news to tell
you, the...worst...kind of news.
She looks at him, uncomprehending, the smile only beginning to
fade, before...
MORAN
Carl died last night. In a fishing
accident. In White Sand Bay.
She only blinks. As if translating the words from a foreign
language.
SUSAN MARIE
No, Carl's fine, h...
MORAN
We found him, Mrs. Heine. Tangled
in his net.
And with these words, a slack, blank look crosses her face, and she
stumbles back one step, sitting down HARD on the bottom stair of
her curved staircase.
He doesn't know what to do. She digs her elbows into her lap, and
begins to rock, very slowly, wringing the diaper in her hands. Her
face is more terrible than tears. It is frightened. She murmurs
to herself, so that we can barely hear...
SUSAN MARIE
I told him this could happen.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
CLOSE on Hooks, nodding. As if, slowly, digesting something in his
mind.
HOOKS
So, no...immediate suspicion,
no...general talk of enmity
between the two.
MORAN
These are fishermen, Alvin. They
don't talk at all to each other
and less to me. Specially gossip.
EXT. DOCKS - DAY
Ishmael walking down the sunlit wharf. Purpose in his stride...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
A gill-netter works through black
nights with only himself to talk
to. And learns to be silent.
They were lonely men and products
of geography.
Up ahead, the Susan Marie has been brought to dock. Moran stands
chatting with a knot of six or seven FISHERMEN.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
...men who, on occasion, realized
that they wished to speak, but
couldn't.
As he arrives, Moran smiles a thin greeting. Not happy to see him.
Of course, neither is anyone else.
MORAN
Figure you'da heard by now.
Ishmael shakes his head in silent helplessness. WILLIAM GJOVAAG, a
sunburned, big-bellied, tattooed gill-netter, clamps on his damp
cigar butt.
GJOVAAG
You go fishing, it happens.
ISHMAEL (to Moran)
You see Susan Marie?
MORAN
I did. Boy.
ISHMAEL
Three kids. What's she going to do?
GJOVAAG (disgusted)
Well, what can she do? Jesus Christ.
ISHMAEL
Excuse me, Gjovaag.
GJOVAAG
I don't need to excuse nothin'.
Fuck you anyhow, Chambers.
Everybody laughs. It is all good-natured, sort of.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Like the Sheriff, I did not work
the sea, and could never merit trust.
Or respect.
MARTY JOHANSSON
Sheriff's been askin' which boats
followed Carl out last night...
MORAN (quickly)
Only to see if somebody talked to
him out th...
ISHMAEL
So who talked to him? Out there.
Staring. At each other. Eye contact holds during...
JAN SORENSEN (heavy Danish)
So far, we figured the guys who went
to Ship Channel Bank, was Jim Ferry,
Hardwell, Moulton, Miyamoto...
GJOVAAG (spits)
Japs.
MORAN
All right, look, if you see these
boys...
GJOVAAG
Never saw you so hard-ass, Art.
Ain't this just an accident?
Moran finds his eyes drifting to Ishmael's. Which are right there,
waiting. Moran looks away.
MORAN
Course it is, but a man's dead,
William. I got to write my report.
ANGLE...Ishmael and Moran, walking alone back up the wharf. The
Sheriff is worried. Finally...
MORAN
I'm not gonna see some article
about an investigation, am I?
ISHMAEL (quietly)
You want me to lie?
MORAN
No, I wanna be off the damn record,
that's what I want.
No answer. They keep walking.
MORAN
I mean, if there is a killer, why
would you want him all alerted?
Silence. Silence. And slowly...
ISHMAEL
Let's say...someday I need some
cooperation from you on this thing.
Do I get it?
And looks over. Like the guy holding all the aces.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
Moran fidgets on the stand.
NELS (O.S.)
No sign of a struggle, you say.
SEE him now. NELS GUDMUNDSSON, attorney for Kabuo Miyamoto, stands
beside his impassive client. Nels is 79, blind in his left eye, a
little shaky. His body is winding down.
MORAN
Well, the coffee cup was layin' right
in the middle of the floor, like I
said. And with a fella so neat as
Carl, that did seem peculiar.
And Nels begins to walk toward him. Limping, as he comes.
NELS
As peculiar as a struggle between
a 235 pound man, and an assailant
strong enough to subdue him...that
leaves only a single overturned cup
in its wake?
HOOKS (O.S.)
Objection, asking the witness to
speculate.
NELS
My gosh, Alvin, was I supposed to
object every time you did that?
A real. Friendly smile.
JUDGE (wearily)
That's quite enough horseplay,
Nels, why don't you act your age?
NELS
If I did that Your Honor, I'd
be dead.
Some gentle laughter. Judge Fielding doesn't even bother to look
annoyed.
JUDGE
Any more homely loveable tricks,
and you'll be worse than that.
Proceed, gentlemen.
HOOKS
There's an objection, Your H...
JUDGE
And it's overruled, answer the
question. If you can recall it.
MORAN
Maybe the assailant straightened
the cabin. And forgot the cup.
NELS
Right. In the middle. Of the floor.
MORAN
Maybe.
Nels nods to himself, as if considering that. So that the jury
will do the same.
NELS
I think you testified all the
lights were on. Cabin, mast,
net lights, picking lights...
MORAN
Yessir, there'd been real heavy fog.
NELS
And yet you started the engine
right up. With all those lights
drawing all night, the batteries
had that much charge. Did that
strike you odd?
MORAN
Didn't think about it at the time.
So no, it didn't strike me odd.
NELS
Does it now?
MORAN
A little. Yes. You have to
wonder.
NELS
You have to wonder.
And lets that sit. Scratches his neck.
NELS
You found three batteries, you
say. A D-6 and D-8 in the well.
And a spare D-8 on the cabin floor.
Correct?
MORAN
It is.
NELS
Now I did some measuring down at
the chandlery. A D-6 is one inch
wider than a D-8. It would be too
large for the deceased's well.
MORAN
He's done some on-the-spot refit-
ting. You could see the side flange
was banged away to make room for
the D-6.
NELS
But he had a spare D-6, you said.
Right there. Why not use that?
MORAN
It was dead. We had it tested.
Maybe the D-6 was the spare and he
had to use it.
Ah.
NELS
Maybe he carried a spare that
was too large to fit. So he'd
have to bang out the flange to
squeeze it in?
No answer to that. The silence rests.
NELS
Sheriff, how many batteries and
what size did you find on defendant's
boat?
MORAN
Two D-6's. That's the kind his
well was fitted for.
NELS
No spare.
MORAN
No.
NELS
So the defendant went out fishing
for the night with no spare battery,
hmmn?
MORAN
Apparently.
NELS
I'm curious. The D-6 that was
refitted into the deceased's well.
Was it exactly the same brand and
model as defendant's?
A beat.
MORAN
I believe so.
NELS
Now you've testified that the
deceased was a heavy man, and hard
to bring out of the net.
Stops. Thinking.
NELS
Is it possible his head struck the
transom, or the stern gunnel, or the
net roller, as you were bringing him
in?
MORAN
I don't think so.
NELS
You don't. Think so.
MORAN
He was heavy, but we were real
careful. But I don't remember him
hitting anything, anywhere.
NELS
You don't. Remember.
And clears his throat.
NELS
Operating this winch you'd rarely
operated before, doing this awkward
job of bringing in a drowned man of
235 pounds...is it possible. Possible
that he struck his head after death.
Possible?
MORAN
Possible. But not darn likely.
NELS (turns to jury)
No further questions.
And limps back to the defendant's table. Where Kabuo Miyamoto sits
watching him.
INT. COURTROOM - LATER
Horace Whaley, the county coroner, folds his stork-like limbs
uncomfortably. Searching for the appearance of ease.
HOOKS
...so when the sheriff returned,
you showed him the injury to the
deceased's head.
WHALEY
He said, 'Could it be somebody hit
him?' And I said, 'You want to play
Sherlock Holmes, here?'
Shakes his head, with a wry, disgusted smile.
HOOKS
Did you say more?
WHALEY
I said that if I was playing Sherlock
Holmes...I'd maybe look for a...
Japanese person. With a bloody gun-
butt. A right-handed fella, to be
precise.
HOOKS
And why. Is that?
Slight shrug.
WHALEY
Well, I was a doctor in the Jap
theater, in the war. I saw those
kendo wounds, many times. Looked
exactly like this one.
HOOKS
Could you tell me what 'kendo' is?
WHALEY
Japanese stick-fighting. They're
trained as kids, y'know. To kill
with sticks.
And the prosecutor's eyes drift to the defendant. So that the
jury's will do the same. HOLD on Kabuo's regal bearing. His
neutral mask.
HOOKS (O.S.)
No further questions.
EXT. STRAWBERRY FIELDS - DAWN
Mist of early light. Two dark figures, little more than
silhouettes, measuring each other with their lethal bokken staffs.
We may think of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader, for one is a full-
grown man. The other, eight years old. Dialogue plays in
subtitled JAPANESE...
ZENHICHI
Hips, stomach, cut. Stomach muscles
tighten as stroke advances...
And STRIKES a fearsome blow, which the child REPELS with startling
proficiency. We can see ZENHICHI's stony face, now. If he is
impressed by his son, he does not show it.
ZENHICHI
Elbow soft, or there is no follow-
through. You cut your bokken off
from the power of your body, unl...
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! The boy LASHES fiercely, the man parrying each
stroke with blinding ease.
