Holding the towel to his head, he returns to the living room,
where he picks up the phone and punches out a number. We hear a
recorded announcement:
BERNIE (V.O.): Hi, this is Bernie’s Rare Books. I’m not available
right now. If you want to leave a message, please speak after the
beep-
CORSO (into phone): Bernie, you there? Bernie? Pick up!
No response. He replaces the receiver.
27. BERNIE’S BOOKSTORE EXT/NIGHT
CORSO, bag on shoulder, is lurking in a doorway across the street
from the bookstore. The place looks silent and deserted, but a
dim glow indicates that a light must be on somewhere inside.
CORSO quits the doorway and hurries across the street. He walks
down the steps to the door and tries the handle. The door opens.
28. BERNIE’S BOOKSTORE INT/NIGHT .
Only Bernie’s desk light is on. No sign of Bernle himself. CORSO
listens intently, looks up at the top of the spiral staircase,
which is in shadow, calls in a low voice:
CORSO: Bernie?
No response. He listens some more: nothing but the sound of a
passing car.
He makes his way cautiously along the bookcases and rounds a
corner, then stops short with a look of horror on his face.
BERNIE has been lashed upside down to the handrail of the spiral
staircase. His mouth and eyes are open, and his battered face is
streaked with blood.
CORSO (cont.): Jesus Christ!
He puts out a hand toward BERNIE, but the man is so obviously
dead that he withdraws it. He looks around in an involuntary,
apprehensive way. Then, satisfied that he’s alone, he starts to
climb the staircase. Once past BERNIE’s corpse, which he
studiously avoids touching, he climbs faster. The staircase
creaks and sways.
Reaching the third tier of bookshelves, he presses a hidden
button. With a faint click, a panel springs open to disclose a
recess filled with books.
CORSO expels a deep breath. There it is, safe and sound: ‘The
Nine Gates’. He looks down at BERNIE.
CORSO: Thanks, man- I’m sorry-
29. AIRLINER INT/DAY
CORSO, ensconced in a window seat, is moodily gazing out at some
passing cloud-castles. The sun is setting.
30. SPANISH AIRPORT INT/NIGHT
The brightly illuminated arrivals hall is thronged with
PASSENGERS in transit.
COP.SO, wearing his overcoat and carrying his suitcase, threads
his way through them with the canvas bag on his shoulder. Weary
and unshaven, he stares straight ahead with an abstracted
expression, adjusts his glasses.
31. TOLEDO STREET, ALLEYWAY EXT/DAY
CORSO’s footsteps echo ans he walks, bag on shoulder, along one of Toledo’s narrow medieval streets. Very few people to be seen. The sun is shining brightly, but there’s a strong wind blowing.
Rounding a corner, CORSO heads down an alleyway flanked by
scaffolding swathed in protective netting and blue tarpaulins.
it’s completely deserted. No sound but that of canvas billowing
in the wind like a ship’s sails. He consults a street sign, turns
another corner.
He reaches a doorway leading to an inner courtyard, bumps into a
BOY who comes running out. We hear the strident cries of a woman.
BOY: S!, si, mama!!!
A flight of steps in one corner of the courtyard leads down to
the basement. CORSO descends them and stops outside a door. A
grimy window beside it serves to display some old books and
religious prints. The sign on the door reads HERMANOS CENIZA
RESTAURACION DE LIBROS. Below it: ‘On parle Francais’ and
‘English spoken’. CORSO opens the door, which creaks.
32. CENIZA BROS. WORKSHOP INT/DAY
CORSO enters. A gaunt, bent-backed old man (PEDRO CENIZA) with a
pair of glasses perched on the end of his big nose looks up from
an old hand press. Everything about him is as gray as the
cigarette ash that rains down on his clothes and the books he’s
working on. He’s a chain-smoker.
PEDRO: Senor.
CORSO: Buenas tardes.
PEDRO: Buenes tardes.
PABLO (O.S.) Buenas tardes.
CORSO turns to see another old man (PABLO CENIZA) surface from
behind some stacks of paper. His resemblance to PEDRO – bent
back, big nose, spectacles – is such that they can only be twins.
PABLO wipes his inky hand on a rag before shaking CORSO’S. PEDRO
follows suit.
