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Snow Falling On Cedars Movie Script

Writer(s) : Ronald Bass, Scott Hicks

Genres : Drama

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                         SNOW FALLING ON CEDARS








                                                   Ronald Bass
                                                   First Draft Screenplay
                                                   March 3, 1997





     EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - NIGHT

     Fog.  Penetrated only by sound.  The LAPPING of sea at a drifting
     hull.  Tendrils of mist part, revealing...

     ...a face.  Strong and blond and handsome.

     SUPERIMPOSE:  SEPTEMBER 15, 1954

     LONG ANGLE...from below, we watch CARL HEINE, high on the cross
     spar of his mast.  He has pulled a SHUTTLE of TWINE from his rubber
     overalls, and is LASHING a LANTERN in the cloud of mist, as MAIN
     TITLES BEGIN...

     ANGLE...the tiny, meticulously neat cabin.  Empty, silent.  A tin
     COFFEE CUP on the counter's edge.  The battery well open, revealing
     two large BATTERIES in place.  PAN to...

     ...the deck of this sturdy stern-picker.  The fishing net stretched
     from the huge DRUM into the sea.  Keep PANNING to the bow, where...

     ...Carl stands with his kerosene lantern and his air horn, watching
     as another BOAT comes slowly out of the mist.  The silhouette of a
     FISHERMAN, holding a long fishing GAFF.  As fragments of fog part,
     we CLOSE on the figure's face, to see...

     ...his eyes.  They are Asian.  SMASH CUT to...

     EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - MORNING

     Blinding sun.  Our boat bobs lifeless on placid water.  As CREDITS
     CONTINUE, two figures slowly reel in the massive net.  SHERIFF ART
     MORAN is painfully thin, unimposing, methodical.  Only the eyes
     reflect his disquiet.  His young deputy, ABEL MARTINSON, cuts
     anxious looks between his mentor and the sea.  As the net brings
     silvered salmon across the gunnel, CUT to...

     ...the cabin.  Tidy as before.  Only two things have changed.
     CLOSE on the tin coffee cup, which now lies OVERTURNED on the
     floor.  PAN above the open battery well, where a third MARINE
     BATTERY now stands next to the wheel.  CUT to...

     ...the stern, as the raveling net LIFTS from the water's surface...

     ...the face of Carl Heine.  Turned to the sun.  SMASH CUT to...

     INT. CORONER'S LAB - DAY

     WHITE fills the frame.  A hand PULLS back the blanket-shroud
     revealing Carl's face.  As CREDITS CONTINUE, tilt up to the
     coroner, HORACE WHALEY, gazing down.  A shading of regret behind
     the professional mask.  A series of QUICK CUTS...

     ...Whaley's hand pulls the SHUTTLE of TWINE from Carl's pocket...

     ...examines the open, empty KNIFE SHEATH at Carl's belt...

     ...Carl's wrist, its WATCH stopped at 1:47...

     Whaley bends over Carl's body, presses on his solar plexus,
     watching pink FOAM rise from Carl's mouth and nose.  And then.
     He sees something more.  His fingers gently pull back the hair
     from above Carl's left ear, to reveal...

     ...a skull wound.  The bone caved in.  Four inches across.

     EXT. SAN PIEDRO ISLAND - DAY

     Snow falling on cedars.

     SUPERIMPOSE:  DECEMBER 6.

     The heavens descend softly onto our island.  Exquisite, silent,
     hypnotic.  An epic snowfall inspiring awe at our frailness against
     the limitless scope of nature.  As CREDITS CONCLUDE, a series of
     QUICK ANGLES...

     ...cars pirouetting, skating on their tires, past an abandoned
     school bus, where kids throw snowballs at is windows...

     ...Fisk's Hardware Center, its endless queue of orderly citizens
     waiting stoically for their snow shovels and kerosene...

     ...the harbor, with its moored fleet of tiny fishing vessels
     blanketed as if by volcanic ash, a pair of teenage lovers building
     a snowman at the edge of a dock, she pushes the boy into the water,
     and he rises laughing, steam rising from his clothes...

     ...undulating strawberry fields of pure white, untouched and
     flawless as the Sahara...

     Finally, to a public building, cars gathering as best they can,
     people streaming up snow-laden steps to the entrance, and as we
     FOLLOW them, SMASH CUT to...

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     CLOSE on impassive EYES.  They are Asian.  We have seen them
     before.  PULL BACK to see...

     KABUO MIYAMOTO.  Early 30's, dark blue suit, clean shirt.  He sits
     ramrod straight, utterly motionless, expressionless, the eye of a
     storm of movement in...

     ...the assembling COURTROOM.  A packed gallery of buzzing locals,
     the scent of anticipation.  A bank of REPORTERS and PHOTOGRAPHERS,
     cosmopolitan in attire, bearing themselves as jaded dignitaries
     from the civilized world.  As we PAN their ranks...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     It was the first murder trial on
                     the island in thirty-one years.

     ...we look over the right shoulder of ISHMAEL CHAMBERS, early 30's,
     dark, a rugged, somber man jotting notes on a pad which rests on
     his right leg.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Our only newspaper was the San
                     Piedro Review, a four-page weekly
                     that I operated alone.

     He glances blandly at his nonchalant colleagues.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     What, I wondered, could the Seattle
                     boys know of the hearts of these
                     people...

     To the JURY BOX.  Truck farmers, grocers, fishermen, in sober
     neckties.  A waitress, a secretary, fisher wives in Sunday dresses.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Neighbors, sitting in judgement.
                     On their neighbor.

     To the neighbor.  The ramrod-still defendant.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Kabuo Miaymoto sat with the rigid
                     grace of a Samurai warrior.  As if
                     detached from his own trial.

     Ishmael writing on the pad balanced precariously on his knee,
     until...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Did he know how dangerous his demeanor
                     could be?  With this jury.

     ...it falls with a CLATTER of pages.  He reaches with his right
     hand, replaces the pad on his thigh.  Around him, CAMERAS are being
     swung to the ready.  Ishmael looks to see...

     ...a slender WOMAN of refined beauty, entering the courtroom.
     A few flashes POP, and Ishmael's right hand retrieves a venerable
     box camera from beneath his seat, as his notepad falls once more,
     unheeded.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Hatsue Miyamoto had been without
                     her husband for 77 days.

     Ishmael pivots, and we understand his struggle with the notepad.
     For he is forced to rest his camera on the stump of his amputated
     left arm, its empty sleeve pinned at the elbow.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     He was in jail.  When his baby son
                     learned to walk.