ZENHICHI
Hips sink more. Less weight on the
heels, so tha...
CRASH! The father has sent a blow in mid-word, FLINGING the child
like a doll. The boy BOUNCES up, snatching his bokken into ready
position.
ZENHICHI (very quiet)
Zenshin. Is constant awareness.
Of dang...
WHAP! The child has unleashed a blow at the left side of his
father's HEAD. It has been blocked. The staffs rest against each
other, just above Zenhichi's ear. There is no anger in either
warrior. That we can see.
ZENHICHI
Elbow soft. A little better.
LATER...father and son sit on the ground, eating a small meal.
The sun has risen, angling light across the undulating fields.
They are alone in beauty. A long silence. Dialogue in subtitled
JAPANESE...
ZENHICHI
You can be good with the bokken.
If you begin to concentrate.
Eyes on his food. As if alone, as if speaking to himself. The boy
darting glances, unseen, at his father's profile.
ZENHICHI
You must choose now, Kabuo. At eight
years. If you want this.
KABUO (boldly)
I want it.
The father keeps eating. Never turns.
ZENHICHI
Then speak quietly. So you may be
heard.
INT. COURTROOM - MORNING
Whaley stares down the end of his needle-nose. The air of disdain
of a man playing chess with an unworthy opponent.
NELS (O.S.)
So this...foam you found in the
lungs. How does it get there?
WHALEY
As I testified. It occurs when
water, mucus and air are mixed by
respiration. I believe I said that.
NELS (slightly confused)
But a drowned person can't breathe.
WHALEY
Of course not. The foam means
that he went in breathing.
Ah.
WHALEY
That's why the autopsy report
identifies drowning as the cause
of death.
NELS
Meaning that he wasn't murdered
first, say on the deck of the boat,
and then thrown overboard.
WHALEY
Well...
NELS
Your report says death by drowning,
which means he went into the water
alive and breathing. And the report
is accurate...?
WHALEY (bristles)
Of course it's accurate, but...
NELS
Of course, it is. Now as to the
head injury. You say made by an
object narrow and flat. That is
your inference, correct?
WHALEY (really pissed)
It's my job to infer, that's what
coroners do. You get hit with a
crowbar, or a ball-peen hammer, or
fall off a motorcycle, the injuries
look different, that's my area of
expertise.
Nels nods. He can be quiet now. The witness distracted from
volunteering the opinions Nels did not wish for.
NELS
In your motorcycle example. Those
injuries are produced by the head
being propelled against an object.
Rather than the reverse, yes?
WHALEY
Obviously.
NELS
Can you tell whether an object moved
against the head, or the other way
around? Or would both look the same.
WHALEY
The same.
NELS
So if his head struck something
narrow and flat, the gunnel of a
boat, a net roller, a fairlead,
could that have...
WHALEY
If the head was moving fast enough,
but I don't see how it could be.
NELS
Is it possible?
WHALEY
Sure, anything's poss...
NELS
Is it fair to say that you do not
know for certain which it was.
WHALEY
I already said that, b...
NELS
And that you can't say for
certain whether the head injury was
sustained before or after death?
Whaley thinks.
WHALEY
For certain, no.
NELS
But you are certain that he died
by drowning.
WHALEY
For the third time, yes.
Nels nods. Whaley is beyond frustrated.
WHALEY
Can I say something, here?
NELS
Yes, you can tell me about the
minor cut you found on the deceased's
right hand. The report says 'recent
origin'. How recent? As much as 24
hours before death?
WHALEY
Absolutely not. Probably one or two
hours. Four at the most.
A pause.
NELS
Are you absol...
WHALEY
Yes, I'm sure.
Nels nods. Silence.
NELS
Thank you, Horace. No more
questions.
Horace wants to say more. Doesn't immediately move.
JUDGE
We'll take our luncheon recess.
Reconvene at...2 o'clock sharp.
The gavel CRACKS onto the block. Judge Fielding stands to leave,
and the BAILIFF begins to usher the jury from its box. Abel
Martinson, the deputy, stands near as Kabuo rises. As he puts his
hand gently on Kabuo's arm, the defendant turns smoothly...
...to face a woman. Standing at the rail. And beneath the
courtroom buzz...
KABUO
How are the kids?
The voice so colloquially American, we are taken back. Having
envisioned Kabuo as a silent Samurai.
HATSUE
They need their father.
The look holds. Abel increasingly uneasy.
KABUO
Well. Just a few more days.
ABEL (coughs)
Look, Art's gonna want me t...
KABUO (ignoring him)
You look beautiful.
Abel grasps his arm.
HATSUE
I look terrible. Don't sit so
straight like Tojo's soldier. The
jury will be afraid of you.
He thinks about that. Abel tugs him.
KABUO
Okay, I'll hide under the table
from now on. That make you happy?
And for the first time. He smiles. And seems suddenly very
American indeed. She stares back, her heart in her eyes. Abel
tugs harder, but he can't budge the defendant.
KABUO
I'm not going until you smile.
But she doesn't. So his fades. One last look. And he lets Abel
lead him away.
HOLD on her. Watching him go.
EXT. MANZANAR INTERNMENT CAMP - NIGHT
Stars above a desert. Wind gusts. PAN barbed wire, rows of dark
barracks blurred by swirling dust, to...
...a fragile tar paper structure, its 'walls' rippling pre-
cariously. And inside, to see that it is...
INT. BUDDHIST CHAPEL - NIGHT
...a makeshift sanctuary. Candles, offerings of fruit. A young
COUPLE together before a Buddhist PRIEST. Kabuo and Hatsue.
Becoming one.
INT. BARRACKS - LATER
A cramped, ramshackle room. Dust blowing through gaps in the
flimsy beams. Kerosene light. FUJIKO IMADA hangs the last of
the woolen army blankets to divide the room in half, as her four
youngest DAUGHTERS watch. We PUSH THROUGH the blankets to the
other side, to see...
...the newlyweds. Standing at a window in their wedding clothes.
Kissing. Slow and full. Until she whispers into his ear...
HATSUE
They'll hear everything.
And her young husband turns. Speaks to the curtain.
KABUO (loud)
There must be something good on
the radio!
She giggles. His hands trace her body.
KABUO (louder)
Wouldn't some music be nice?
And in a moment. The MUSIC begins. Glenn Miller. A song that
sent our boys off to war. And our young American prisoners...
...begin to undress each other. Her slender fingers find the
buttons of his shirt, deftly undoing it, as he kisses her face.
He unclasps her dress. And as it falls from her shoulders, falls
to the floor, we PUSH INTO her eyes, and...
INTERCUT her MEMORY of...
...a beach. Two 10-year-old CHILDREN floating on the water.
Clinging to a wooden box, with a glass bottom for fish-watching.
The girl is Asian. The boy is not.
HATSUE
Ishmael. See the yellow one?
And the boy wriggles around, leans over the box, as if seeking a
better view. And KISSES the girl. Full on her startled mouth.
BACK TO...the newlyweds. On their cot now. Close together. Naked
and hungry for each other.
KABUO (loud)
Can the music be louder, please?
We can't hear so good in here!
The girl laughs soundlessly. And as the music BLARES, he has slid
his body above hers. A whisper...
KABUO
Have you ever done this?
A whisper back, sure and strong...
HATSUE
Never. You're my only.
And as he enters her. As she holds him close with all her
strength. Her lips breathe into his ear...
HATSUE
...so right.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
Hatsue watching her husband disappear through a door. RACK FOCUS
to see across the way. A man stares at her.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Course, we grew up together.
INT. IMADA PARLOR - DAY
Hatsue at 12, sits with an OLD WOMAN who guides her silently,
exquisitely, through the ritual of the tea ceremony.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Her mom had this Mrs. Shigemura
come on Wednesdays. Teach her
how to be Japanese.
The woman turns the cup in her hands. One-quarter turn. Bows
slightly, as she presents the tea.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Dances, calligraphy. Doing her hair.
How to sit without moving...
EXT. HOLLOW CEDAR - DAY
Hatsue and Ishmael, both 12, are sprawled on the ground, sheltered
in the hollowed-out base of a cedar tree. They watch the rain as
it pummels the woods around them. She is speaking, carefully,
thoughtfully. He listens with complete attention.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
She would tell me stories of
this woman and her lessons. As
if complaining, or at least ex-
plaining her world...
He shifts his position, his body brushing against hers, which makes
him reflexively pull away. She seems not to notice.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
But I always fantasized. The
lessons were for me.
INT. BEDROOM - DAY
Hatsue sits at a bedroom mirror. Mrs. Shigemura watching
analytically, as Hatsue weaves her hair into a thick plait.
MRS. SHIGEMURA
No. You must never look at a man
directly. This is part of grace.
The girl smiles a small sour smile. Speaks quietly...
HATSUE
I don't think the boys on this
island. Are impressed. By grace.
The old woman studies her without irritation.
MRS. SHIGEMURA
Hakujin know nothing of life, Hatsue.
Apparently, the girl has heard this before.
MRS. SHIGEMURA
This is why they fear death. Because
life here is separate from Being.
The girl takes a long pin. Begins carefully to fasten her hair.
Breaking eye contact with the mirror.
MRS. SHIGEMURA
It is why they have no soul.
Is the girl even listening? The old woman's voice never rises.
Remains patient.
MRS. SHIGEMURA
Life embraces death, includes it.
This truth brings tranquility. You
must see yourself...