CORSO hesitates briefly, taken aback by this dual apparition.
PEDRO and PABLO look him up and down with their keen, twinkling
little eyes. Their movements are slow and serene, their
expression carries a hint of mockery, and they often exchange
knowing smiles. They’re so in sync that they communicate by means
of glances and finish off each other’s sentences.
CORSO: You speak English?
They nod simultaneously. He produces ‘The Nine Gates’ from his
shoulder bag.
CORSO (cont.): I’d appreciate your opinion on this.
PEDRO takes the book with tremulous hands. PABLO quickly clears
away some parchments on the workbench to make room for it.
Some ash from PEDRO’s cigarette falls on the cover.
PABLO clicks his tongue and blows it off.
PABLO (reprovingly): What a habit for a bookbinder! (smiles at
CORSO) ‘The Nine Gates- ‘ A superb edition. Very rare.
PEDRO (opens it): The Telfer copy.
CORSO: You used to own it, right?
PEDRO: We used to, yes.
PABLO: We sold it.
PEDRO: We sold it when the opportunity presented itself. it was
too-
PABLO: … too good to miss. An excellent sale.
PEDRO: An excellent buy – impeccable condition.
PABLO: Impeccable. You are the present owner?
CORSO: A client of mine.
PABLO (over his glasses): I would never have believed she would
part with it.
CORSO: She?
PABLO (without looking up): Senora Telfer.
CORSO reaches into his overcoat pocket and extracts a crumpled
cigarette. He’s raising it to his lips when he stops short,
produces the equally crumpled pack and offers it to PEDRO, who
has just discarded his butt.
PEDRO helps himself to a Lucky, breaks off the filter and jams it
in his mouth. CORSO lights both of them.
CORSO 1 understood it was Mr. Telfer that bought it.
PABLO: He paid for it.
PEDRO: It was the senora who made him buy it. He did not seem
particularly- (glances at PABLO)
PABLO: ..interested.
PEDRO has finished examining the text. He looks at the spine.
PEDRO: A superb specimen.
CORSO (hesitates briefly): Could it be a forgery?
PEDRO (suspiciously, almost indignantly) A forgery? (turns to
PABLO) You heard that, Pablo?
PABLO wags his finger reprovingly in CORSO’s face.
PABLO: I took you for a professional, senor. You speak too
lightly of forgeries.
PEDRO: Far too lightly.
PABLO: Forging a book is expensive. Paper of the period, the
right inks- . (makes a dismissive gesture) Too expensive to be
profitable.
PEDRO and PABLO assess the effect of their words on CORSO, who
digests them.
CORSO: I’m aware of all that, but could some part of it be
forged? Restorers have been known to replace missing pages with
pages taken from another copy of the same edition. Have you never
done that yourselves?
The old men look at each other, then turn to CORSO
simultaneously. PEDRO, looking flattered, nods.
PEDRO: Of course it can be done.
PABLO: It requires great skill, naturally, but yes, it can be
done.
CORSO: Couldn’t that be the case here?
PABLO: What makes you ask?
CORSO: My client wishes to satisfy himself of the book’s
authenticity.
The brothers eye each other over their glasses. CORSO adjusts his
own.
CORSO (cont.) : His name is Balkan. Boris Balkan of New York.
PABLO and PEDRO exchange another glance. CORSO detects the hint
of a smile that passes between them.
PEDRO: All books have a destiny of their own.
PABLO: Even a life of their own. Senor Balkan is a noted
bibliophile. He’s no fool. He must know this book is authentic.
PEDRO: We know it.
PABLO: So must he.
PEDRO: This book was with us for years.
PABLO: Many years.
PEDRO: We had ample opportunity to examine it thoroughly. The
printing and binding are superb examples of 17th century Venetian
craftsmanship.
He picks up the book and riffles the pages under CORSO’s nose.
PEDRO (cont.): Finest rag paper, resistant to the passage of
time! None of your modern wood pulp!
PABLO: Watermarks, identical shades, ink, type faces- If this
is a forgery, or a copy with pages restored, it’s the work of a
master.
PEDRO: A master.
CORSO contemplates the brothers with a smile.