     Through his VIEWFINDER, we see HATSUE take her place in the first
     row.  And sensing her presence, her husband turns.  Their eyes
     meet.  A string of FLASHES...

     But none from Ishmael.  He hesitates.  As if considering whether he
     will violate this woman's privacy.  The camera lowers.  HOLD on his
     face...

     INT. COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR - DAY

     MATCH CUT to Hatsue's face.  Staring, impassive, empty.  PULL BACK
     to see that she sits alone on a wooden bench by the courtroom door.
     Her hands rest delicately on the purse in her lap.  Her demeanor as
     removed from this place as is her husband's.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Earlier, I noticed her in the
                     corridor.

     PULL BACK to see him alone, in shadow.  It is more than a notice.
     Ishmael stares with fixed intensity at the motionless woman, as
     she gathers her thoughts.  A moment of decision.  He approaches.
     Stops, respectfully, at a distance which will not invade her
     personal space.  And softer than we might have imagined...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Are you all right?

     She turns her head only slightly.  It is enough.  Her voice quiet
     and firm at once...

                               HATSUE
                     Go away, Ishmael.

     There is no anger.  Only directness and resolve.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Please don't be like th...

                               HATSUE (softer)
                     Go away.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     PAN the back of the courtroom.  Twenty-four citizens of Japanese
     ancestry fill the last row, dressed in their most formal clothes.
     Shades of Atticus Finch.  As one, the Japanese-Americans watch...

     ...the prosecutor, ALVIN HOOKS, a crisp, even dapper man.  There is
     a quickness about the eyes, a tendency to sharpness of manner, that
     he works carefully against...

                               HOOKS
                     ...four inch gash, skull crushed,
                     and your thought was, what...?

     JUDGE FIELDING, tall and gray and rawboned, leans on his elbows,
     his eyelids droop slightly, a deceptive masking of keen attention.

                               HOOKS (O.S.)
                     That he...fell?  Hit his head on
                     the gunnel going over?

     The witness is Sheriff Moran.  He answers as if this were a sincere
     question.  As if he had never heard it before.

                               MORAN
                     Well, Carl was six-four, went 235.
                     He was a grizzly bear and an able
                     seaman...

     Ishmael watching.  Thinking on that.

                               MORAN (O.S.)
                     For him to just...go over.  Crush
                     his skull like that on the way in...

     HOLD on Ishmael.

     INT. TEAM BUS - DAY

     Teenage BOYS in football uniforms.  They ride with their helmets in
     their laps.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     He was a mountain, all right.
                     Anchored the line for us little
                     fellers.

     CLOSE on Carl and Ishmael at 18, riding together.  Ishmael, dark
     and rugged even then, is scarcely little.  But dwarfed by the blond
     giant at his side, who glares out the window, at...

                               CARL
                     Chambers.  Y'see the geese?

     ...snow geese landing in low flooded wheat.  The grace of it holds
     both boys.

                               CARL
                     Picture'd be nice.  In your pa's
                     paper.

     Ishmael nods absently.  They stare, side-by-side.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Lucky I got the camera in my
                     helmet.

     They never look at each other.  They never smile.  But you can
     almost hear one in...

                               CARL
                     Careful, Chambers.  That was almost
                     a joke.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Hooks now stands with his polished shoe up on the witness podium.
     Like chatting with the Sheriff across the back fence...

                               HOOKS
                     And you weren't there, when the
                     coroner examined the wound.

                               MORAN
                     Nossir.  I'd gone to tell the wid...
                     to tell Mrs. Heine.

     And his glance inevitably goes to the first row behind the
     prosecutor's table.  Taking the glances of the jury with it.
     SUSAN MARIE HEINE is pretty and blonde and full-bodied in her
     modest black dress.  Composure and dignity.  Against her grief.

     EXT. HEINE HOME - DAY

     Moran climbs from his vehicle, as Carl's young SONS dash around the
     corner of the house.  Seeing the Sheriff, they stop cold.  Silent,
     shirtless, barefoot.

                               MORAN
                     Hey there, men.  Is your mother
                     home a-tall?

     He spits his Juicy Fruit into a wrapper.  And as the younger boy
     nods across the distance...

                               SUSAN MARIE (O.S.)
                     Sheriff Moran, hullo.

     She has appeared in the doorway, smiling, spittle-marked baby's
     diaper across her shoulder.  And he smiles back.  Tells the boys...

                               MORAN
                     You go on and play, now.

     But they don't.  So he follows into her entryway, closing the door
     behind him.  And at the foot of her curving staircase...

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     What can I do for you, Sheriff,
                     Carl's not home y...

                               MORAN
                     That's...

     Too quick.  He stops himself.  And she sees that.

                               MORAN
                     It's why I'm here.  I'm afraid I
                     have some...very bad news to tell
                     you, the...worst...kind of news.

     She looks at him, uncomprehending, the smile only beginning to
     fade, before...

                               MORAN
                     Carl died last night.  In a fishing
                     accident.  In White Sand Bay.

     She only blinks.  As if translating the words from a foreign
     language.

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     No, Carl's fine, h...

                               MORAN
                     We found him, Mrs. Heine.  Tangled
                     in his net.

     And with these words, a slack, blank look crosses her face, and she
     stumbles back one step, sitting down HARD on the bottom stair of
     her curved staircase.

     He doesn't know what to do.  She digs her elbows into her lap, and
     begins to rock, very slowly, wringing the diaper in her hands.  Her
     face is more terrible than tears.  It is frightened.  She murmurs
     to herself, so that we can barely hear...

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     I told him this could happen.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     CLOSE on Hooks, nodding.  As if, slowly, digesting something in his
     mind.

                               HOOKS
                     So, no...immediate suspicion,
                     no...general talk of enmity
                     between the two.

                               MORAN
                     These are fishermen, Alvin.  They
                     don't talk at all to each other
                     and less to me.  Specially gossip.

     EXT. DOCKS - DAY

     Ishmael walking down the sunlit wharf.  Purpose in his stride...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     A gill-netter works through black
                     nights with only himself to talk
                     to.  And learns to be silent.
                     They were lonely men and products
                     of geography.

     Up ahead, the Susan Marie has been brought to dock.  Moran stands
     chatting with a knot of six or seven FISHERMEN.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     ...men who, on occasion, realized
                     that they wished to speak, but
                     couldn't.

     As he arrives, Moran smiles a thin greeting.  Not happy to see him.
     Of course, neither is anyone else.