HATSUE
...as a leaf. On a great tree.
No irony in the girl's voice. No disrespect. The old woman reads
the young face in the mirror.
MRS. SHIGEMURA
The pin. Could be better placed.
INT. SAN PIEDRO REVIEW - DAY
CLOSE on 12-year-old Ishmael. Neutral eyes. Eating an apple. A
horrific CLANGING surrounds us. The clash of metal on metal.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
My lessons came from my father. They
were different. Or seemed so, at the
time.
See ARTHUR CHAMBERS now, at the printing press, an enormous lime
green contraption, with rollers and conveyor pulleys in a cast-
iron housing. The shrieking of metal and gears recalls an ancient
locomotive.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
He operated the Review alone, with
an integrity and passion for principle
that made him a figure of respect. If
slightly larger than life.
Arthur is a large, rugged man, with round gun-metal rimmed
spectacles and garters on his shirtsleeves. He wears the soft,
perpetual smile of an Oxford Don, as he gracefully ducks in and
out of the machine, inspecting plates and printing cylinders.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
He never spoke of wanting me to
succeed him. And, in truth, it was
the last job on earth I thought I'd
ever want.
The boy rises now. Sets his apple carefully aside. And under his
father's supervision, takes his place operating the press. His
arms inches from the fearful clatter of the rollers.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
When I was five, he casually mentioned
that if his sleeve got caught in the
press, he'd be instantly popped open
like a child's balloon, and splattered
across the walls.
Watch Ishmael running the monster, coolly, efficiently, with
complete concentration.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Even his bones would disappear, to
be discovered later on the floor,
as strips of white confetti.
Arthur turns away, lest his son feel a lack of confidence. Picks
up the boy's apple. A crisp BITE.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Which, of course, made me certain that
life would have no meaning until I
could run that teakettle.
EXT. MAIN STREET, AMITY HARBOR - SUNSET
Arthur and Ishmael, now 17, strolling Main Street in the midst of
what seems a festive carnival.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
He was, for better or worse, the
only God in my life. I guess it's
our nature to resent those we know
we can never measure up to...
They are passing modest parade floats, booths with food and games.
A genial crowd of farmers, fishermen, families, both races
heedlessly mingling. A community. Arthur unselfconsciously slips
his arm over the shoulder of his tall son.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
...which keeps us from accepting
the warmth. The way we should.
Up ahead, a crowd has gathered at the steps of the courthouse.
Something's up.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Every summer, after harvest, the
Strawberry Festival was Dad's favor-
ite story to cover. Good news was
his preference. Making him an oddity
among journalists.
As we approach, we see a ceremony begin at the top of the
courthouse steps.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Highlight was crowning the Strawberry
Princess. Always a Japanese girl,
sort of an unwitting virgin sacrifice
to the concept of racial harmony.
We are there now. Arthur pulling down the same box camera Ishmael
would use years later. Focusing up at the MAYOR, as he places the
crown on the radiant young girl...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Senior Year. It was Hatsue.
And as the applause ripples through the crowd. As the Strawberry
Princess acknowledges her subjects, her eye falls on...
...Ishmael. She drops him a wink. And a special wave.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
She winked at me. In public.
Which was unusual.
EXT. SOUTH BEACH - DAY
Two 14-year-olds alone on a beach. Digging for clams in the mud.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I had kissed her once, when we
were ten. Looking at fish through
a glass-bottomed box. It was just
an impulse, and no big deal.
Ishmael pulls back from the deep hole, to make room for Hatsue to
reach down. We can see her fingers explore the shell of the dug-in
geoduck clam.
HATSUE
He's still got a good grip. We
need to dig more.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
At school, she kept mostly to the
Japanese kids, and sort of ignored
me. As if all of our times alone
together...in the hollow cedar,
everywhere...were a secret.
They are digging now, together. Carefully.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I told myself that was good. That
it made our friendship special. And
didn't mean she was ashamed of it.
Necessarily.
HATSUE
Easy. Slow is best.
Gently, she begins to dislodge the clam from its lair.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I thought about her. Sometimes,
all the time. I knew I was unhappy.
But I knew if I told her...
She lifts it clear. And as she admires its size and roughness with
her fingertips. As she washes it in the shallows. He watches her
movements.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
It might be a mistake. I could
never correct.
ISHMAEL (quietly)
I like you.
The words make her turn. Not startled, exactly. Alerted. But
neutral, without affect.
ISHMAEL
Do you know what I mean, Hatsue?
I've always liked you.
There is no answer. He leans slightly closer, and she looks
down. This is the moment. Afraid and driven, he moves slowly
to her face. And puts his mouth against hers. She lets him and,
encouraged, he pushes harder, making Hatsue...
...lose her balance, and planting a hand beneath the water to
support herself, eyes closed too tightly, she kisses Ishmael for a
long moment, before...
...leaping up, snatching her clam pail and running AWAY down the
beach like a deer. He stands slowly. To watch her go.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I knew in my heart that we would
love each other forever.
His face is slack and unsmiling, but he is helpless with happiness.
Contemplating this truth.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
The way she kissed me. She knew
it, too.
EXT. IMADA FARM - DUSK
Ishmael crouching at the edge of the farm, in near-darkness.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
She avoided me for a week.
Across the distance, the screen door opens, light slips across the
porch. Hatsue appears with a wicker basket, to take the laundry
from the line.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
So this way, I could see her
without...bothering anyone.
He watches, rapt, as she unpins and folds the clothes, clenching
the clothespins in her teeth. Then reeling the line again, elegant
hand over elegant hand...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I was certain everything would
work out.
She corrals the long sweep of her hair, knotting it deftly, before
heading inside.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
And frightened.
EXT. STRAWBERRY FIELDS - DAY
Children working fields in sunlight. Kneeling in the rows. Hatsue
with a half-dozen Japanese girls, her hair loose, her face lightly
sheened with sweat. She works with efficiency and grace, filling
her flat.
Three rows away. Ishmael watches. The fear not far beneath the
surface of his quiet, dark features.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
By two weeks, I knew I had made
the defining mistake of my life.
Hatsue's gaze drifts slightly in this direction, and Ishmael looks
DOWN rapidly at his work. Cheeks burning, certain she is watching.
Which she is not.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I'd ruined everything.
LATER...end of day. The young pickers turning in their flats as a
gentle rain begins. Hatsue counts her money, slips it into her
pocket, and...
...runs lightly off, into the growing rain. Ishmael sees.
Stricken to his soul with longing. And indecision.
EXT. CEDAR GROVE - DAY
Hatsue, drenched, alone with her thoughts in the protection of
the hollow cedar. The rain is driving now, and she glances up.
At something we don't see. And watches it. Finally...
HATSUE
You followed me, huh?
PULL BACK to see him. Rain pelting off his poor soaked form. She
is waiting for an answer. So...
ISHMAEL
Sorry. It sort of...happened, I
just...I followed you. I'm sorry.
She pulls her hair behind her ears. A movement which stretches her
body.
HATSUE
I'm all wet.
She starts refastening her hair now, looking away. He comes
inside, crouches as respectfully far from her as he can. Which is
close. He watches her, watches her, and...
ISHMAEL
I'm sorry I kissed you on
the beach.
No reaction. As if she hasn't heard. Now his heart is beating
straight through his chest.
ISHMAEL
Let's just forget about it.
Forget it happened.
She picks up her damp straw hat. And, eyes down, tracing a finger
around its brim...
HATSUE
Don't be sorry. I'm not sorry
about it.
His heart bursts within him. And he struggles to keep it from his
face. Even though she isn't watching.
ISHMAEL
Me neither.
She turns her face to him, and offers a small smile. It is
genuine, and therefore dazzling to the boy. She lies back on
the ground. Her eyes so unafraid and direct.
HATSUE
Do you think this is wrong?
He swallows. Staring at her lying there so comfortably.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
The best part was that there was a
'this'. To debate the wrongness of.
ISHMAEL
Your friends would. Your dad would
kill me with a machete.
HATSUE
We're Japanese, not Mexican, Ishmael.
He'll slice you up with a ceremonial
sword.
Ah. Better. They are both grinning now.
HATSUE
My mom. Would be the problem.
ISHMAEL
Why? We're only talking.
Her eyes flicker. The synapse that a woman can offer a man.
HATSUE (softly)
Sure.
And touches his hand. With her fingertips. The barest whisper...
HATSUE
I can't hear you.
Thus invited, he leans down over Hatsue. Kisses her mouth with all
the tenderness in him. This time, her eyes close gently. And her
body arches slightly, into his.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
We kissed for half an hour, that
first time. And I knew there would
never be another day like it.
Rain POUNDING now. A curtain of water, sealing them from the
world.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
No matter how long I lived.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
CLOSE on Ishmael, once more in the row of reporters. Absently
kneading the stump of his amputated arm. The way some men drum
their fingers.
HOOKS (O.S.)
...you were acquainted with the
defendant and his family.
ETTA HEINE is a linebacker in a dress. Stout and German and wary.
She is 57, and pulls her hem down tight below her knees.
ETTA
Him and his folks and two brothers
and two sisters worked our land.
Lived in a picker's cabin at first.
HOOKS
So the defendant knew the deceased,
your son, even then.
ETTA
They fished t'gether. Went to school.
Carl Junior treated him like a white
person. Like any friend.
Said not with pride, but regret.
HOOKS
But the dispute began. With the
father, yes?