CORSO: Did you study the engravings? They seem to form a kind of
riddle.
PEDRO and PABLO reopen the book and look at the engravings.
PABLO: Well, yes- (another glance at PEDRO) Books of this type
often contain little puzzles.
PEDRO: Especially in the case of such an illustrious
collaborator.
CORSO looks at PEDRO with sudden interest, then at the book, then
back at PEDRO.
CORSO: Collaborator?
PEDRO shrugs, PABLO refocuses on CORSO.
PEDRO: You cannot have proceeded very far with your research.
Come, look closely.
He takes a magnifying glass and holds it over one of the
engravings, which shows A HERMIT WITH TWO KEYS IN HIS HAND AND A
DOG AND A LANTERN BESIDE HIM.
A microscopic inscription can be detected in the bottom right
corner.
CORSO bends over it, looking mystified. PEDRO grows impatient.
PEDRO (cont.): Don’t you see? Only seven of the engravings were
signed by Aristide Torchia.
CORSO: And the other two?
PEDRO: This is one of them. Look.
CORSO peers through the magnifying glass once more.
We see the INSERT ‘Invenit L.F.’
CORSO: ‘L.F.’? Who’s that?
PEDRO: Think.
CORSO: Lucifer?
PEDRO and PABLO chuckle heartily.
PEDRO: You’re a clever man, senor. Torchia was not alone when
they burned him alive.
CORSO: But that’s absurd! You don’t honestly believe-
PEDRO: The man who wrote this did so in alliance with the Devil
and went to the stake for it. Even Hell has its heroes, senor.
CORSO looks from one to the other, trying to figure this out.
33. TOLEDO ALLEYWAY EXT/DAY
CORSO walks back along the narrow alleyway with the canvas-
covered scaffolding. He glances over his shoulder. Not a soul in
sight. The blue canvas flaps in the wind, the scaffolding creaks
and groans. He walks on.
He hears a sudden rending sound, looks back and up.
There’s little time to react: the scaffolding has come away from
its mountings. it’s starting to buckle and fall out into the
street.
Desperately, he breaks into a run. Behind him, collapsing like a
house of cards, the mass of canvas and metal gains on him as he
sprints for the end of the alley, summoning up all his energy for
a final burst.
The last of the scaffolding hits the ground only inches behind
him. He looks back at the tangled mass that has only just failed
to engulf him.
34. TRAIN EXT/NIGHT
A train speeds through the darkness.
35. TRAIN: DINING CAR INT/NIGHT
The dining car is deserted save for CORSO and a STEWARD, who is
lolling against the kitchen bulkhead at the far end.
CORSO, with a coffee cup and a brandy glass at his elbow, has
‘The Nine Gates’ lying open in front of him at THE ENGRAVING OF
THE HERMIT WITH THE KEYS, DOG, AND LANTERN. There’s some
cigarette ash trapped between the pages. Smiling faintly, he
blows it away. Then he reaches into his bag for his magnifying
glass, pushes up his steel-rimmed specs, and screws the glass
into his eye. He examines the engraving at close range.
We see again the INSERT of the inscription ‘Invenit L.F.’
CORSO straightens up and removes the glass from his eye. He
finishes his brandy and beckons the STEWARD.
36. TRAIN: CORRIDOR INT/NIGHT
The clickety-clack of wheels on tracks swells in volume as CORSO,
bag on shoulder, crosses the sliding floorplates that connect one
car to another.
He enters the next corridor and stops short: there’s a lone
figure leaning against a window, looking out: it’s THE GIRL we
saw at Balkan’s lecture: short dark hair, catlike green eyes,
slim, athletic figure, jeans and white sneakers.
CORSO sets off along the corridor. When he reaches her, they eye
each other’s reflections in the windowpane.
THE GIRL (softly): Hi.
CORSO pauses to look at her, unable to make up his mind.
CORSO: I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?
THE GIRL: Have you?
CORSO: Yes, somewhere.
A brief silence.
THE GIRL: Are you traveling in this car?
CORSO: The next one.
THE GIRL: The sleeper. (smiles) I travel on the cheap.
CORSO: Are you a student?
THE GIRL: Something like that. (looks out the window again) I
like trains.
