Fences Page #2

bono:
I see you be walking up around Alberta’s house.

You supposed to be at Taylors’ and you be walking

up around there.

troy:
What you watching where I’m walking for? I ain’t

watching after you.

bono:
I seen you walking around there more than once.

troy:
Hell, you liable to see me walking anywhere!

That don’t mean nothing because you seen me walking

around there.

bono:
Where she come from anyway? She just kinda

showed up one day.

troy:
Tallahassee. You can look at her and tell she one

of them Florida gals. They got some big healthy

women down there. Grow them right up out the ground.

Got a little bit of Indian in her. Most of them

n*ggers down in Florida got some Indian in them.

Tallahassee. You can look at her and tell she one

of them Florida gals. They got some big healthy

women down there. Grow them right up out the ground.

Got a little bit of Indian in her. Most of them

n*ggers down in Florida got some Indian in them.

bono:
I don’t know about that Indian part. But she

damn sure big and healthy. Woman wears some big

stockings. Got them great big old legs and hips

as wide as the Mississippi river.

troy:
Legs don’t mean nothing. You don’t do nothing

but push them out of the way. But them hips cushion

the ride!

bono:
Troy, you ain’t got no sense.

troy:
It’s the truth! Like you riding on Goodyears!

Troy cracks the seal of the bottle of

gin, pours some out on the ground . . .

for the folks that are long gone.

EXT. TROY’S AND ROSE’S BACKYARD—

AFTERNOON:

In the center of the yard, a large

tree, two chairs beneath it. A

battered baseball hangs from a rope

tied to a tree limb; a big weathered

bat leans against the trunk.

The yard is bordered on either side by

fences and houses. At the rear,

there’s a derelict wooden house with

boarded windows. The remnants of a

fence are strewn between the wild lot

behind the abandoned house and the

Maxsons’ yard.

Materials for a new fence . . . a

couple of wooden sawhorses waiting for

the lumber stacked under a tarp. One

or two chairs of dubious value sit at

one end where the kitchen window opens

onto the porch. An old-fashioned ice

box stands silent guard at the other

end.

Rose maxson comes out onto the porch,

holding a bowl of snap peas. She is

ten years younger than troy. Her

devotion to him stems from the

recognition of the possibilities of

her life without him: a succession of

abusive men and their babies, a life

of partying and running the streets,

the church, or aloneness with its

attendant pain and frustration. She

recognizes troy’s spirit as a fine and

illuminating one and she either

ignores or forgives his faults, only

some of which she recognizes. Though

she doesn’t drink, her presence is an

integral part of the friday night

rituals.

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