INT. HEINE FARMHOUSE - DAY
Etta twenty years younger, watches stoically from the parlor
window, as her husband CARL SENIOR strools the strawberry fields
with Kabuo's father Zenhichi. Carl is a huge rawboned man, and
puffs a pipe as Zenhichi stops, sweeps his arms this way and that.
Etta knows trouble when she sees it.
INT. KITCHEN - LATER
Etta pours her husband's coffee. It is very quiet.
ETTA
Don't sell, Carl. You'll regret it.
CARL SR.
Only seven acres, and the worst
seven, at that. They're decent
folks. They got five hunnerd to
put down now.
ETTA
Don't go wavin' new church clothes
at me. We're not such paupers as
sell to Japs, are we? For what, a
pouch of fancy pipe tobacco?
She walks about the kitchen with her arms folded. Too upset to
be still.
CARL SR.
They work hard, live clean, don't
spend nothin'. Even kind to the
Indjuns. People is people, comes
down to it.
Etta turns sharply. Glares at the big man. He just blinks
blandly, puffs his pipe. She can see this ship has sailed.
ETTA
You wear the pants, doncha? Go
ahead, sell our land to a Jap and
see what comes of it.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
Hooks pacing, slow and calm. This part needs to be clear.
HOOKS
But back in '34, Japanese-born
could not own land. So...?
ETTA
Carl held it for 'em. Called it
a lease. They make payments every
June and December...
HOOKS
Why? If they could never take title.
ETTA
Their kids was born here. So when
the oldest, that one there, was
twenty...last payment gets made,
and he could own it.
She folds her hands. Looks Kabuo square in the eye.
ETTA
But they missed their last two
payments. So that was that.
INT. FARMHOUSE KITCHEN - DAY
Carl Sr. and Zenhichi sit at the table. There is coffee. But it
is untouched. Etta watches by the stove.
ETTA (V.O.)
March 1942, orders came down. Japs
had eight days before the Army was
gonna cart 'em off.
Carl lights his pipe. Compassion in his broad weathered face.
CARL SR. (softly)
Eight days. It ain't right.
ZENHICHI
We must leave everything. If you
like, you can work our fields, sell
berries, keep the money. Otherwise,
they just rot.
ETTA (V.O.)
Japs are shrewd. Offer berries he
can't use. Soften us up about those
two payments still to come.
And sure enough, Zenhichi produces a neat stack of bills. Puts
them on the table.
ZENHICHI
Today, I have $120 toward next paym...
CARL SR.
Absolutely not, Zenhichi. I'm not
gonna take your savings at a time
like this.
The small man spreads the bills out. On the table.
ZENHICHI
Please, you take. Then, I send more
from where I'm going. If not enough,
you still have seven acres strawber...
ETTA
Thought you was givin' us those.
And everything. Stops.
ETTA
Didn't you come in here givin' them
away? Now you want $130, after our
labor and fertilizer. Is that what
you come here hopin' on?
Zenhichi keeps his anger within. His face is stone.
ETTA (V.O.)
I spit on him, and he's pretending
it didn't happen that way. How could
anyone trust people like that?
ETTA
You want more coffee?
ZENHICHI
No, thank you. Take money, please.
But Carl is staring at his wife. She stares right back. Carl
turns, slides the money toward Zenhichi.
CARL SR.
Etta's been rude to you, and I
apologize for that. You keep this
money, and those payments will work
out fine. Somewhere down the road.
INT. PARLOR - TWILIGHT
Silence. Palpable. Two figures sit at opposite ends of this
darkening room, each under a lamp. Carl Sr. is reading the paper.
His face is stone. Etta at a small writing desk strewn with bills
and ledgers. Her face is angry.
A screen door opens. Slams shut. Big footfalls coming. No one
looks up.
CARL JR.
Look at this!
He stands in the doorway. A bamboo fishing road in his giant hand.
CARL JR.
Kabuo loaned it to me. Til he
gets back.
And his parents stare back him.
CARL JR.
It's great for sea-run cutthroat.
The ferrules are smooth, silk wrapped.
ETTA
Take that back. And do it now.
The big young face is stunned, hurt.
CARL JR.
I told Kabuo I'd take ca...
ETTA
Those Japs owe us. I don't want
nothin' confusing that.
The boy looks to his father. Who says nothing.
ETTA
I said now, boy. Supper's in
forty minutes.
Crestfallen, defeated, the boy backs away. Hear his footfalls.
The screen door SLAM hard.
And Carl Sr. looks at his wife. No sound, until...
CARL SR.
We ain't right together.
The words are flat and straight. Etta stoic.
CARL SR.
You and me. We just ain't right.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
Hooks settles back. His butt on the edge of the prosecutor's
table. The soul of patience and clarity.
HOOKS
You said neither of the last two
payments were made. But your husband
told defendant's father that he could
pay them...what, 'down the road'.
And straight back...
ETTA
Road ended October 1944, when my
husband passed away.
She nods. That's all there was to it.
ETTA
I sold all the land to our
neighbor, Ole Jurgensen. Got
a fair price, this time. And...
Straightens her spine. To deliver the clincher...
ETTA
Sent all their equity back to those
Japs down in California. Which I
didn't have to do. Specially since
my boy was out in the Pacific, gettin'
shot at by Japs at the time.
Hooks pauses. As if drinking this in.
HOOKS
Now defendant's father had also
died by that point. Where was
the defendant? When you sent
his family their equity.
ETTA
In the war. Europe, I believe.
They could hardly send him to the
Pacific, could they?
Kabuo watching the woman. Eyes as hard as her own.
HOOKS
And when he came home. Did he
write you about this? Or phone,
perhaps.
ETTA
Just showed up at my door, big as
life and twice as mean. Wanted to
talk to my son.
INT. ETTA'S APARTMENT, AMITY HARBOR - DAY
Kabuo stands at the open door. No one is inviting him inside.
ETTA
He's over the ocean, fighting the
Japs. They're just about licked.
KABUO (quietly)
Just about.
And there it sits.
ETTA
When Mr. Heine passed away, I
couldn't farm the place myself,
could I? You're gonna have to talk
to Ole abou...
KABUO
I just did. He didn't know we were
one payment away. You didn't tell
him Mr. Heine promised my fath...
ETTA
I was s'posed to tell him there's
some illegal contract muddling things
up? You folks didn't make your pay-
ments. In America, bank comes in and
repossesses your land. I didn't do
anything wrong.
Kabuo stands. Calm, unblinking.
KABUO
Nothing illegal. Wrong is a
different mat...
ETTA
Get out of here.
KABUO
You sold our land out from under
us, Mrs. Heine. You took advantage
of the fact that we were gone. You...
SLAMM. The door has closed in his face. And Kabuo stands there.
As if deciding.
Whether to break it down.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
Hooks standing at the jury box now. Looking at them, as he asks...
HOOKS
What do you mean by 'dirty looks'?
ETTA
Well. Every time I see him in
town or somewhere, he's starin'
at me with these narrow eyes.
Givin' me his mean face.
HOOKS
When your son came back from the
war, what did he say about all this?
ETTA
That he'd keep an eye on Miyamoto.
Watch out for him.
HOOKS
Did he see some danger from defen...
NELS
Objection. Asking witness to
speculate about deceased's state
of mind.
HOOKS
All right. What did your son say
to that effect?
She looks up. As if trying to recall.
ETTA
He said he wished Kabuo would forget
about his seven acres, and stop
lookin' at us cross-eyed.
Hooks stares at the jury. Holds the moment.
HOOKS
Your witness.
And goes slowly back to his seat. Nels waits until his opponent is
seated. Then, rises.
NELS
Just three questions. The Miyamoto
family bought your seven acres for
$4500?
ETTA
Tried to. Defaulted on their
payments.
NELS
Second question. What did Ole
Jurgensen pay you per acre?
ETTA
A thousand.
NELS
So that makes what would have been
$4500 into $7000, doesn't it? If
you sent the equity back, you had
a profit of $2500.
ETTA
Is that your third question?
NELS
It is.
ETTA
You done your math right.
The old man wears a thin, cold smile.
NELS
You, too. No further questions.
HOLD on Kabuo. As he watches Etta rise heavily from the box.
EXT. DEEP FOREST - FIRST LIGHT
Mist of moments before dawn. As tendrils part, there is enough
light to see...
...eyes. They are Asian. They are razor-keen. PULL BACK to
reveal...
...Kabuo alone in G.I. gear and helmet. Rifle up high, sweat
on his face, moving soundlessly, turning in a circle as he goes,
until...
...he stops. A heartbeat of silence. Then...
...the BLAST of automatic tracer TEARS through trees, as he WHIRLS
and RETURNS FIRE in a single motion, until...
Silence.
His heart is pounding. He waits. Waits. Weapon at the ready, he
pushes THROUGH the dense foliage to see...
...the 15-year-old German SOLDIER, splayed on the forest floor, his
chest torn and bloodied. Kabuo's gaze LOCKS with the boy's. The
young soldier's empty left hand reaches out in a a plea, and as
Kabuo steps forward, the boy's right hand comes suddenly...
...INTO view, metal GLINTING in motion, as Kabuo...
...BLOWS the boy AWAY with staccato rifle BURSTS that JUMP the
already-lifeless body like an electric jolt. And falling from the
kid's hand, not a pistol, but...
...ID TAGS.