CORSO: Me too. What’s your name?
THE GIRL: Guess.
CORSO: (shrugs, smiles): Greeneyes.
THE GIRL: That’ll do. What’s yours?
CORSO: Corso.
THE GIRL: Strange name.
CORSO: Italian. it means ‘I run’.
THE GIRL: You don’t look like a runner to me – more the quiet
type.
They look at each other’s reflections once more. THE GIRL’s gaze
is direct and unwavering. CORSO terminates their encounter with a
diffident little nod.
CORSO: Well, have a good trip.
THE GIRL: And you.
CORSO walks on down the corridor. There’s something weird about
this chance encounter, but he can’t figure out what.
THE GIRL (cont.): See you around, maybe.
CORSO pauses and looks back. She’s still leaning against the
window, staring out. He nods.
CORSO: Maybe.
37. SINTRA STATION EXT/DAY
It’s a damp, gray morning. A sign reads: ‘SINTRA’.
CORSO, bag on shoulder and Samsonite suitcase in hand, gets off
the train.
38. QUINTA FARGAS GATEWAY EXT/DAY
One of Sintra’s traditional horse-drawn carriages drops CORSO in
front of a massive gateway flanked by stone walls thick with ivy.
Some birds peer down at him from a branch.
The gateposts are surmounted by two mildew-covered female busts
in gray stone, one of them with its face obscured by ivy. CORSO
contemplates them for a moment, then pushes open the gate, which
squeaks protestingly. Beyond it, a neglected drive.
39. QUINTA FARGAS: DRIVEWAY, GROUNDS EXT/DAY
A gray, desolate, infinitely melancholy scene. Dead leaves litter
a gravel driveway flanked by crumbling statues, some of which
have toppled over onto the long-neglected, weed-infested lawn.
CORSO’s muffled footsteps are the only sound.
Near the house is a dried-up, dilapidated fountain faced with
tiles and topped by a mouldering cherub. The waters of the
ornamental pond beside it are dark as molasses and coated with
dead leaves and water lilies.
The Quinta Fargas is a gloomy, four-square, 18th century mansion.
CORSO walks up the steps and tugs the old-fashioned bellpull. A
mournful jangling sound issues from the recesses of the house.
CORSO waits, glances at his watch.
Echoing footsteps approach. A sound of bolts being withdrawn, and
the door opens to reveal VICTOR FARGAS. Tall and emaciated as an
El Greco saint, he has a drooping white mustache. His baggy
trousers and oversized woollen sweater contrast with a pair of
old but immaculately polished shoes. His appearance perfectly
matches his melancholy surroundings.
FARGAS: Yes?
CORSO: Bob Corso, Mr. Fargas. (Puts out his hand) How do you do.
FARGAS hesitates before shaking hands. Then his face clears.
FARGAS: Corso, ah yes. Please come in.
40. QUINTA FARGAS: RECEPTION ROOMS, DRAWING ROOM INT/DAY
FARGAS, who has a slight limp, leads the way through two
reception rooms, once imposing but now entirely bare and empty.
By the dim light that filters through their dusty windows, CORSO
observes the patches on the walls that indicate the former
location of paintings, curtains, pieces of furniture, etc.
FARGAS: Home, sweet home!
He ushers CORSO into a large but sparsely furnished drawing room.
FARGAS (cont.): You won’t say no to a brandy, 1 take it?
He goes over to a side table and pours some cognac into two fine
crystal glasses.
CORSO, meantime, is surveying the room. At the far end, a huge
open fireplace. Two ill-assorted armchairs, a table, a sideboard,
some candlesticks, a violin case – and books. They’re neatly
stacked on the floor and the few pieces of furniture. CORSO has
just discovered them when FARGAS comes over with the glasses. He
puts his bag down and takes one.
CORSO: Thanks. (admiringly) Handsome glasses.
FARGAS: These are the only ones I have left.
CORSO looks around the room.
CORSO: Must have been a beautiful place.
FARGAS: it was, but old families are like ancient civilizations:
they wither and die.
He raises his glass in a silent toast. CORSO reciprocates. FARGAS
gestures at the books.