                               MORAN
                     Figure you'da heard by now.

     Ishmael shakes his head in silent helplessness.  WILLIAM GJOVAAG, a
     sunburned, big-bellied, tattooed gill-netter, clamps on his damp
     cigar butt.

                               GJOVAAG
                     You go fishing, it happens.

                               ISHMAEL (to Moran)
                     You see Susan Marie?

                               MORAN
                     I did.  Boy.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Three kids.  What's she going to do?

                               GJOVAAG (disgusted)
                     Well, what can she do?  Jesus Christ.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Excuse me, Gjovaag.

                               GJOVAAG
                     I don't need to excuse nothin'.
                     Fuck you anyhow, Chambers.

     Everybody laughs.  It is all good-natured, sort of.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Like the Sheriff, I did not work
                     the sea, and could never merit trust.
                     Or respect.

                               MARTY JOHANSSON
                     Sheriff's been askin' which boats
                     followed Carl out last night...

                               MORAN (quickly)
                     Only to see if somebody talked to
                     him out th...

                               ISHMAEL
                     So who talked to him?  Out there.

     Staring.  At each other.  Eye contact holds during...

                               JAN SORENSEN (heavy Danish)
                     So far, we figured the guys who went
                     to Ship Channel Bank, was Jim Ferry,
                     Hardwell, Moulton, Miyamoto...

                               GJOVAAG (spits)
                     Japs.

                               MORAN
                     All right, look, if you see these
                     boys...

                               GJOVAAG
                     Never saw you so hard-ass, Art.
                     Ain't this just an accident?

     Moran finds his eyes drifting to Ishmael's.  Which are right there,
     waiting.  Moran looks away.

                               MORAN
                     Course it is, but a man's dead,
                     William.  I got to write my report.

     ANGLE...Ishmael and Moran, walking alone back up the wharf.  The
     Sheriff is worried.  Finally...

                               MORAN
                     I'm not gonna see some article
                     about an investigation, am I?

                               ISHMAEL (quietly)
                     You want me to lie?

                               MORAN
                     No, I wanna be off the damn record,
                     that's what I want.

     No answer.  They keep walking.

                               MORAN
                     I mean, if there is a killer, why
                     would you want him all alerted?

     Silence.  Silence.  And slowly...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Let's say...someday I need some
                     cooperation from you on this thing.
                     Do I get it?

     And looks over.  Like the guy holding all the aces.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Moran fidgets on the stand.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     No sign of a struggle, you say.

     SEE him now.  NELS GUDMUNDSSON, attorney for Kabuo Miyamoto, stands
     beside his impassive client.  Nels is 79, blind in his left eye, a
     little shaky.  His body is winding down.

                               MORAN
                     Well, the coffee cup was layin' right
                     in the middle of the floor, like I
                     said.  And with a fella so neat as
                     Carl, that did seem peculiar.

     And Nels begins to walk toward him.  Limping, as he comes.

                               NELS
                     As peculiar as a struggle between
                     a 235 pound man, and an assailant
                     strong enough to subdue him...that
                     leaves only a single overturned cup
                     in its wake?

                               HOOKS (O.S.)
                     Objection, asking the witness to
                     speculate.

                               NELS
                     My gosh, Alvin, was I supposed to
                     object every time you did that?

     A real.  Friendly smile.

                               JUDGE (wearily)
                     That's quite enough horseplay,
                     Nels, why don't you act your age?

                               NELS
                     If I did that Your Honor, I'd
                     be dead.

     Some gentle laughter.  Judge Fielding doesn't even bother to look
     annoyed.

                               JUDGE
                     Any more homely loveable tricks,
                     and you'll be worse than that.
                     Proceed, gentlemen.

                               HOOKS
                     There's an objection, Your H...

                               JUDGE
                     And it's overruled, answer the
                     question.  If you can recall it.

                               MORAN
                     Maybe the assailant straightened
                     the cabin.  And forgot the cup.

                               NELS
                     Right.  In the middle.  Of the floor.

                               MORAN
                     Maybe.

     Nels nods to himself, as if considering that.  So that the jury
     will do the same.

                               NELS
                     I think you testified all the
                     lights were on.  Cabin, mast,
                     net lights, picking lights...

                               MORAN
                     Yessir, there'd been real heavy fog.

                               NELS
                     And yet you started the engine
                     right up.  With all those lights
                     drawing all night, the batteries
                     had that much charge.  Did that
                     strike you odd?

                               MORAN
                     Didn't think about it at the time.
                     So no, it didn't strike me odd.

                               NELS
                     Does it now?

                               MORAN
                     A little.  Yes.  You have to
                     wonder.

                               NELS
                     You have to wonder.

     And lets that sit.  Scratches his neck.

                               NELS
                     You found three batteries, you
                     say.  A D-6 and D-8 in the well.
                     And a spare D-8 on the cabin floor.
                     Correct?

                               MORAN
                     It is.

                               NELS
                     Now I did some measuring down at
                     the chandlery.  A D-6 is one inch
                     wider than a D-8.  It would be too
                     large for the deceased's well.

                               MORAN
                     He's done some on-the-spot refit-
                     ting.  You could see the side flange
                     was banged away to make room for
                     the D-6.

                               NELS
                     But he had a spare D-6, you said.
                     Right there.  Why not use that?

                               MORAN
                     It was dead.  We had it tested.
                     Maybe the D-6 was the spare and he
                     had to use it.

     Ah.

                               NELS
                     Maybe he carried a spare that
                     was too large to fit.  So he'd
                     have to bang out the flange to
                     squeeze it in?

     No answer to that.  The silence rests.

                               NELS
                     Sheriff, how many batteries and
                     what size did you find on defendant's
                     boat?

                               MORAN
                     Two D-6's.  That's the kind his
                     well was fitted for.

                               NELS
                     No spare.

                               MORAN
                     No.

                               NELS
                     So the defendant went out fishing
                     for the night with no spare battery,
                     hmmn?

                               MORAN
                     Apparently.

                               NELS
                     I'm curious.  The D-6 that was
                     refitted into the deceased's well.
                     Was it exactly the same brand and
                     model as defendant's?

     A beat.

                               MORAN
                     I believe so.

                               NELS
                     Now you've testified that the
                     deceased was a heavy man, and hard
                     to bring out of the net.

     Stops.  Thinking.

                               NELS
                     Is it possible his head struck the
                     transom, or the stern gunnel, or the
                     net roller, as you were bringing him
                     in?

                               MORAN
                     I don't think so.

                               NELS
                     You don't.  Think so.