No expression on Kabuo's face. None at all. He moves on.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
OLE JURGENSEN wobbles slightly in the witness box, hands resting on
the cane planted unsteadily between his frail legs. His eyes leak
water, his beard is wispy and unkempt.
HOOKS
Were those his exact words?
OLE (shaky)
He say Mrs. Heine robbed him.
Mr. Heine never woulda let no
such ting like that hap...
HOOKS
Robbed. He was angry.
OLE
Oh, yeh. He said someday he would
get his land back.
Hooks nodding. Nodding.
HOOKS
Mr. Jurgensen. Did he offer to
buy the seven acres from you?
OLE
Oh, yeh. But this is nine year
ago, I had my healt, I wasn't
wantin' to sell.
HOOKS
And then your stroke came this
summer. And you put your property
on the market, I believe you said
September 7. Which, remember, is
eight days before Carl Heine died.
And who comes Spetember 7, wanting
to buy?
OLE
Carl Heine came.
Hooks pauses. Lets that sink in.
HOOKS
But Carl was a fisherman. And
successful at it.
OLE
He said he didn't want that life
no more. He'd been saving to buy
a farm. He was sorry I got sick.
But pretty excited to get back his
father's place.
The old man's head bobs. Recalling.
OLE
Liesel and me. Was happy for him.
Hooks smiles. As if he would be happy, too. Anyone would be.
HOOKS
And later, that same day. Only
eight days before Carl Heine died.
Did another prospective buyer appear?
EXT. FARMHOUSE PORCH - DAY
Ole sits in a wicker chair at a wicker table. His wife LIESEL is
setting out cold drinks. But their visitor stands rigid,
disbelieving.
LIESEL
I'm sorry to tell you, we took his
earnest money, he shook Ole's hand.
Come November, he'll sell his boat,
and take over the farm.
Kabuo is thunderstruck.
KABUO
But your sign...
OLE
We din't have no time to take it down.
He just come ten o'clock.
Kabuo nods. His voice is soft, but his eyes are steel.
KABUO
It's my fault. I should have come
earlier.
He looks so odd, perhaps he's ill. Liesel looks concerned.
OLE
If you want t'buy them seven
acres. Carl Heine's the only
fella can sell 'em.
INT. COURTROOM - EVENING
The witness box is empty. The snow outside the windows is falling
in darkness. And Judge Lew Fielding is leaning his frame toward
the jurors...
JUDGE
I apologize for keeping you folks
from your families in a storm like
this. I do hope you'll be reasonably
comfortable in the hotel tonight. And
one more thing...
He smiles softly.
JUDGE
This Court takes judicial notice of
the fact that tomorrow is the 13th
anniversary of the attack on Pearl
Harbor.
Slight pause. To make sure they are listening.
JUDGE
Which has no relationship to this
trial. Which is why I mention it.
Gavel CRACKS down.
JUDGE
10 o'clock tomorrow, folks. Stay
warm.
INT. COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR - MINUTES LATER
Hatsue walks briskly down the crowded hallway, her eyes searching
the benches lining the corridor ahead. Her view obscured by the
crowd hurrying to fight the storm. Suddenly...
...she stops. Because there. On a bench. Sits Ishmael. Next to
him, a round Japanese-American baby boy of 11 months. Before him,
squat the boy's sisters, eight and four. All are watching
Ishmael...
...manipulating a COIN. It rolls across his knuckles and back
again, with amazing dexterity. Then, he snatches it into his palm.
Holds up his fist. All little eyes are glued. The fist...
...opens. It is EMPTY. There are GASPS.
ISHMAEL
Know where it is?
They don't.
ISHMAEL
It's in my other hand.
The four-year-old LAUGHS. Her big sister socks her. And Mom steps
in. The man looks up, with the sweetest smile.
ISHMAEL
Your mother went to the bathroom.
She said I could show them a trick.
FOUR-YEAR-OLD
HE DOESN'T HAVE A OTHER HAND!
Hatsue is not smiling. Nor is she angry. Even awkward comes to
her in a graceful way. She scoops up her son.
HATSUE
Thank you for your help.
(to the girls)
Let's go find obaasan.
And without even glancing at him, she heads off at a brisk pace.
The girls following. The four-year-old turning back to wave once.
And then they are gone.
INT. JAIL - NIGHT
Kabuo stands outside the open steel door of his tiny cell, as Abel
Martinson clumsily unfastens the manacles. A cot, a toilet without
a seat, a bare bulb hanging from a wire. No windows to the outside
world. Only the small barred one in the cell door. As the
manacles fall away...
...Abel removes two objects from his pocket.
ABEL
This is from Nels, I can't see the
harm. Don't tell Art, okay?
Hands him two CANDY BARS. A Snickers. And a Baby Ruth. Kabuo
looks at them...
In spite of himself. Kabuo smiles. Remembering...
INT. JAIL - DAY
Kabuo sits in jailhouse overalls on the edge of his cot. Motion-
less. On a private journey of the mind. The door CLANGS open...
MORAN
This here is Nels Gudmundsson,
he's your attorney.
Kabuo looks over. That flat, unsmiling gaze. The old man has a
folded chessboard and a Havana cigar box under his arm. Their eyes
lock, as if the Sheriff weren't even here. And Moran leaves,
closing the door with respectful quiet.
Nels doesn't smile, doesn't speak. Opens the chessboard on the
cot. Opens the cigar box filled with chess pieces, two cigars,
a Snickers and a Baby Ruth. He puts the candy bars by Kabuo's
pillow, a silent gift. Begins to set up the chessboard.
KABUO
What makes you think I play?
NELS
Your daddy played. I asked, down
at the Japanese Community Center.
You smoke cigars?
And offers one up, rough and black.
KABUO
I'm not sure. I better check
down at the Center.
Kabuo smiles only with his eyes. Nels nods, maybe you better.
Lights his own cigar. Puts the matches and the other cigar at
Kabuo's side.
NELS
White or black?
KABUO
You mean, do I like to take the
offensive? Or hang back and wait.
That seems answer enough for Nels. He turns the board around to
where he has white, and makes the first move.
NELS
Nice. When two fellas understand
each other.
Kabuo picks up the cigar. STRIKES a match.
...........................................................
white. Kabuo moves a black bishop. Nels' eyes shoot around the
table. He reaches and KNOCKS OVER Kabuo's black king. Kabuo
blinks, studies the board silently. Then smiles.
He unwraps the Snickers bar. Breaks it in half. Hands one piece
across to his lawyer.
SERIES OF ANGLES...
RAPID CUTS, different days, Nels in different suits, chess pieces
in different positions, each time Nels reaching to topple Kabuo's
king. The last time...
Kabuo has to study the board for a beat. Shakes his head.
KABUO
You must think I like losing.
NELS
I think you like learning.
And leans his old bones back against the hard wall.
NELS
Me, too. That's why I come.
Pulls out two cigars. Kabuo looks at them.
NELS
Bet there's a few things you
could teach me. Kendo, for one.
KABUO
Sure. I could take a fishing
gaff and split your head open.
Right above your left ear.
No smile. Steady gaze.
KABUO
You wouldn't even see it move.
NELS
You're wonderin'...how come I
never ask. If you did it.
Hands one cigar. Across the chessboard.
NELS
Now, you've told me you killed
four men. In Germany. So I know
you are the kind of man who can
kill. When there's a reason.
KABUO (very quiet)
Guess I am.
Takes the cigar. Rolls it between his thumb and forefinger.
NELS
You feel guilty. That you took
their lives. That's in your eyes.
STRIKES a match.
NELS (softly)
Jury sees what I see. More often
than not.
Reaches stiffly. Kabuo bends toward him. Accepts the flame.
Takes a puff.
NELS
Prosecutor thinks. What was
your reason? To kill Carl Heine.
Kabuo says not a word.
NELS
Well, there is the land itself.
Raise your children where you
were raised. Sleep with your
wife at night, 'stead of bein'
alone on the sea.
Brings the match to his own cigar. Careful. Expert.
NELS
There's fairness and honor. You
were cheated by that old bitch.
Boy, she is something.
KABUO (simply)
She's not alone.
Worlds within those words.
NELS (a murmur)
None of us are.
And in those.
NELS
And prejudice, like you say. Your
people locked in a concentration
camp. You go off to fight for our
country's freedom. Come back to this.
Shakes his head.
NELS
But Mr. Hooks has missed the one
reason. One reason. You coulda
done it.
A flicker. Behind the defendant's eyes.
NELS
I read you Etta Heine's deposition.
So I could watch your mind. Like I
do when you move your rook, or when
I move mine.
A smile now. Very kind. Very sad.
NELS
And you weren't thinking about her.
Or about land. Or about you.
No, you weren't. And in the gentlest voice...
NELS
No, someone cheats you, you can
rise above that. You're a family
man. You put them ahead of you, hmmn?
He sighs. But...
NELS
Wasn't you she dishonored.
And the old watering eyes are rock steady now.
NELS
Your father was a strong and
tireless man. Honest to a fault.
Kind, and humble as well...
There is a silence. And then...
KABUO (real quiet)
Nice. When two fellas. Understand
each other.
They let that sit.
NELS
Now this jury is gonna be lookin'
at the evidence with one eye.
And at you with the oth...
KABUO
Mr. Gudmundsson, we know what
that jury is looking at.
He won't let hs eyes lie to this man.
NELS
Your father needs you. To return
to your family.
Silence.
NELS
So every time you think about
showing that jury strength. Or
honor or composure. Or dignity.