FARGAS (cont.): There they are, eight hundred and thirty-four of
them. A pity you didn’t see them in better times, in their
bookcases. I used to have five thousand. These are the survivors.
CORSO, runs his fingers caressingly over a book.
CORSO: So this is the Fargas collection. Not quite as I imagined
it.
FARGAS: C’est la vie, my friend. But I keep them in perfect
condition, safe from damp, light, heat and rats. I dust and air
them every day. it’s all I do do, in fact.
CORSO: What happened to the rest?
FARGAS: Sacrificed in a good cause. I had to sell them to
preserve the others. Five or six books a year. Almost all the
proceeds go to the state in taxes.
CORSO: Why don’t you sell up?
FARGAS: Sell the Fargas family estate? it’s obvious you’re an
American, my friend. There are things you can’t be expected to
understand.
CORSO continues to survey the books, fascinated.
CORSO: If you sold all these your financial problems would be
over- (picks up a book and examines it) Look at this,
Poliphilo, for example: a real gem!
He replaces it. FARGAS leans over and carefully adjusts the book
until it’s precisely in its original position.
FARGAS: I know, but if I sold them all I’d have no reason to go
on living. More brandy?
He heads for the bottle on the side table without waiting for a
reply.
CORSO: What about ‘The Nine Gates’?
FARGAS (puzzled): What about it?
CORSO: That’s why I’m here.. I told you on the phone.
FARGAS: The phone? (pause) Yes, of course, I remember now.
Forgive me. Of course, ‘The Nine Gates’.
He looks around several times as if trying to collect his
thoughts, drains his cognac, and limps over to some books on a
rug near the fireplace. FARGAS and CORSO kneel on the rug side by
side. CORSO examines the books, which all deal with magic,
alchemy and demonology.
FARGAS (cont.): Well, what do you think?
CORSO: Not bad.
FARGAS: Not bad indeed. These I will never sell. At least tan of
them are exceedingly rare. Look, Plancy’s ‘Dictionary of Hell’,
first edition, 1842, Leonardo Fioravanti’s ‘Compendi di Secreti’
of 1571- But this is what interests you, no?
He picks up a black book with a gold pentacle on the cover – the
second copy of ‘The Nine Gates’ – and holds it out. CORSO takes
it carefully and gets to his feet. FARGAS rises too.
FARGAS (cont.): There it is, in perfect condition. it has
travelled the world for three-and-a-half centuries, yet it might
have been printed yesterday.
CORSO takes the book over to a window. FARGAS follows.
CORSO: Is it in order? You haven’t detected anything unusual?
FARGAS: Unusual? No. The text is complete, the engravings too.
Nine plus the title page, just as the catalogs state – just like
the Kessler in Paris and the Telfer in New York.
CORSO: it Isn’t the Telfer anymore. Telfer killed himself, but he
sold his copy to Balkan first.
FARGAS: Balkan- If he sets his heart on a book, no price is too
high-
He reflects for a moment, shaking his head and staring at the
floor.
FARGAS (cont.): it’s strange he should have sent you here, if he
already-
He breaks off as If something has just occurred to him. He points
to CORSO’s bag.
FARGAS (cont.): You have it with you? May I see it?
CORSO fetches the book, and they go over to a table. FARGAS
places the two copies side by side, bends over them.
FARGAS (cont.): Superb, beautiful, identical. Two of the only
three that escaped the flames, reunited for the first time in
over three centuries.
The shadows are lengthening. FARGAS reverently turns the pages of
each book In turn, caresses the yellowing paper with his
fingertips.
FARGAS (cont.): Look at this imperfection In the fourth line here – the damaged S. The same type, the same impression.
He turns both copies of ‘The Nine Gates’ over to reveal their
backboards.
FARGAS (cont.): You see? If it weren’t for this slight
discoloration on the back of my copy, one couldn’t tell them
apart.
CORSO: If it’s all right with you, I’d like to stay awhile and
study them in detail.
FARGAS (eyes him keenly): What are you looking for, Mr. Corso?
CORSO: I wish I knew.
FARGAS looks suddenly grave.
FARGAS: Some books are dangerous. Not to be opened with impunity.
CORSO (with equal gravity): Very true.
