The Ninth Gate
A sunlit mountainscape of dazzling white cloud glides past the window beside which THE GIRL is drowsing with her head on CORSO’s shoulder. The cabin is bathed in milky radiance, the atmosphere is tranquil and soothing.
CORSO looks down at THE GIRL.
CORSO: Somebody’s playing a game with me.
THE GIRL (drowsily): Of course. You’re a part of it.
CORSO: What exactly happened back there?
THE GIRL Fargas caught someone stealing, I guess.
CORSO: And what do you guess happened to him?
THE GIRL simply): He drowned.
CORSO: With a little help from who?
THE GIRL (shrugs): He’s dead. Who cares?
CORSO: I care. I could wind up the same way.
THE GIRL Not with me around to take care of you.
CORSO: I see. You’re my guardian angel.
THE GIRL Something like that.
She removes her head from his shoulder, turns away, and snuggles up against the window instead.
52. PARIS AIRPORT ARRIVALS HALL INT/DAY
CORSO makes his way across the bustling arrivals hall. THE GIRL, now with a backpack slung over her blue duffel coat, is trailing along in his wake. He glances back at her occasionally.
The PASSENGERS slow as they reach the bottleneck at immigration control. CORSO, shuffling along in line, takes out his US passport in readiness to show it. He looks around for THE GIRL, but there’s no sign of her.
53. PARIS HOTEL EXT/DAY
A taxi drops CORSO in front of a modest but respectable three- star hotel. He hands some money through the driver’s window and heads for the entrance.
54. PARIS HOTEL: LOBBY, RECEPTION DESK INT/DAY
CORSO walks up to the reception desk, which is presided over by a desk clerk (GRUBER). A short, squat reincarnation of Erich von Stroheim, he wears his uniform like a Prussian grenadier.
CORSO: Hello, Gruber.
GRUBER looks up, acknowledges CORSO’s presence with a curt, faintly military inclination of the head.
GRUBER: Welcome, Mr. Corso. Delighted to see you again. (consults his computer screen) We don’t have any vacancies, but I’m sure I’ll be able to organize something.
CORSO: Thank you, Gruber.
Discreetly, he slides a 100 franc bill across the desk. GRUBER makes it vanish with elegant alacrity and smiles – almost.
GRUBER Thank you, sir.
55. PARIS HOTEL: CORSO’S ROOM INT/DAY
A bottle of Scotch and a glass repose on a small desk, likewise Balkan’s ‘Nine Gates’ and Fargas’s charred copy. A Lucky is smouldering in the ashtray beside them.
CORSO is turning the pages of what remains of Fargas’s copy. He pauses at a page of text bearing a distinctive ornamental capital, peers at the gutter, and detects that the page facing it has been torn out. Thoughtfully, he runs his finger along the rough edge. Then he opens Balkan’s copy at the same place.
What is missing from the charred copy is the engraving of THE HERMIT WITH THE KEYS, DOG, AND LANTERN.
CORSO takes a pull at his Scotch and leans back with the Lucky between his lips, thinking hard. Then he glances at his watch and stands up.
56. PONT DES ARTS EXT/DAY
It’s a fine day. CORSO, canvas bag on shoulder as usual, is striding across the bridge toward the Left Bank.
57. KESSLER BUILDING EXT/DAY
CORSO walks up to the entrance of a tall, well-preserved old building overlooking the Seine.
58. KESSLER BUILDING INT/DAY
A grim-faced CONCIERGE is sitting in her cubby-hole. She eyes CORSO inquiringly.
CONCIERGE: Monsieur?
CORSO: The Kessler Foundation.
CONCIERGE Dernia re astage.
She jerks her head in the direction of an old-fashioned elevator like a gilded cage.
59. KESSLER BUILDING: LOBBY INT/DAY
The SECRETARY is a big-bosomed, middle-aged woman with hornrims and scraped-back hair. She looks up at CORSO with an inquisitorial air.