KABUO
I should show them an American?
Nels sees the rage. It breaks his heart. It makes him feel old
and helpless.
NELS
Show them an innocent man.
What he stares at now. Is a neutral mask. As powerful and opaque
as the voice is quiet.
KABUO
Shame you couldn't play chess with
my dad, sir. He'd kick your ass.
INT. ISHMAEL'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Through glass, snow is tumbling in endless cascades, the world
dwarfed by a descending heaven. A sound, a strange soft CLICK.
PAN across...
...the small, well-kept bachelor apartment. Neat stacks of books
on the floor, catching the overflow of shelves crammed full.
Someone likes to read. Another soft CLICK. To...
...the kitchen now, along the floor. An awkward high-top SHOE, its
buckled straps above elastic LACES that fasten across the instep.
The shoe steps on a crude wooden PEDAL. And we hear another CLICK.
PAN up along a vertical strip of mesh WIRE to...
...a plywood CONTRAPTION, held by a partially closed drawer. A
piece of spring steel holding a set of NAIL CLIPPERS.
Ishmael inserts his pinkie carefully. CLICK. Finishes clipping
the fingernails of his only hand. And looks out. At the magic of
white.
EXT. HOLLOW CEDAR - DAY
Safe within their haven, the 18-year-olds kiss and hold each other
urgently. Their tongues exploring each other's mouth, her legs
open beneath her skirt, pressing her body up against him.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I gave her all of my soul to love.
I knew someday we would live in
France. Italy. Somewhere. Far
from the things that upset her.
ANGLE...later, they lie so quietly. Her head nestled in the crook
of his arm, he gently plays with her hair. Her face so still, so
thoughtful and grave.
ISHMAEL (a murmur)
You don't have to be so tragic,
you know.
Ah. Her dark eyes flicker.
HATSUE (dry)
Kind of magical, the way you know
how to comfort a girl.
She cuts the irony by sending her fingertips to stroke his.
HATSUE
I can just feel my spirits soar.
ISHMAEL
Well, I don't do it for just
anybody.
And kisses her head. But her eyes still stare off into the tangle
of her worries. He draws a breath...
ISHMAEL
There can't be any wrong in
this, Ha...
HATSUE
I lie to my parents every day.
And every night.
His light tone against the fear...
ISHMAEL
Well. Since I never told your
folks, I guess I'm lying to 'em,
too. But you don't hear me
complaining about it.
She winds her fingers with his. Loyalty against her doubt.
Very soft with...
HATSUE
I'm in awe. Of your strength.
INT. SCHOOL BUS - DAY
Hatsue sits with the Japanese kids. Ishmael with his friends. The
bus filled with stone-faced teenagers listening to the DRIVER, who
brandishes his newspaper at the Japanese side of the bus...
DRIVER
...not just Pearl, they're attackin'
all over the Pacific, the whole
fleet's destroyed. The FBI's in
Seattle right now...
And pauses. His eyes moving from one Japanese face to the next.
Are you listening?
DRIVER
...arresting Jap traitors, the
spies and everything. There'll
be a blackout tonight, so keep your
radios off. So the Japs don't pick
up no signals. You get the message?
Stares them down. Until, from across the bus...
ISHMAEL (O.S.)
Hey, Mr. Lamberson, over here!
The driver's eyes snap around. The tall boy is waiting.
ISHMAEL
I have a radio, too. Don't you
want to be sure I got the message?
Ishmael sees the anger. He's not afraid of it.
ISHMAEL
Just checking.
INT. SAN PIEDRO REVIEW - LATE NIGHT
The horrid CLANGING of the great rattletrap press, Arthur Chambers
ducking nimbly among the rollers.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
It was a special edition, an extra.
My father wrote, 'These people are
our neighbors, they have sent their
sons to the United States Army...'
Print flying onto paper as it rolls through the green metal
gauntlet.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
'They are no more an enemy than
our fellow islanders of German or
Italian descent.'
Belary-eyed Ishmael, pulling finished copies from the bin. As
he stacks them for delivery, he reads aloud, above the CLASH of
metal...
ISHMAEL (sleepy and loud)
LET US SO LIVE THAT, WHEN IT IS OVER,
WE CAN LOOK EACH OTHER IN THE EYE.
AND KNOW WE HAVE ACTED HONORABLY.
Big yawn. It's really late. He turns, and sees...
...his father. Staring at him.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I guess courage never inspires the
young. Until the danger of it bites
their butt.
EXT. WOODS - TWILIGHT
They walk slowly up the path. An arm around each other's waist,
their bodies brushing as they go...
HATSUE
My father can't get our money from
the bank. We have a few dol...
ISHMAEL
It'll be over soon. I can get
you money.
She stops. By a weathered fence, covered in vines. It's growing
dark.
HATSUE
It's not going to get better, okay?
She sighs. He moves close, looks so grave.
HATSUE
They arrested Mr. Shirazaki,
because his farm is near a navy
transmitter. And his family can't
leave their house.
What can he say.
ISHMAEL
It's just Pearl Harbor. People
are a little crazy, right n...
HATSUE
Look at my face. It's the face of
the people who did that. My father
hardly speaks English. We're in
bad trouble, you have to see that.
He reaches. Touches this face that he loves with all his heart.
Forces up a smile.
ISHMAEL
Maybe we can fix your eyes.
She leans up. CROSSES her eyes in a goofy expression. Then kisses
his mouth. When she pulls back...
ISHMAEL
Don't let this hurt us, okay?
Whatever happens.
And she studies this boy. Knowing more than he can ever
understand. And chooses to whisper...
HATSUE
It won't. You'll see.
INT. IMADA FARMHOUSE - NIGHT
Hatsue and her older daughter are setting the farmhouse table, as
snow drifts down beyond the window. Plates and flatware. Glasses
and napkins. Slowly, in silence, as if a ritual bonding mother and
daughter. She glances to the next room...
...her mother Fujiko plays with the babies. Her father HISAO reads
the paper. Smoking his pipe.
And Hatsue is motionless for a moment. Watching him.
INT. IMADA FARMHOUSE - DAY
CLOSE on Hatsue at 18, staring with silent anger greater than her
fear.
HISAO (O.S. shaky)
We are loyal.
PULL BACK to see the room. Hatsue and her sisters side by side,
staring at the table. On it rests a shotgun, four boxes of shells,
a ceremonial sword. An FBI AGENT, a small man in a dark suit, is
tagging each item. He wears a light, perpetual, insincere smile.
FUJIKO
Everyone on the island has
these things.
Fujiko at her husband's side. She is quietly indignant. He is
frightened.
AGENT (overly casual)
Well, they'll hold this stuff for
a little bit, then ship it back to
you. It's nothing to worry about.
And walks over to the tansu, a chest of drawers, and begins to
remove items...
AGENT
You folks have been real polite,
and we'll be outta your hair in
just a second...
...a silk kimono with gold brocaded sash...
AGENT
That's very nice. From the old
country, it appears. Very high class.
And lays it on another table. Next to a bamboo flute, a stack of
shakuhachi sheet music.
AGENT
These are real nice things.
They'll take special care of 'em.
Hisao sees his wife's sudden alarm. And, as respectfully as he can
manage...
HISAO
The flute is precious. The kimono,
the music. Must you take th...
AGENT
...oh yeh, any old country stuff,
we have to take.
And sees on the sofa, an open album. Strolls over.
FUJIKO
This is only my daughter's
scrapbook. For her memories.
So he picks it up. Doesn't see Hatsue stiffen with repulsion, as
he wanders, thumbing through it, toward the hallway...
AGENT (calling out)
Wilson? Don't go pawing through
the underwear!
And chuckles. He knows they appreciate a joke. It means there's
nothing to be afraid of. Stops turning pages now. Looks up, his
eyes moving until they find Hatsue.
AGENT
Strawberry Princess, huh? You
musta been flattered by that.
Looks just like y...
The soft slamming of a screen door. Another AGENT, large and
shambling in his too-small suit, is carrying a crate. And a
telling look.
AGENT #2 (quiet triumph)
Dynamite. Twenty-four sticks.
And the crate BANGS onto the table. Just beside the kimono. Lifts
out two sticks and holds them high. Proof.
HISAO
You must believe. This for tree
stumps. For clearing land.
The small man's smile fades now. First time. And his eyes fix
Hisao before he speaks. As if reading his mind.
AGENT
Maybe. Maybe. But this is still
bad, y'see.
Fujiko slips her hand into her husband's. To give him strength.
AGENT
It's illegal contraband, you were
s'posed to turn this stuff in.
We, uh...
Slight shrug.
AGENT
We gotta arrest you. Have to
take you to Seattle.
Fujiko's breath catches. One of the daughters whimpers. The
silence hangs thick and frightening. The bigger agent unhooks a
pair of handcuffs from his belt, but...
AGENT
Naw, you don't need those. Mister
Eee-ma-da-san here is a class act,
a real gentleman.
The younger girls are crying now, clinging to their sisters. The
agent regrets this.
FUJIKO
Please, reconsider. He has done
no bad th...
AGENT
Well, nobody knows that yet, do
they? So, best for an honest man
to clear his name for godd and all.
Ain't that right?
AGENT
Only a few questions in Seattle,
okay? Few questions, few answers,
the whole thing is over.
He puts his hand on Hisao's arm. Not roughly, but much firmer than
the ease of his voice...
AGENT
Simple as that.