41. QUINTA FARGAS: DRAWING ROOM INT/DUSK
A fire is burning on the hearth. FARGAS, seated at a window, is
practicing the violin. He repeats the same short piece over and
over again, occasionally pausing to take a sip of brandy.
CORSO Is sitting at a table with both copies of ‘The Nine Gates’
open in front of him at the engraving of THE KNIGHT WITH A FINGER
TO HIS LIPS. CORSO compares the two copies with the aid of his
magnifying glass. They look identical.
CORSO turns over several pages in each book until he comes to THE
HERMIT WITH THE KEYS, DOG, AND LANTERN. He compares the two
copies. Again, no apparent difference.
He proceeds to a third engraving: A WAYFARER APPROACHING A BRIDGE
WITH TWO GATE TOWERS AND AN ANGELIC ARCHER IN THE CLOUDS
OVERHEAD. Another seemingly identical pair. Then he stops short
and returns to the second engraving. it looks the same, but-
Then he spots it: in Balkan’s copy the keys are In the Hermit’s
right hand, in Fargas’s copy In his left!
Fascinated by this discovery, CORSO peers closely at each
signature In turn. Balkan’s reads ‘A.T.’, Fargas’s- ‘L.F.’
CORSO turns to an engraving of A JESTER OUTSIDE A MAZE WITH TWO
ENTRANCES. Comparison of the two copies reveals that in Fargas’s
copy one of the doorways is open; in Balkan’s it’s bricked up.
The signatures, too, vary: ‘A.T.’ in one, ‘L.F.’ in the other.
CORSO (excitedly, under his breath): Now we’re getting somewhere
…
An old-fashioned telephone bell starts ringing in the bowels of
the house. CORSO looks up.
FARGAS doesn’t hear the bell immediately. He plays on for a bar
or two, then pauses and listens with his head cocked. The
telephone continues to ring. His chair scrapes the floorboards as
he gets to his feet. He puts the violin down and limps out.
42. QUINTA FARGAS: DRAWING ROOM INT/NIGHT
CORSO’s open notebook now displays a chart consisting of two
horizontal rows of nine boxes. One row is marked ‘BALKAN’, the
other ‘FARGAS’.
CORSO is busy filling In the boxes with either ‘A.T.’ or ‘L.F.’
FARGAS reappears. He gives CORSO a friendly nod, returns to the
window and launches Into the same old piece on his violin.
CORSO has now filled in all the boxes. He studies them for a
moment, then rings all the ‘L.F.’s in red.
43. QUINTA FARGAS: GATEWAY, ROAD EXT/NIGHT
Under an owl’s vigilant gaze, CORSO shuts the gate. His breath Is
visible as steam In the chilly night air. After a last backward
look at the statue-bordered driveway and the neglected garden, he
turns up his overcoat collar, settles his bag on his shoulder,
and sets off down the road toward the lights of Sintra, which are
visible in the distance. His footsteps re-echo from the wall that
bounds the Fargas property.
Then it happens: he hasn’t gone far when two headlights snap on
behind him. Simultaneously, the car starts up and takes off with
a squeal of tires.
CORSO spins around. He stands there transfixed for a moment, then
dodges behind a projecting buttress as the car hurtles past,
missing him by a whisker.
The car, a big dark sedan, skids to a halt some twenty yards
away. The driver’ s door opens and A TALL MAN gets out. He
momentarily hesitates when he sees CORSO still on his feet.
Just then we hear a motor vehicle – a noisy one – rounding the
next bend. The TALL MAN is captured by a beam of light. CORSO has
seen him before: it’s the MUSTACHE.
The MUSTACHE decides to beat it. He dives back Into the car and
takes off fast.
CORSO, trembling with shock, watches the tail lights recede and
disappear. The sound of the approaching vehicle increases in
volume. CORSO turns to stare at it.
Wobbling unsteadily along the road comes a lone PEASANT astride a
ramshackle motorbike with a blown exhaust. The PEASANT honks as
he goes by. CORSO retrieves his bag from the roadside.
44. SINTRA HOTEL EXT/NIGHT
CORSO enters a small hotel.
45. SINTRA HOTEL: RECEPTION, LOUNGE INT/NIGHT
CORSO, still looking pretty rocky, collects his key from the
reception desk and sets off In the direction of the elevator.