                               MORAN
                     He was heavy, but we were real
                     careful.  But I don't remember him
                     hitting anything, anywhere.

                               NELS
                     You don't.  Remember.

     And clears his throat.

                               NELS
                     Operating this winch you'd rarely
                     operated before, doing this awkward
                     job of bringing in a drowned man of
                     235 pounds...is it possible.  Possible
                     that he struck his head after death.
                     Possible?

                               MORAN
                     Possible.  But not darn likely.

                               NELS (turns to jury)
                     No further questions.

     And limps back to the defendant's table.  Where Kabuo Miyamoto sits
     watching him.

     INT. COURTROOM - LATER

     Horace Whaley, the county coroner, folds his stork-like limbs
     uncomfortably.  Searching for the appearance of ease.

                               HOOKS
                     ...so when the sheriff returned,
                     you showed him the injury to the
                     deceased's head.

                               WHALEY
                     He said, 'Could it be somebody hit
                     him?'  And I said, 'You want to play
                     Sherlock Holmes, here?'

     Shakes his head, with a wry, disgusted smile.

                               HOOKS
                     Did you say more?

                               WHALEY
                     I said that if I was playing Sherlock
                     Holmes...I'd maybe look for a...
                     Japanese person.  With a bloody gun-
                     butt.  A right-handed fella, to be
                     precise.

                               HOOKS
                     And why.  Is that?

     Slight shrug.

                               WHALEY
                     Well, I was a doctor in the Jap
                     theater, in the war.  I saw those
                     kendo wounds, many times.  Looked
                     exactly like this one.

                               HOOKS
                     Could you tell me what 'kendo' is?

                               WHALEY
                     Japanese stick-fighting.  They're
                     trained as kids, y'know.  To kill
                     with sticks.

     And the prosecutor's eyes drift to the defendant.  So that the
     jury's will do the same.  HOLD on Kabuo's regal bearing.  His
     neutral mask.

                               HOOKS (O.S.)
                     No further questions.

     EXT. STRAWBERRY FIELDS - DAWN

     Mist of early light.  Two dark figures, little more than
     silhouettes, measuring each other with their lethal bokken staffs.
     We may think of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader, for one is a full-
     grown man.  The other, eight years old.  Dialogue plays in
     subtitled JAPANESE...

                               ZENHICHI
                     Hips, stomach, cut.  Stomach muscles
                     tighten as stroke advances...

     And STRIKES a fearsome blow, which the child REPELS with startling
     proficiency.  We can see ZENHICHI's stony face, now.  If he is
     impressed by his son, he does not show it.

                               ZENHICHI
                     Elbow soft, or there is no follow-
                     through.  You cut your bokken off
                     from the power of your body, unl...

     WHAP!  WHAP!  WHAP!  The boy LASHES fiercely, the man parrying each
     stroke with blinding ease.

                               ZENHICHI
                     Hips sink more.  Less weight on the
                     heels, so tha...

     CRASH!  The father has sent a blow in mid-word, FLINGING the child
     like a doll.  The boy BOUNCES up, snatching his bokken into ready
     position.

                               ZENHICHI (very quiet)
                     Zenshin.  Is constant awareness.
                     Of dang...

     WHAP!  The child has unleashed a blow at the left side of his
     father's HEAD.  It has been blocked.  The staffs rest against each
     other, just above Zenhichi's ear.  There is no anger in either
     warrior.  That we can see.

                               ZENHICHI
                     Elbow soft.  A little better.

     LATER...father and son sit on the ground, eating a small meal.
     The sun has risen, angling light across the undulating fields.
     They are alone in beauty.  A long silence.  Dialogue in subtitled
     JAPANESE...

                               ZENHICHI
                     You can be good with the bokken.
                     If you begin to concentrate.

     Eyes on his food.  As if alone, as if speaking to himself.  The boy
     darting glances, unseen, at his father's profile.

                               ZENHICHI
                     You must choose now, Kabuo.  At eight
                     years.  If you want this.

                               KABUO (boldly)
                     I want it.

     The father keeps eating.  Never turns.

                               ZENHICHI
                     Then speak quietly.  So you may be
                     heard.

     INT. COURTROOM - MORNING

     Whaley stares down the end of his needle-nose.  The air of disdain
     of a man playing chess with an unworthy opponent.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     So this...foam you found in the
                     lungs.  How does it get there?

                               WHALEY
                     As I testified.  It occurs when
                     water, mucus and air are mixed by
                     respiration.  I believe I said that.

                               NELS (slightly confused)
                     But a drowned person can't breathe.

                               WHALEY
                     Of course not.  The foam means
                     that he went in breathing.

     Ah.

                               WHALEY
                     That's why the autopsy report
                     identifies drowning as the cause
                     of death.

                               NELS
                     Meaning that he wasn't murdered
                     first, say on the deck of the boat,
                     and then thrown overboard.

                               WHALEY
                     Well...

                               NELS
                     Your report says death by drowning,
                     which means he went into the water
                     alive and breathing.  And the report
                     is accurate...?

                               WHALEY (bristles)
                     Of course it's accurate, but...

                               NELS
                     Of course, it is.  Now as to the
                     head injury.  You say made by an
                     object narrow and flat.  That is
                     your inference, correct?

                               WHALEY (really pissed)
                     It's my job to infer, that's what
                     coroners do.  You get hit with a
                     crowbar, or a ball-peen hammer, or
                     fall off a motorcycle, the injuries
                     look different, that's my area of
                     expertise.

     Nels nods.  He can be quiet now.  The witness distracted from
     volunteering the opinions Nels did not wish for.

                               NELS
                     In your motorcycle example.  Those
                     injuries are produced by the head
                     being propelled against an object.
                     Rather than the reverse, yes?

                               WHALEY
                     Obviously.

                               NELS
                     Can you tell whether an object moved
                     against the head, or the other way
                     around?  Or would both look the same.

                               WHALEY
                     The same.

                               NELS
                     So if his head struck something
                     narrow and flat, the gunnel of a
                     boat, a net roller, a fairlead,
                     could that have...

                               WHALEY
                     If the head was moving fast enough,
                     but I don't see how it could be.

                               NELS
                     Is it possible?

                               WHALEY
                     Sure, anything's poss...

                               NELS
                     Is it fair to say that you do not
                     know for certain which it was.

                               WHALEY
                     I already said that, b...

                               NELS
                     And that you can't say for
                     certain whether the head injury was
                     sustained before or after death?

     Whaley thinks.