INT. FARMHOUSE KITCHEN - NIGHT
Eight pages of a letter, carefully written in Kanji characters,
folded neatly on a table.
FUJIKO (O.S.)
Why do I read you this distres-
sing letter? From your father.
From this hakujin...work camp, it
is called. In Montana.
PULL BACK to see mother and five daughters around the table. Even
the youngest girls somber, attentive. As if they have aged these
past few weeks.
FUJIKO
Because you need to know the
darkness. In the hearts of the
hakuj...
HATSUE (blurts)
Not all of them.
The silent wake of her outburst, her interruption, lingers. Her
mother studies her.
FUJIKO
The whites are enslaved by their egos,
Hatsue. Each believes his aloneness
is everything. We seek union wi...
HATSUE
...the ones seeking union with the
Greater Life bombed Pearl Harbor.
They are not humble. I am not part
of them, I'm part of here.
Her voice so loud, so insistent. Her sisters are afraid for her.
To have shown such disrespect. They look down at their hands. Or
away, as if not hearing.
FUJIKO (quietly, slowly)
I see this. This lack of purity
is a mist around your soul. I see
it every day, it haunts your face
in unguarded moments.
The room is still as the grave. The mother's eyes burn silently.
FUJIKO
I see it in your eagerness to
leave here. And walk the woods.
In the afternoon.
What does she know? Hatsue's heart pounding. And to her surprise,
her mother's voice softens...
FUJIKO
If you lose your true self, Hatsue.
True self...
The stern warning, the unrelenting judgement, has become a plea.
FUJIKO
There is no way back.
INT. ISHMAEL'S KITCHEN - NIGHT
Ishmael washing his supper plate. His fork and knife. His coffee
mug. His skillet. Hard labor with one hand. And as he works, he
looks at...
...the window above his sink. Darkness and moonlit snow. And his
own reflection. CLOSE on his face in the glass, and MATCH DISSOLVE
to...
INT. SAN PIEDRO REVIEW - NIGHT
...Arthur Chambers. Weary. Worn behind the smile of knowing ease,
as he sips coffee from a mug of his own.
His boy sits across from him in the silent press room. Feet up,
reading their paper. Its headline, ISLAND JAPANESE ACCEPT ARMY
MANDATE TO MOVE.
ISHMAEL
See, you bring it on yourself.
23 ladies honored by the PTA, you
single out three names. And they're
all Japanese. That isn't journalism.
ARTHUR (quietly)
Because...?
Ishmael has heard this gently prodding word all his life. He
sighs.
ISHMAEL
Because journalism. Is just the
facts.
ARTHUR
Which facts? You can't print
them all. Journalism is balance.
Finding the facts folks need to know.
The boy looks dryly at his father. SLAPS the page with the back of
his hand.
ISHMAEL
Hence. The letters.
Arthur closes his eyes. Recites from memory...
ARTHUR
'Seems like you're favoring the Japs,
Art. Writin' all about their
patriotism and loyalty with nothin'
'bout the treachery.'
A smile in the voice. A sad one.
ARTHUR
'Your newspaper is an insult to
all white Americans. Please cancel
my subscription and send refund.'
Now the smile is on his face. Even sadder.
ARTHUR
The calls are better. 'Jap lovers
get their balls cut off and stuffed
down their...'
(shrugs)
Missed the rest. Hanging up will
do that.
Silence. Two men. Watching each other.
ARTHUR
We lost the Price-Rite ads. And
Lottie Opsvig's shop, and Larsen's
Lumberyard and the Anacortes Cafe.
And 30 percent of our subscribers.
A deeper silence.
ISHMAEL
Integrity is expensive stuff, huh?
ARTHUR
Valuable things. Sometimes are.
Toasts his son. With coffee.
ARTHUR
But. I've got the answer.
A wink. A swallow of Joe.
ARTHUR
Print four pages. Instead
of eight.
EXT. HOLLOW CEDAR - DUSK
They lie so close. Their bodies touching, not moving. Their faces
inches apart, so that every word is a murmur...
HATSUE
You're like me. You've learned
to be devious.
He's never seen her this fragile, this scared. He knows he has to
be strong for her.
ISHMAEL
It's not devious, it's what we have
to do. You're leaving tomorrow...
He unties her hair. So gently. Tries to keep his smile calm,
steady...
ISHMAEL
You write to my house, and put
Kenny Yamashita's name on the
return address. It's no big deal.
He brings his face to her hair. Kisses it.
ISHMAEL
You smell like cedar.
Her eyes are wide. They move over his face. A murmured...
HATSUE
So do you. It's your smell I'll
miss as much as anything.
He looks in her eyes. And words come from his heart, before he can
stop them...
ISHMAEL
Let's get married, okay?
Her eyes fill with tears. Are they from happiness?
ISHMAEL
I want to marry you. Is that okay?
Her face so still. One tear falls, and he kisses it.
ISHMAEL (a whisper)
Just say yes.
No answer. Not knowing what to say, she winds an arm behind his
head, and brings him nearer. His mouth opens into hers, with more
force, more of his heart, than he has ever given. Deep and tender.
His hands reach beneath her dress...
...peel her panties down her thighs...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
When something that means your
whole life. Is the last time ever...
And suddenly, he is OVER her, drawing her legs up around him...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
God should tell you. Or it's not
fair.
Her head tilts back, her eyes squeeze closed. And as he enters
her...
ISHMAEL (whispers)
Please say yes...
...her hands GRASP his upper arms. And push away.
HATSUE (softly)
No.
And he blinks. As if waking from a dream. Everything has stopped.
Her face is strong and yet overflowing with regret.
HATSUE
No. No. It isn't right.
So he draws away. Stunned, uncomprehending. Watching with blank
eyes, as she stares up at him. Then, with dignity and tenderness,
he helps her dress, his eyes awkwardly away from hers...
ISHMAEL
It felt right to me. It felt
like getting married.
She draws her legs up. Kneeling now, putting her hands on his
face...
But no words come. No words. Until...
HATSUE
I'll write you.
And KISSES him fiercely, and BOLTS up before he can grab her,
RUNNING off like a deer, while he...
...kneels. His mouth open. Like a silent scream.
EXT. AMITY HARBOR FERRY - MORNING
An army truck pulls up behind several others in cold morning air.
Hesitantly, looking in all directions, Fujiko, Hatsue, and her four
sisters climb from the truck, to see...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
On Monday, March 30, 1942, the
United States Army graciously
transported the Imada women to
the docks.
...a ferry, the KEHLOKEN, stands waiting. Soldiers are dis-
tributing tags for luggage and coats. The evacuees, mostly women,
stand in the cold, trying to smile bravely for each other. And
lined against the railing...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Lifelong neighbors came to watch.
Curiosity masked as kindness...
...a cluster of white islanders gawking as their Japanese neighbors
file toward the ferry. A middle-aged woman waves to Fujiko, who
casts her eyes down, refusing to acknowledge the greeting. And
just as they reach the gangway...
...Hatsue sees Ishmael, who stands at an unobtrusive distance,
among a group of students. She pauses. Her eyes hold his for a
heartbeat...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
...with some exceptions.
The wisp of a smile. And she is gone.
EXT. IMADA FRONT PORCH - NIGHT
Hatsue comes alone onto the white-blanketed porch. Snow is no
longer falling. She takes out a cigarette, lights it impassively.
The mannerisms make her seem fully American, despite the porcelain
impenetrability of her Asian exterior. She closes her eyes, and...
...draws deep on the smoke. The act seems to cause her pain. When
the eyes open, they are frightened, unguarded. Nowhere to turn.
The next puff looks desperate, and she FLIPS the cigarette out onto
the snow. Jams her hands in the pockets of her parka, stamps her
feet against the cold, the helplessness. And looks out...
...strawberry fields, endless and white, shimmering in filtered
moonlight, become...
EXT. MANZANAR INTERNMENT CAMP - NIGHT
...a moonlit DESERT. PAN the barbed wire, the distant barracks,
the desolation. Come to...
...two women walking alone. The younger one glancing at her mother
as they go. Fujiko's eyes unreadable, stare implacably ahead.
The barracks, everything, in distance behind them.
HATSUE
You think we're far enough
away now?
No sarcasm in the voice. She lets the words carry her irony.
Her mother stops. Looks at her so directly, so strong. Even her
tough-minded daughter flinches slightly.
HATSUE
Mom, whatever this is, they don't
keep war secrets this carefully.
Fujiko thinks that over. Nods.
FUJIKO
Secrets are hard to keep.
She goes over to a large, flat rock. Sits down. Pulls two sheets
of paper from her coat. And waits. As her daughter comes and
crouches at her feet. Fujiko clears her throat.
FUJIKO
This letter. Was opened.
By mistake.
And watches. As the shard of fear penetrates her daughter's mask.
Silence. Then...
FUJIKO (reads)
'My love. I still go to our
cedar tree in the afternoons every
day. I shut my eyes, waiting.'
Hatsue has turned to stone. To ice. Wind blows.
FUJIKO (reads)
'I smell your smell. And I dream
of you. And I ache for you to come
home. So I can hold you and feel
you near.'
Fujiko scans the page silently. Turns to the second...
FUJIKO (reads)
'After all these years that we've
been together, I find you're a
part of me. Without you, I have
nothing. All my love, forever...'
And looks up. Her eyes calm, quiet.
FUJIKO
The neighborhood boy. Who taught
you to swim?