CORSO: Bob Corso. I have an appointment with Baroness Kessler.
Having consulted her appointments book and her watch, the SECRETARY rises. She speaks with a French accent.
SECRETARY: This way.
She walks ahead of CORSO down a panelled corridor and stops outside a heavy wooden door.
SECRETARY (cont.): You have thirty minutes.
She knocks on the door and opens it.
60. KESSLER BUILDING: OFFICE, LIBRARY INT/DAY
A spacious room filled with luxuriant potted plants. Beside the window, a large desk. covered with papers and books, some of them open. CORSO follows the SECRETARY in. BARONESS KESSLER, an elegant little white-haired old lady with a Hermes scarf draped around her shoulders, turns her electric wheelchair to face him. She speaks with a pronounced German accent.
BARONESS KESSLER: Mr. Corso? Come in. I’ve heard a great deal about you.
She approaches with her left hand extended. We see that her right arm has been amputated at the elbow.,
CORSO: Nothing good, I hope.
They shake hands.
BARONESS KESSLER (to the SECRETARY): Merci, Simone (to CORSO): You hope right.
The SECRETARY exits, closing the door behind her.
CORSO (dryly.): I’m reassured, Baroness. In my trade, to be spoken well of can be professionally disastrous.
He surveys the room. Visible through some open double doors on the right is a vast library. He focuses on it. BARONESS KESSLER follows the direction of his gaze.
BARONESS KESSLER: Yes, there it is: the Kessler Collection.
CORSO: Very impressive too. I know your catalog almost by heart.
BARONESS KESSLER: Strange we haven’t met before. Your name is a byword among dealers and collectors but I imagine you know your own reputation better than I do.
CORSO: It keeps the wolf from the door. (smiles to change the subject) Were you in the middle of something?
BARONESS KESSLER beckons him over to the desk. CORSO looks at the array of books and papers. An elegant fountain pen lies on top of some handwritten notes.
BARONESS KESSLER: My latest work: ‘The Devil: History and Myth’ – a kind of biography. It will be published early next year.
CORSO: Why the Devil?
BARONESS KESSLER (laughs): I saw him one day. I was fifteen years old, and I saw him as plain as I see you now: cutaway, top hat, cane. Very elegant, very handsome. It was love at first sight.
COP.SO chuckles, doing his best to charm the old lady.
CORSO: Three hundred years ago they’d have burned you at the stake for saying that.
BARONESS KESSLER: Three hundred years ago I wouldn’t have said it.
They both laugh.
BARONESS KESSLER (cont.) Nor would I have made a million by writing about it. (abruptly businesslike) What is it you wish to discuss, Mr. Corso?
COP.SO (adjusts his glasses): There’s a book in your collection I’d like to examine.
She smiles as if that were already obvious.
COP.SO (cont.): It’s ‘The Book of the Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows’.
BARONESS KESSLER (unsurprised): The Nine Gates? An interesting work. Everyone’s been asking about it lately.
CORSO (stiffens almost imperceptibly): Really?
BARONESS KESSLER eyes him for a moment.
BARONESS KESSLER: Come with me.
Swinging her wheelchair around, she steers it toward the double doors and into the library beyond them. CORSO follows.
CORSO (cont.): You really believe in the Devil, Baroness?
BARONESS KESSLER: Enough to devote my life and my library to him, not to mention many years of work. Don’t you?
CORSO: Everyone’s been asking me that lately.
BARONESS KESSLER looks mildly amused. She sends her wheelchair gliding over to a bookshelf and removes the third copy of ‘The Nine Gates’.
BARONESS KESSLER: This book demands a certain amount of faith.
CORSO: My faith is in short supply.
They both go over to a small table in the centre of the room. BARONESS KESSLER opens the book and turns a few pages. There are handwritten slips of paper inserted throughout.
BARONESS KESSLER: I know this book extremely well. I studied it for years.