                               WHALEY
                     For certain, no.

                               NELS
                     But you are certain that he died
                     by drowning.

                               WHALEY
                     For the third time, yes.

     Nels nods.  Whaley is beyond frustrated.

                               WHALEY
                     Can I say something, here?

                               NELS
                     Yes, you can tell me about the
                     minor cut you found on the deceased's
                     right hand.  The report says 'recent
                     origin'.  How recent?  As much as 24
                     hours before death?

                               WHALEY
                     Absolutely not.  Probably one or two
                     hours.  Four at the most.

     A pause.

                               NELS
                     Are you absol...

                               WHALEY
                     Yes, I'm sure.

     Nels nods.  Silence.

                               NELS
                     Thank you, Horace.  No more
                     questions.

     Horace wants to say more.  Doesn't immediately move.

                               JUDGE
                     We'll take our luncheon recess.
                     Reconvene at...2 o'clock sharp.

     The gavel CRACKS onto the block.  Judge Fielding stands to leave,
     and the BAILIFF begins to usher the jury from its box.  Abel
     Martinson, the deputy, stands near as Kabuo rises.  As he puts his
     hand gently on Kabuo's arm, the defendant turns smoothly...

     ...to face a woman.  Standing at the rail.  And beneath the
     courtroom buzz...

                               KABUO
                     How are the kids?

     The voice so colloquially American, we are taken back.  Having
     envisioned Kabuo as a silent Samurai.

                               HATSUE
                     They need their father.

     The look holds.  Abel increasingly uneasy.

                               KABUO
                     Well.  Just a few more days.

                               ABEL (coughs)
                     Look, Art's gonna want me t...

                               KABUO (ignoring him)
                     You look beautiful.

     Abel grasps his arm.

                               HATSUE
                     I look terrible.  Don't sit so
                     straight like Tojo's soldier.  The
                     jury will be afraid of you.

     He thinks about that.  Abel tugs him.

                               KABUO
                     Okay, I'll hide under the table
                     from now on.  That make you happy?

     And for the first time.  He smiles.  And seems suddenly very
     American indeed.  She stares back, her heart in her eyes.  Abel
     tugs harder, but he can't budge the defendant.

                               KABUO
                     I'm not going until you smile.

     But she doesn't.  So his fades.  One last look.  And he lets Abel
     lead him away.

     HOLD on her.  Watching him go.

     EXT. MANZANAR INTERNMENT CAMP - NIGHT

     Stars above a desert.  Wind gusts.  PAN barbed wire, rows of dark
     barracks blurred by swirling dust, to...

     ...a fragile tar paper structure, its 'walls' rippling pre-
     cariously.  And inside, to see that it is...

     INT. BUDDHIST CHAPEL - NIGHT

     ...a makeshift sanctuary.  Candles, offerings of fruit.  A young
     COUPLE together before a Buddhist PRIEST.  Kabuo and Hatsue.
     Becoming one.

     INT. BARRACKS - LATER

     A cramped, ramshackle room.  Dust blowing through gaps in the
     flimsy beams.  Kerosene light.  FUJIKO IMADA hangs the last of
     the woolen army blankets to divide the room in half, as her four
     youngest DAUGHTERS watch.  We PUSH THROUGH the blankets to the
     other side, to see...

     ...the newlyweds.  Standing at a window in their wedding clothes.
     Kissing.  Slow and full.  Until she whispers into his ear...

                               HATSUE
                     They'll hear everything.

     And her young husband turns.  Speaks to the curtain.

                               KABUO (loud)
                     There must be something good on
                     the radio!

     She giggles.  His hands trace her body.

                               KABUO (louder)
                     Wouldn't some music be nice?

     And in a moment.  The MUSIC begins.  Glenn Miller.  A song that
     sent our boys off to war.  And our young American prisoners...

     ...begin to undress each other.  Her slender fingers find the
     buttons of his shirt, deftly undoing it, as he kisses her face.
     He unclasps her dress.  And as it falls from her shoulders, falls
     to the floor, we PUSH INTO her eyes, and...

     INTERCUT her MEMORY of...

     ...a beach.  Two 10-year-old CHILDREN floating on the water.
     Clinging to a wooden box, with a glass bottom for fish-watching.
     The girl is Asian.  The boy is not.

                               HATSUE
                     Ishmael.  See the yellow one?

     And the boy wriggles around, leans over the box, as if seeking a
     better view.  And KISSES the girl.  Full on her startled mouth.

     BACK TO...the newlyweds.  On their cot now.  Close together.  Naked
     and hungry for each other.

                               KABUO (loud)
                     Can the music be louder, please?
                     We can't hear so good in here!

     The girl laughs soundlessly.  And as the music BLARES, he has slid
     his body above hers.  A whisper...

                               KABUO
                     Have you ever done this?

     A whisper back, sure and strong...

                               HATSUE
                     Never.  You're my only.

     And as he enters her.  As she holds him close with all her
     strength.  Her lips breathe into his ear...

                               HATSUE
                     ...so right.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Hatsue watching her husband disappear through a door.  RACK FOCUS
     to see across the way.  A man stares at her.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Course, we grew up together.

     INT. IMADA PARLOR - DAY

     Hatsue at 12, sits with an OLD WOMAN who guides her silently,
     exquisitely, through the ritual of the tea ceremony.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Her mom had this Mrs. Shigemura
                     come on Wednesdays.  Teach her
                     how to be Japanese.

     The woman turns the cup in her hands.  One-quarter turn.  Bows
     slightly, as she presents the tea.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Dances, calligraphy.  Doing her hair.
                     How to sit without moving...

     EXT. HOLLOW CEDAR - DAY

     Hatsue and Ishmael, both 12, are sprawled on the ground, sheltered
     in the hollowed-out base of a cedar tree.  They watch the rain as
     it pummels the woods around them.  She is speaking, carefully,
     thoughtfully.  He listens with complete attention.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     She would tell me stories of
                     this woman and her lessons.  As
                     if complaining, or at least ex-
                     plaining her world...

     He shifts his position, his body brushing against hers, which makes
     him reflexively pull away.  She seems not to notice.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     But I always fantasized.  The
                     lessons were for me.

     INT. BEDROOM - DAY

     Hatsue sits at a bedroom mirror.  Mrs. Shigemura watching
     analytically, as Hatsue weaves her hair into a thick plait.

                               MRS. SHIGEMURA
                     No.  You must never look at a man
                     directly.  This is part of grace.

     The girl smiles a small sour smile.  Speaks quietly...