The look holds. And holds.
HATSUE
You shouldn't have opened that.
It was mi...
FUJIKO (so quiet)
How deceitful of me.
Anger only at the edges. Like finely-honed steel.
FUJIKO
How can I ever hope. For your
forgiveness.
The wind swirls a cloud of dust between them. They seem not to
notice.
FUJIKO
I have written this letter to
the boy's parents...
She pulls out a single page. Hands it down to her daughter.
Hatsue's eyes move quickly over the words.
FUJIKO
Attraction is no crime, certainly
among children. The dishonor
lies in the concealment. From
your families.
Watches her daughter reading. And quietly...
FUJIKO
I know that you know this. I know
you have suffered. Even if the
hakujin could not.
Silence. Hatsue's eyes cast down. She folds the page.
FUJIKO
There will be no further letters.
No contact of any k...
And stops. Because Hatsue is TEARING the page in two. She looks
up. Into her mother's shock.
HATSUE
One more letter. I will write
it. You may read it, and send
it for me.
Her mother's anger fades. Into interest.
HATSUE
I deceived more than you. I
deceived this sweet boy. And
myself. It was never love.
Never love. The mother's face changes. There is understanding,
acceptance. Even pride.
HATSUE
I will work hard. To earn your
forgiveness.
A sigh. A sadness deep, beyond her years.
HATSUE
I can never hope for his.
INT. BARRACKS - NIGHT
Mother and daughter enter their crude quarters. They find Hatsue's
sisters sitting on the wooden floor, watching...
...a team of young MEN, working with tools and pieces of lumber.
One is building shelves, two others, a chest of drawers. Their
leader kneels tacking scraps of tin over the knotholes on the
floor. One girl beams at her mother...
SUMIKO
These boys are buildings us
a mansion!
The leader grins and rises. Bows slightly to Fujiko. He is, of
course...
KABUO
I'm Kabuo Miyamoto, Mrs. Imada.
The woman smiles. Bows slightly in return.
FUJIKO
We are in your debt, Miyamoto-san.
How are your parents, your family...?
KABUO
My father is sick with the camp
food. The rest of us are fine.
Don't speak of dept, please, we
just want to help.
And glances. To the eldest daughter. In the doorway.
KABUO
Hi, Hatsue, remember me?
She looks back, without expression. There is much on her mind.
His smile is handsome, easy.
KABUO
I was a senior when you were a
junior. But I've seen you around.
She tosses her hair free of the parka. Gathers it in her hands.
Saying only...
HATSUE
Hello.
Can't win a smile, but he doesn't seem to mind.
KABUO
Nice to see you.
EXT. APARTMENT HOUSE REAR PORCH - NIGHT
Ishmael steps from the building onto the rear porch. He draws from
his coat a black CIGAR. Box of matches. The cigar goes into his
mouth. With amazing dexterity...
...he slips a single match from the box, turns his face to the
wall, and still palming the box, STRIKES a match on the buckle of
his belt, bringing it smoothly to the cigar for a few critical
puffs before the match dies. He turns toward...
...the fields. Stretching treeless, endless, seemingly to the
horizon. Bathed in filtered moonlight, they become...
EXT. TARAWA ATOLL - NIGHT
...the shimmering Pacific. We are with Ishmael in an LCVP landing
craft, as his platoon enters Tarawa lagoon. Bobbing past two
DESTROYERS firing in waves at the beach. Ishmael and his platoon
mates watch with adrenaline-fueled fear as amphibious tractors draw
fire on the sand, one exploding in flame.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Her letter reached me on the North
Island of New Zealand. So I had a
month to think it over...
Men around him are shouting, cursing, jostling against each other,
frightened out of their minds, as SHELLS POUND the ocean, horrify-
ingly huge and near.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I wrote her four times. 'I hate
you with all my heart. I hate you,
Hatsue, I'll hate you always!'
Suddenly their craft runs AGROUND on the hidden reef. They are
still 300 yards from shore.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I never sent the letters. I wanted
to kill as many Japs as possible.
SQUAD LEADER
MOVE IT, MOVE IT, MOVE IT,
LET'S GO!!
The SQUAD LEADER goes over the side, Ishmael and others follow,
struggling with 85 pound packs. As Ishmael hits the water, the
squad leader is SHOT in the face, a man five yards from Ishmael has
the top of his head BLOWN AWAY, men are DROPPING in numbers under
the WITHERING BURSTS of fire, the deafening ordnance sweeping over
the SHRIEKS of terror and agony, and Ishmael...
...submerges behind his pack, splashing hard, keeping its bulk
ahead of him as a shield, until he can wade and swim and plunge
toward shore, as hellfire CRASHES everywhere, dead bodies floating,
machine-gun blasts WHIPPING the water's surface, Ishmael at...
...the shallows now, men rising to make a run at the seawall, being
CUT DOWN, Ishmael crouching in the water, watching other men draw
fire, and in a moment's lull, four of them and Ishmael...
...GO for it, lungs BURSTING, pounding MADLY up the sand, one
SHOT DEAD, another SCREAMS as his knee is blown away and goes down
writhing, as three men...
...MAKE IT to the wall. Gasping, puking, shivering with cold and
fright. They have no gear, no weapons. One of them is Ishmael.
He looks back to...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Eric Bledsoe was bleeding to death.
Thirty yards away.
Bullets FLYING everywhere, CHEWING up the sand. The young man
twitching, pleading...
BLEDSOE (crying)
Oh, shit, please, please help me
you guys, come on, help me, fucking
help me, PLEASE...!
And flat against the seawall, three men watch. Not daring to look
at each other.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I knew nothing could save him. Hell,
I didn't have so much as a band-aid.
I also knew I was a coward. For not
giving up my life to try.
EXT. SEAWALL - DAY
Ishmael and his companions have been joined by others. Sixty or
so men mill in the shadow of the seawall. The beach is littered
with dead marines and wounded, calling for help. As Ishmael
glances up, a SERGEANT leaps ONTO the seawall, cigarette dangling
from his mouth...
SERGEANT
You pussies are the kinda chickenshits
deserve to have your balls chewed
off real slow when this is over!
Stands with his hands on his hips. The men below him properly
mesmerized.
SERGEANT
Any man who won't follow me over
this wall is a cornhole-fucker with
a half-inch hard-on wh...
The words CUT OFF by the shell that RIPS THROUGH his spine, OPENING
his shirt front as he PITCHES forward FLAT upon the sand.
No one looks. No one speaks. It never happened.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I wanted to live. And I didn't
know why.
EXT. SEAWALL - NIGHT
Ishmael has a carbine now and a field machete. PULL BACK to reveal
300 MARINES all down the wall, a striking force assembled from the
survivors of multiple landings.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
Some colonel came down the beach.
Any man who didn't go over the wall
at 2100 would be court-martialed,
disgraced and imprisoned...
Every man lining up now, rifles at the ready.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
The captain who followed said shot
on sight.
They seem more resigned, or is it stunned numb, than terrified.
There is no interaction. Each man dealing with his own insides.
And suddenly...
...squad leaders go OVER THE WALL, the firing ERUPTS, and three
hundred marines SCRAMBLE into the teeth of it, mortar and machine-
gun BARRAGE lighting the sky from the row of battered palm trees,
Ishmael SPRINTING, the man next to him goes DOWN, Ishmael TURNS
instinctively, and a shot...
...RIPS into his left bicep, SPINNING him OFF his feet in SLO-MO,
falling to dirt as all goes...
BLACK.
INT. SHIPBOARD OPERATING ROOM - NIGHT
Ishmael feverish, writhing unconscious against the straps that
hold him to a table. All around him, a hell of men and blood
and doctors and limbs and shouted curses they never showed us
on M.A.S.H.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
My arm was dealt with by a
pharmacist's mate, whose surgical
career was four hours old.
Ishmael LURCHES, his eyes pop OPEN, wild and bleary...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
He used a handsaw.
...seeing there, in a corner, on a pile of blood-soaked
dressings...
...his left arm.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
I dream of it, now and then.
The way my fingers curled.
Against the wall.
He blinks at it. Realizing at last that the arm is his...
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
...fucking goddam Jap bitch!
An ORDERLY turns at the words. Nods. As if he knows.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
It was all I could think of to say.
His eyes squeeze shut.
ISHMAEL (V.O.)
There was nothing more to say.
For a long while.
INT. KABUO'S CELL - LATE NIGHT
CLOSE on a dark blue suit. Clean shirt. Hanging on a hook against
the green wall. PAN ACROSS the bars in the cell door's tiny
window. All is dark out there, and silent. Here...
...the bare bulb glows. Its light throws shadows of castles and
horses across the chessboard.
Kabuo cross-legged on the floor, alone. His back erect. His eyes
calm. Stare at the pieces.
EXT. WOODS - NIGHT
Kabuo at 19 sits on the earth. By a shovel. By a lantern. This
place is shielded by trees. PAN across the ground to...
...his father. Slowly, reverently, placing objects into burlap
sacks, beside a shallow hole in the earth. Wooden swords, hakama
pants, a bokken, scrolls written with care. Dialogue plays in
subtitled JAPANESE...
ZENHICHI
Your great-grandfather was a
samurai, a magnificent soldier.
The father never looks at the son. Only at his work.
ZENHICHI
He killed himself. On the
battlefield. At Kumamoto.
The boy knows this. Yet his entire being is focused on every word.
ZENHICHI