Kafka Page #6

BIZZLEBEK:

I've read your stories. They're

fantastic.

KAFKA:

(not sure if he

believes him)

I don't know what you could have

read.

BIZZLEBEK:

Just what you've published.

KAFKA:

-- In magazines nobody reads.

BIZZLEBEK:

I read the one about the penal

colony.

KAFKA:

(cautious)

Did you?

BIZZLEBEK:

The needles inscribing the

judgement into the flesh of the

man.

(looks impressed)

Very good.

Kafka suspects he's being mocked. But perhaps not.

Bizzlebek steps out, buttoning his coat.

BIZZLEBEK:

If I could sculpt as well as that,

I'd be quite proud of myself.

He's already quite proud of himself -- tossing his scarf over

his shoulder with a flourish -- and striding off into the

night.

CUT:

THE CASTLE - NIGHT

Seen from just below, from the ancient cemetery that borders

its high, impregnable, imperial walls. The all-seeing-eye of

the city. An awesome edifice.

THE BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER

Kafka walking across from the Old Quarter toward the New

Town.

He passes some working-class types who seem vaguely

threatening. Do they mutter some remark behind his back?

CUT:

ALCHEMISTS' ROW - NIGHT

A bizarre street. Tiny little houses that look fashioned by

a toymaker, all bunched tightly next to each other, forming a

continuous rooftop of odd configurations and angles and

pointed chimneys. The street named after practitioners of

the black arts and dark sciences who inhabited it in the

Sixteenth Century.

Kafka's house is toward the back, a light shining from the

single upper window. Through it, Kafka is seen sitting at

the only desk that really matters to him -- his writing one.

KAFKA'S ROOM

He's struggling to get a sentence right -- rereading it to

himself.

KAFKA:

"As Gregor Samsa awoke one

morning from disturbing dreams

he ... from unsettling dreams ...

uneasy dreams ... Gregor Samsa ...

Gregor ...?"

(wondering)

Carl. George. Rudolf ...

Suddenly there's a loud KNOCK on the front door below.

DOWNSTAIRS:

Kafka opens the tiny front door of this almost-miniature

little house. Two intimidating MEN stand outside, one tall,

one short, wearing similar black suits and grim expressions.

CUT:

ANOTHER DOOR - NIGHT

Kafka tries to match the exacting pace of his two warders,

flanking him as they walk him along a corridor, through

another doorway.

MORGUE:

Kafka tugs his collar up a bit, his breath visible in the

air. He has a feeling what's going to be under the sheet on

the lonely trolley in the middle of the room before the first

man summons him over to it.

Kafka goes. The first man yanks the sheet off the face in

one quick movement. The face of Eduard. White and bloated,

the tongue jutting, the eyes bulging.

Kafka recoils, stepping back instinctively.

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