FADE IN:
The flakes drift lazily down toward us. Our angle looks straight up.
Now an angle looking steeply down: the snow falls not quite dead away to collect on a
foreground chimneypot and on the little shtetl street that lies maplike below us.
It is night, and quiet, and the street is deserted except for one man who walks away from
us, his valenki squeaking in the fresh snow. He leads a horse and cart.
We cut down to street level. The man walks toward us, bearded, and bundled against the
cold. Smiling, he mutters in Yiddish—the dialogue subtitled.
Man
What a marvel . . . what a marvel. . .
HOUSE INTERIOR:
Its door opens and the man enters.
Man
Dora!
Voice
Yes. . .
The man crosses to the stove with a bundle of wood. Dora’s voice continues:
. . . Can you help me with the ice?
The man dumps the wood into a box by the stove as his wife enters with an ice pick. pick.
. . . I expected you hours ago.
Man
You can’t imagine what just happened. I was coming back
on the Lublin road when the wheel came off the cart—
thank heavens it was the way back and I’d already sold the
geese!
Wife
How much?
Man
Fifteen groshen, but that’s not the story. I was struggling to
set the cart upright when a droshky approaches from the
direction of Lvov. How lucky, you think, that someone is
out this late.
Wife
Yes, very remarkable.
Man
But that’s the least of it! He stops to help me; we talk of
this, we talk of that—it turns out this is someone you know!
Traitle Groshkover!
His wife stares at him as he beams. He takes the stare as a sign that she can’t place the
name.
. . . You know, Reb Groshkover! Pesel Bunim’s uncle!
The chacham from Lodz, who studied under the Zohar reb
in Krakow!
Still she stares. Then, quietly:
Wife
God has cursed us.
Man
What?
Wife
Traitle Groshkover has been dead for three years.
Laughter erupts from the man but, as his wife continues to stare at him, he strangles on it.
Quiet.
Wind whistles under the eaves.
The man says quietly:
Traitle Groshkover has been dead for three years.
Laughter erupts from the man but, as his wife continues to stare at him, he strangles on it.
Quiet.
Wind whistles under the eaves.
The man says quietly:
Man
Why do you say such a thing! I saw the man! I talked to
him!
Wife
You talked to a dybbuk. Traitle Groshkover died of typhus
in Pesel Bunim’s house. Pesel told me—she sat shiva for
him.
They stare at each other. Outside, the wind quickens.
A rap at the door.
Neither husband nor wife immediately respond.
Finally, to her husband:
. . . Who isit?
Man
I . . . invited him here. For some soup, to warm himself.
The wind moans.
. . . He helped me, Dora!
THE DOOR:
We are looking in from the outside as the door unlatches and creaks in, opened by the
husband in the foreground, who has arranged his face into a strained look of greeting. In
the background the wife stares, hollow-eyed.
Man
Reb Groshkover! You are welcome here!
Reverse on Reb Groshkover: a short, merry-looking fellow with a bifurcated beard. He
gives a little squeal of delight.
Reb Groshkover
You are too kind, Velvel! Too kind!
He steps into the house and sees the wife staring at him.
. . . And you must be Dora! So much I have heard of you!
Yes, your cheeks are pink and your legs are stout! What a
wife you have!
The husband chuckles nervously.
Man
Yes! A ray of sun, a ray of sun! Sit!
Wife
My husband said he offered you soup.
Reb Groshkover
Yes, but I couldn’t possibly eat this late, or I’d have
nightmares. No, no: no soup for me!
Wife
I knew it.
Reb Groshkover laughs.
Reb Groshkover
I see! You think I’m fat enough already!
He settles, chuckling, into his chair, but Dora remains sober:
Wife
No. A dybbuk doesn’t eat.
Reb Groshkover stares at her, shocked.
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"A Serious Man" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2018. Web. 26 Sep. 2018. <https://www.scripts.com/script/a_serious_man_550>.
