O Brother, Where Art Thou? Page #3

PETE:

He said we wouldn't get it! He said

we wouldn't get the treasure we seek!

Everett grows testy:

EVERETT:

Well what does he know - he's an

ignorant old man! Jesus, Pete, I'm

telling you I buried it myself, and

if your cousin still runs this-here

horse farm and has a forge and some

shoein' impediments to restore our

liberty of movement-

Bang! A rifle shot kicks up dust in front of the men.

CHILD'S VOICE

Hold it rah chair!

The front of the farm house shows only a harshly shaded front

porch and a dark screen door.

The screen door swings open and a child emerges on to the

porch and steps down into the sunlight, holding a gun almost

bigger than he is. The grimy-faced boy, about eight years

old, wears tattered overalls.

CHILD:

You men from the bank?

PETE:

You Wash's boy?

CHILD:

Yassir! And Daddy tolt me I'm to

shoot whosoever from the bank!

He pokes his rifle at the three men, who raise their hands.

DELMAR:

Well, we ain't from no bank, young

feller.

CHILD:

Yassir! I'm also suppose to shoot

folks servin' papers!

DELMAR:

Well we ain't got no papers.

CHILD:

Yassir! I nicked the census man!

DELMAR:

There's a good boy. Is your daddy

about?

THE BACK OF THE HOUSE

Wash Hogwallop, a sour-looking bald man, sits near a rusted

bathtub in a yard littered with ancient car parts and farm

implements overgrown with weeds. He is whittling artlessly

at a stick.

He glances up as the three convicts clank around the corner,

then returns to his whittling.

WASH:

'Lo, Pete. Hooor yer friends?

EVERETT:

Pleased to make your acquaintance,

Mister Hogwallop. M'name's Ulysses

Everett McGill.

DELMAR:

'N I'm Delmar O'Donnell.

PETE:

How ya been, Wash? Been what, twelve,

thirteen year'n?

Still looking sourly at his whittling:

WASH:

You've grown chatty.

He tosses the stick aside and sighs.

WASH:

I expect you'll want them chains

knocked off.

THE HOGWALLOP KITCHEN

The four men and little boy sit around the kitchen table

eating stew. A Sears Roebuck catalogue on the boy's chair

brings him to table height. The cons are now rid of their

chains and are dressed in ill-fitting farmer's wear.

WASH:

They foreclosed on Cousin Vester. He hanged himself a year

come May.

PETE:

And Uncle Ratliff?

WASH:

The anthrax took most of his cows.

The rest don't milk, and he lost a

boy to mumps.

PETE:

Where's Cora, Cousin Wash?

Wash glances at the little boy.

WASH:

Couldn't say. Mrs. Hogwallop up and

R-U-N-N-O-F-T.

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