                               HATSUE
                     I don't think the boys on this
                     island.  Are impressed.  By grace.

     The old woman studies her without irritation.

                               MRS. SHIGEMURA
                     Hakujin know nothing of life, Hatsue.

     Apparently, the girl has heard this before.

                               MRS. SHIGEMURA
                     This is why they fear death.  Because
                     life here is separate from Being.

     The girl takes a long pin.  Begins carefully to fasten her hair.
     Breaking eye contact with the mirror.

                               MRS. SHIGEMURA
                     It is why they have no soul.

     Is the girl even listening?  The old woman's voice never rises.
     Remains patient.

                               MRS. SHIGEMURA
                     Life embraces death, includes it.
                     This truth brings tranquility.  You
                     must see yourself...

                               HATSUE
                     ...as a leaf.  On a great tree.

     No irony in the girl's voice.  No disrespect.  The old woman reads
     the young face in the mirror.

                               MRS. SHIGEMURA
                     The pin.  Could be better placed.

     INT. SAN PIEDRO REVIEW - DAY

     CLOSE on 12-year-old Ishmael.  Neutral eyes.  Eating an apple.  A
     horrific CLANGING surrounds us.  The clash of metal on metal.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     My lessons came from my father.  They
                     were different.  Or seemed so, at the
                     time.

     See ARTHUR CHAMBERS now, at the printing press, an enormous lime
     green contraption, with rollers and conveyor pulleys in a cast-
     iron housing.  The shrieking of metal and gears recalls an ancient
     locomotive.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     He operated the Review alone, with
                     an integrity and passion for principle
                     that made him a figure of respect.  If
                     slightly larger than life.

     Arthur is a large, rugged man, with round gun-metal rimmed
     spectacles and garters on his shirtsleeves.  He wears the soft,
     perpetual smile of an Oxford Don, as he gracefully ducks in and
     out of the machine, inspecting plates and printing cylinders.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     He never spoke of wanting me to
                     succeed him.  And, in truth, it was
                     the last job on earth I thought I'd
                     ever want.

     The boy rises now.  Sets his apple carefully aside.  And under his
     father's supervision, takes his place operating the press.  His
     arms inches from the fearful clatter of the rollers.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     When I was five, he casually mentioned
                     that if his sleeve got caught in the
                     press, he'd be instantly popped open
                     like a child's balloon, and splattered
                     across the walls.

     Watch Ishmael running the monster, coolly, efficiently, with
     complete concentration.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Even his bones would disappear, to
                     be discovered later on the floor,
                     as strips of white confetti.

     Arthur turns away, lest his son feel a lack of confidence.  Picks
     up the boy's apple.  A crisp BITE.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Which, of course, made me certain that
                     life would have no meaning until I
                     could run that teakettle.

     EXT. MAIN STREET, AMITY HARBOR - SUNSET

     Arthur and Ishmael, now 17, strolling Main Street in the midst of
     what seems a festive carnival.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     He was, for better or worse, the
                     only God in my life.  I guess it's
                     our nature to resent those we know
                     we can never measure up to...

     They are passing modest parade floats, booths with food and games.
     A genial crowd of farmers, fishermen, families, both races
     heedlessly mingling.  A community.  Arthur unselfconsciously slips
     his arm over the shoulder of his tall son.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     ...which keeps us from accepting
                     the warmth.  The way we should.

     Up ahead, a crowd has gathered at the steps of the courthouse.
     Something's up.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Every summer, after harvest, the
                     Strawberry Festival was Dad's favor-
                     ite story to cover.  Good news was
                     his preference.  Making him an oddity
                     among journalists.

     As we approach, we see a ceremony begin at the top of the
     courthouse steps.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Highlight was crowning the Strawberry
                     Princess.  Always a Japanese girl,
                     sort of an unwitting virgin sacrifice
                     to the concept of racial harmony.

     We are there now.  Arthur pulling down the same box camera Ishmael
     would use years later.  Focusing up at the MAYOR, as he places the
     crown on the radiant young girl...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Senior Year.  It was Hatsue.

     And as the applause ripples through the crowd.  As the Strawberry
     Princess acknowledges her subjects, her eye falls on...

     ...Ishmael.  She drops him a wink.  And a special wave.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     She winked at me.  In public.
                     Which was unusual.

     EXT. SOUTH BEACH - DAY

     Two 14-year-olds alone on a beach.  Digging for clams in the mud.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I had kissed her once, when we
                     were ten.  Looking at fish through
                     a glass-bottomed box.  It was just
                     an impulse, and no big deal.

     Ishmael pulls back from the deep hole, to make room for Hatsue to
     reach down.  We can see her fingers explore the shell of the dug-in
     geoduck clam.

                               HATSUE
                     He's still got a good grip.  We
                     need to dig more.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     At school, she kept mostly to the
                     Japanese kids, and sort of ignored
                     me.  As if all of our times alone
                     together...in the hollow cedar,
                     everywhere...were a secret.

     They are digging now, together.  Carefully.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I told myself that was good.  That
                     it made our friendship special.  And
                     didn't mean she was ashamed of it.
                     Necessarily.

                               HATSUE
                     Easy.  Slow is best.

     Gently, she begins to dislodge the clam from its lair.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I thought about her.  Sometimes,
                     all the time.  I knew I was unhappy.
                     But I knew if I told her...

     She lifts it clear.  And as she admires its size and roughness with
     her fingertips.  As she washes it in the shallows.  He watches her
     movements.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     It might be a mistake.  I could
                     never correct.

                               ISHMAEL (quietly)
                     I like you.

     The words make her turn.  Not startled, exactly.  Alerted.  But
     neutral, without affect.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Do you know what I mean, Hatsue?
                     I've always liked you.

     There is no answer.  He leans slightly closer, and she looks
     down.  This is the moment.  Afraid and driven, he moves slowly
     to her face.  And puts his mouth against hers.  She lets him and,
     encouraged, he pushes harder, making Hatsue...

     ...lose her balance, and planting a hand beneath the water to
     support herself, eyes closed too tightly, she kisses Ishmael for a
     long moment, before...

     ...leaping up, snatching her clam pail and running AWAY down the
     beach like a deer.  He stands slowly.  To watch her go.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I knew in my heart that we would
                     love each other forever.

     His face is slack and unsmiling, but he is helpless with happiness.
     Contemplating this truth.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     The way she kissed me.  She knew
                     it, too.

     EXT. IMADA FARM - DUSK

     Ishmael crouching at the edge of the farm, in near-darkness.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     She avoided me for a week.