Visible in the background Is the hotel lounge. TWO ELDERLY FEMALE
TOURISTS, possibly retired English schoolmarms, are quietly
conversing at one table while AN OVERWEIGHT GERMAN COUPLE sip
cocktails at another.
CORSO, idly scanning the lounge as he makes for the elevator,
stops short: a pair of legs In jeans and white sneakers are
jutting from an inglenook fireplace in the far corner. He goes
over to investigate.
THE GIRL Is snuggled up In an armchair with a book on her lap. He
hesitates for a moment. She looks up.
CORSO: Hi. You didn’t say you were bound for Sintra.
THE GIRL: Neither did you.
CORSO: What are you doing here?
THE GIRL Reading.
CORSO: I can see that.
THE GIRL: And bumping into people unexpectedly.
CORSO: Unexpectedly is right.
THE GIRL: Are you on a business trip? (indicates his shoulder
bag) Is that why you always carry that thing around?
CORSO doesn’t answer, adjusts his glasses. inquiringly at her
book.
THE GIRL hands it to him. We see the title: ‘The Devil in Love’
by Jacques Cazotte.
CORSO: You like Gothic novels?
THE GIRL: I like books. I never travel without one.
CORSO: Been traveling long?
THE GIRL: Ages.
CORSO eyes her, intrigued. She uttered the word in the simple,
natural way that characterizes all her behavior.
CORSO: You said you were a student?
THE GIRL: Did I? (shrugs) So I am. In a way.
CORSO shakes his head and smiles. He’s getting nowhere fast.
THE HOTEL PORTER appears at his elbow.
HOTEL PORTER: Excuse me, senhor. Phone call.
CORSO (surprised): For me? Are you sure?
HOTEL PORTER: Sim, senhor.
He withdraws. CORSO turns back to THE GIRL.
CORSO: Well, sorry I disturbed you.
He hands back the book and turns to go.
46. SINTRA HOTEL: PHONE BOOTH INT/NIGHT
CORSO picks up the receiver with a puzzled frown. He gestures
CORSO: Yes?
BALKAN (V.O.): Mr. Corso?
CORSO (startled): Balkan? How did you find me?
BALKAN (V.O.): Made any progress?
CORSO: Progress? You could call it that.
BALKAN (V.O.): Well?
CORSO: I’ve examined the Fargas copy. it’s authentic. At least it
looks that way. Like yours. But there are discrepancies.
BALKAN (V.O.): Discrepancies?
CORSO: In the engravings. Like keys in different hands, doorways
open In one copy and bricked up In the other.
BALKAN (V.O.): 1 see.
CORSO: And there’s another thing.
BALKAN (V.O.): Yes?
CORSO: The ones that differ are ail signed ‘L.F.’ Seems like some
kind of riddle.
A long pause.
CORSO (cont.): Are you still there? Where are you, anyway?
BALKAN (V.O.): I think you’d better get it for me.
CORSO: The old man wouldn’t sell it to save his life – he said as
much.
Another long pause.
CORSO (cont.): Balkan?
A click, and the line goes dead.
47. SINTRA HOTEL: CORSO’S ROOM INT/DAWN
The curtains are drawn, but there’s light enough for us to see
CORSO lying fast asleep on his back in bed, one limp arm trailing
over the edge.
A knock at the door. He grunts and props himself on one elbow.
CORSO (sleepily): Just a minute.
He rolls out of bed and wraps the bedspread around his waist.
Then he opens the door and stands there, a tousled figure with
Liana’s teeth marks clearly visible on his chest. THE GIRL is
outside.
THE GIRL: You left your phone off the hook.
CORSO: Jesus- (peers blearily at his watch): What time is it?
THE GIRL: Early, but you have to go.
CORSO (bewildered): Go where, for God’s sake?
THE GIRL: The Fargas place.
CORSO is at first too bemused to find it odd that she should know
the name.
CORSO: Fargas? I already saw Fargas.
THE GIRL: I think you should see him again.
CORSO: What is this, a practical joke? Who the hell are you? What
do you know about Fargas?
THE GIRL: Better get dressed. I’ll wait for you downstairs.
