Animals with the Tollkeeper

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1

Animals with The Tollkeeper

It has been almost three years,

Since I first heard the

story of the tollkeeper.

At first, the tale seemed

too unimaginable to be true.

But as I heard more and more rumours

of this contemporary phenomenon,

the myth became a

source of great intrigue.

Finding the exact location of this man

required true detective work.

But after months of trekking

the deserts of Southern Utah,

We have found our quarry.

Hello!

I am a film-maker.

Interested in talking with you.

I would like to talk to you on film.

Are you gonna go on?

No. We came to talk with you.

Go on, Fillmore. Go inside.

An unexpected snag.

Our subject appears to be apprehensive.

This first day was not so successful.

This man has shown a

strange resistance to us.

Our concerns have now

turned to the weather.

A storm is on the way.

We must prepare for its arrival.

We shall stay in the truck,

except for Henri, our sound-man,

who has volunteered to stay

in a small tent with a camera.

Felipe thinks Henri is insane. I agree.

We are happy to see Henri.

We are happy that we have survived

the brutality of the desert night.

But now, we must get back to work.

Please!

I have searched for

you for three years.

Give me one minute of time.

We have run into an immovable object.

We must try an unorthodox approach.

Look at Felipe!

Look, what he can do!

Look at us!

Isn't this amazing. Come on.

You can stand on Felipe's stomach.

Felipe's years in the

circus have paid off.

At long last, we have made a friend.

This is the toll-gate.

What is wrong?

I feel kinda naked without my tuba.

This is the toll-gate.

It's the most essential part

of the toll-gathering mechanism.

On this day, we were treated

to a feast of prairie dog,

cactus wine, and what looked

like the meat from a small bird.

His initial unwillingness to talk to us,

seems a distant memory.

Now we could not keep

him quiet if we tried.

When I was a young man,

I played third horn in

the Milbert and Gilmore

all-marching band, out in San Francisco.

I love playing the horn.

But I didn't play too good.

Not for the marching band.

I play good enough for out here.

One day after we gave

a real bad performance,

I got an idea. It was

gonna be a gold-rush town.

It sprang up from nowhere,

about 50 miles to my right down here.

And another gold-rush

town spring up to my left.

And it only made sense that

people were gonna go back and forth.

So I said, 'If I put a toll-gate

between the two, I could make a fortune!'

So I packed my wagon up.

Here I am!

As time went on, my horse died, two towns died.

But I still have a feeling

that someday somebody's

gonna build a big road

right through here.

It's just a matter of time.

Has anyone ever passed

through your toll-booth?

No, not yet.

You have been here fifty years?

Yes, that's right.

The second and most

important part of this toll operation,

Is this coin-deposit facility.

Filmore came to me eight years

ago. Just wondered up one day.

Never taught him to

dance. He just does it.

When he sleeps, the toll-keeper's

dreams are filled with effigies of romance

he could only only in the

silence of a desert night.

This morning's sunrise was

accompanied by a strange humming

sound coming from the distant horizon.

A spectacular event will occur.

After fifty years of waiting,

an automobile will pass

through the toll-keeper's gate.

Preparations have begun.

I see it! L'arrive!

Gotta get it ready for the next

folks that come by. There'll be others.

Too many broken people

today. No place to go.

No hope.

So they'll come to

me because I'll be waiting for

them. with my tuba, and they'll stop.

They'll stop at my gate and

they'll be still like the wind.

And they'll hear my music.

That'll fix them.

And it'll only cost them a nickel.

This day we said goodbye

to our strange new friend.

Whether our expedition was

successful, I do not know but

I am satisfied.

Today, I feel less a film-maker

than an archaeologist.

Who has stumbled across

a rare but fragile relic.

who marvelled at its beauty

momentarily, and must walk softly away.

leaving no footprints.

Henry, can you hear me?

Where are you, Henry?

Where are you?

Out of sorrow we walk in

the language of a dream.

You must have heard it somewhere?

Stuck in his head and it

rolls around and around.

I hate to rush you, but I've

been half a fart behind all day.

Where are you going again?

Under the bridge, where all the

old Mafia dudes used to hang out.

You think he's an idiot, don't you?

You're not one of those guys that's

that's gonna yap the whole time,

are you? 'Cus I don't like yappers.

No, I'm not like that, I keep to

myself. You happen to bug me too.

It's a popular misconception,

the idiot thing.

He butchers his

words, but they're always well

chosen. He's clean, compulsively

Show him your nails, friend.

That was a close shave.

Sorry.

You're in your own little

world today, aren't you?

Got your own little symbiosis

going with yourself.

Talk to your friend, will you?

He's got his own little world, himself.

Smiles all the time.

Even at his mother's

funeral, he smiled.

Must be a nice life.

Easy navigation for perpetual bliss.

7-25

Imagine a guy like

you with a guy like me.

ending up alone together

under a bridge like this.

Pretty romantic, huh?

Necessity makes strange bedfellows.

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