     Across the distance, the screen door opens, light slips across the
     porch.  Hatsue appears with a wicker basket, to take the laundry
     from the line.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     So this way, I could see her
                     without...bothering anyone.

     He watches, rapt, as she unpins and folds the clothes, clenching
     the clothespins in her teeth.  Then reeling the line again, elegant
     hand over elegant hand...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I was certain everything would
                     work out.

     She corrals the long sweep of her hair, knotting it deftly, before
     heading inside.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     And frightened.

     EXT. STRAWBERRY FIELDS - DAY

     Children working fields in sunlight.  Kneeling in the rows.  Hatsue
     with a half-dozen Japanese girls, her hair loose, her face lightly
     sheened with sweat.  She works with efficiency and grace, filling
     her flat.

     Three rows away.  Ishmael watches.  The fear not far beneath the
     surface of his quiet, dark features.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     By two weeks, I knew I had made
                     the defining mistake of my life.

     Hatsue's gaze drifts slightly in this direction, and Ishmael looks
     DOWN rapidly at his work.  Cheeks burning, certain she is watching.
     Which she is not.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I'd ruined everything.

     LATER...end of day.  The young pickers turning in their flats as a
     gentle rain begins.  Hatsue counts her money, slips it into her
     pocket, and...

     ...runs lightly off, into the growing rain.  Ishmael sees.
     Stricken to his soul with longing.  And indecision.

     EXT. CEDAR GROVE - DAY

     Hatsue, drenched, alone with her thoughts in the protection of
     the hollow cedar.  The rain is driving now, and she glances up.
     At something we don't see.  And watches it.  Finally...

                               HATSUE
                     You followed me, huh?

     PULL BACK to see him.  Rain pelting off his poor soaked form.  She
     is waiting for an answer.  So...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Sorry.  It sort of...happened, I
                     just...I followed you.  I'm sorry.

     She pulls her hair behind her ears.  A movement which stretches her
     body.

                               HATSUE
                     I'm all wet.

     She starts refastening her hair now, looking away.  He comes
     inside, crouches as respectfully far from her as he can.  Which is
     close.  He watches her, watches her, and...

                               ISHMAEL
                     I'm sorry I kissed you on
                     the beach.

     No reaction.  As if she hasn't heard.  Now his heart is beating
     straight through his chest.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Let's just forget about it.
                     Forget it happened.

     She picks up her damp straw hat.  And, eyes down, tracing a finger
     around its brim...

                               HATSUE
                     Don't be sorry.  I'm not sorry
                     about it.

     His heart bursts within him.  And he struggles to keep it from his
     face.  Even though she isn't watching.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Me neither.

     She turns her face to him, and offers a small smile.  It is
     genuine, and therefore dazzling to the boy.  She lies back on
     the ground.  Her eyes so unafraid and direct.

                               HATSUE
                     Do you think this is wrong?

     He swallows.  Staring at her lying there so comfortably.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     The best part was that there was a
                     'this'.  To debate the wrongness of.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Your friends would.  Your dad would
                     kill me with a machete.

                               HATSUE
                     We're Japanese, not Mexican, Ishmael.
                     He'll slice you up with a ceremonial
                     sword.

     Ah.  Better.  They are both grinning now.

                               HATSUE
                     My mom.  Would be the problem.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Why?  We're only talking.

     Her eyes flicker.  The synapse that a woman can offer a man.

                               HATSUE (softly)
                     Sure.

     And touches his hand.  With her fingertips.  The barest whisper...

                               HATSUE
                     I can't hear you.

     Thus invited, he leans down over Hatsue.  Kisses her mouth with all
     the tenderness in him.  This time, her eyes close gently.  And her
     body arches slightly, into his.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     We kissed for half an hour, that
                     first time.  And I knew there would
                     never be another day like it.

     Rain POUNDING now.  A curtain of water, sealing them from the
     world.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     No matter how long I lived.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     CLOSE on Ishmael, once more in the row of reporters.  Absently
     kneading the stump of his amputated arm.  The way some men drum
     their fingers.

                               HOOKS (O.S.)
                     ...you were acquainted with the
                     defendant and his family.

     ETTA HEINE is a linebacker in a dress.  Stout and German and wary.
     She is 57, and pulls her hem down tight below her knees.

                               ETTA
                     Him and his folks and two brothers
                     and two sisters worked our land.
                     Lived in a picker's cabin at first.

                               HOOKS
                     So the defendant knew the deceased,
                     your son, even then.

                               ETTA
                     They fished t'gether.  Went to school.
                     Carl Junior treated him like a white
                     person.  Like any friend.

     Said not with pride, but regret.

                               HOOKS
                     But the dispute began.  With the
                     father, yes?

     INT. HEINE FARMHOUSE - DAY

     Etta twenty years younger, watches stoically from the parlor
     window, as her husband CARL SENIOR strools the strawberry fields
     with Kabuo's father Zenhichi.  Carl is a huge rawboned man, and
     puffs a pipe as Zenhichi stops, sweeps his arms this way and that.
     Etta knows trouble when she sees it.

     INT. KITCHEN - LATER

     Etta pours her husband's coffee.  It is very quiet.

                               ETTA
                     Don't sell, Carl.  You'll regret it.

                               CARL SR.
                     Only seven acres, and the worst
                     seven, at that.  They're decent
                     folks.  They got five hunnerd to
                     put down now.

                               ETTA
                     Don't go wavin' new church clothes
                     at me.  We're not such paupers as
                     sell to Japs, are we?  For what, a
                     pouch of fancy pipe tobacco?

     She walks about the kitchen with her arms folded.  Too upset to
     be still.

                               CARL SR.
                     They work hard, live clean, don't
                     spend nothin'.  Even kind to the
                     Indjuns.  People is people, comes
                     down to it.

     Etta turns sharply.  Glares at the big man.  He just blinks
     blandly, puffs his pipe.  She can see this ship has sailed.

                               ETTA
                     You wear the pants, doncha?  Go
                     ahead, sell our land to a Jap and
                     see what comes of it.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Hooks pacing, slow and calm.  This part needs to be clear.

                               HOOKS
                     But back in '34, Japanese-born
                     could not own land.  So...?

                               ETTA
                     Carl held it for 'em.  Called it
                     a lease.  They make payments every
                     June and December...

                               HOOKS
                     Why?  If they could never take title.

                               ETTA
                     Their kids was born here.  So when
                     the oldest, that one there, was
                     twenty...last payment gets made,
                     and he could own it.

     She folds her hands.  Looks Kabuo square in the eye.

                               ETTA
                     But they missed their last two
                     payments.  So that was that.

     INT. FARMHOUSE KITCHEN - DAY

     Carl Sr. and Zenhichi sit at the table.  There is coffee.  But it
     is untouched.  Etta watches by the stove.

                               ETTA (V.O.)
                     March 1942, orders came down.  Japs
                     had eight days before the Army was
                     gonna cart 'em off.

     Carl lights his pipe.  Compassion in his broad weathered face.

                               CARL SR. (softly)
                     Eight days.  It ain't right.

                               ZENHICHI
                     We must leave everything.  If you
                     like, you can work our fields, sell
                     berries, keep the money.  Otherwise,
                     they just rot.

                               ETTA (V.O.)
                     Japs are shrewd.  Offer berries he
                     can't use.  Soften us up about those
                     two payments still to come.

     And sure enough, Zenhichi produces a neat stack of bills.  Puts
     them on the table.

                               ZENHICHI
                     Today, I have $120 toward next paym...

                               CARL SR.
                     Absolutely not, Zenhichi.  I'm not
                     gonna take your savings at a time
                     like this.

     The small man spreads the bills out.  On the table.

                               ZENHICHI
                     Please, you take.  Then, I send more
                     from where I'm going.  If not enough,
                     you still have seven acres strawber...

                               ETTA
                     Thought you was givin' us those.

     And everything.  Stops.

                               ETTA
                     Didn't you come in here givin' them
                     away?  Now you want $130, after our
                     labor and fertilizer.  Is that what
                     you come here hopin' on?

     Zenhichi keeps his anger within.  His face is stone.

                               ETTA (V.O.)
                     I spit on him, and he's pretending
                     it didn't happen that way.  How could
                     anyone trust people like that?

                               ETTA
                     You want more coffee?

                               ZENHICHI
                     No, thank you.  Take money, please.

     But Carl is staring at his wife.  She stares right back.  Carl
     turns, slides the money toward Zenhichi.

                               CARL SR.
                     Etta's been rude to you, and I
                     apologize for that.  You keep this
                     money, and those payments will work
                     out fine.  Somewhere down the road.

     INT. PARLOR - TWILIGHT

     Silence.  Palpable.  Two figures sit at opposite ends of this
     darkening room, each under a lamp.  Carl Sr. is reading the paper.
     His face is stone.  Etta at a small writing desk strewn with bills
     and ledgers.  Her face is angry.

     A screen door opens.  Slams shut.  Big footfalls coming.  No one
     looks up.

                               CARL JR.
                     Look at this!

     He stands in the doorway.  A bamboo fishing road in his giant hand.

                               CARL JR.
                     Kabuo loaned it to me.  Til he
                     gets back.

     And his parents stare back him.

                               CARL JR.
                     It's great for sea-run cutthroat.
                     The ferrules are smooth, silk wrapped.

                               ETTA
                     Take that back.  And do it now.

     The big young face is stunned, hurt.

                               CARL JR.
                     I told Kabuo I'd take ca...

                               ETTA
                     Those Japs owe us.  I don't want
                     nothin' confusing that.

     The boy looks to his father.  Who says nothing.

                               ETTA
                     I said now, boy.  Supper's in
                     forty minutes.

     Crestfallen, defeated, the boy backs away.  Hear his footfalls.
     The screen door SLAM hard.

     And Carl Sr. looks at his wife.  No sound, until...

                               CARL SR.
                     We ain't right together.

     The words are flat and straight.  Etta stoic.

                               CARL SR.
                     You and me.  We just ain't right.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Hooks settles back.  His butt on the edge of the prosecutor's
     table.  The soul of patience and clarity.

                               HOOKS
                     You said neither of the last two
                     payments were made.  But your husband
                     told defendant's father that he could
                     pay them...what, 'down the road'.

     And straight back...

                               ETTA
                     Road ended October 1944, when my
                     husband passed away.

     She nods.  That's all there was to it.

                               ETTA
                     I sold all the land to our
                     neighbor, Ole Jurgensen.  Got
                     a fair price, this time.  And...

     Straightens her spine.  To deliver the clincher...

                               ETTA
                     Sent all their equity back to those
                     Japs down in California.  Which I
                     didn't have to do.  Specially since
                     my boy was out in the Pacific, gettin'
                     shot at by Japs at the time.

     Hooks pauses.  As if drinking this in.

                               HOOKS
                     Now defendant's father had also
                     died by that point.  Where was
                     the defendant?  When you sent
                     his family their equity.

                               ETTA
                     In the war.  Europe, I believe.
                     They could hardly send him to the
                     Pacific, could they?

     Kabuo watching the woman.  Eyes as hard as her own.

                               HOOKS
                     And when he came home.  Did he
                     write you about this?  Or phone,
                     perhaps.

                               ETTA
                     Just showed up at my door, big as
                     life and twice as mean.  Wanted to
                     talk to my son.

     INT. ETTA'S APARTMENT, AMITY HARBOR - DAY

     Kabuo stands at the open door.  No one is inviting him inside.

                               ETTA
                     He's over the ocean, fighting the
                     Japs.  They're just about licked.

                               KABUO (quietly)
                     Just about.

     And there it sits.

                               ETTA
                     When Mr. Heine passed away, I
                     couldn't farm the place myself,
                     could I?  You're gonna have to talk
                     to Ole abou...

                               KABUO
                     I just did.  He didn't know we were
                     one payment away.  You didn't tell
                     him Mr. Heine promised my fath...

                               ETTA
                     I was s'posed to tell him there's
                     some illegal contract muddling things
                     up?  You folks didn't make your pay-
                     ments.  In America, bank comes in and
                     repossesses your land.  I didn't do
                     anything wrong.

     Kabuo stands.  Calm, unblinking.

                               KABUO
                     Nothing illegal.  Wrong is a
                     different mat...

                               ETTA
                     Get out of here.

                               KABUO
                     You sold our land out from under
                     us, Mrs. Heine.  You took advantage
                     of the fact that we were gone.  You...

     SLAMM.  The door has closed in his face.  And Kabuo stands there.
     As if deciding.

     Whether to break it down.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Hooks standing at the jury box now.  Looking at them, as he asks...

                               HOOKS
                     What do you mean by 'dirty looks'?

                               ETTA
                     Well.  Every time I see him in
                     town or somewhere, he's starin'
                     at me with these narrow eyes.
                     Givin' me his mean face.

                               HOOKS
                     When your son came back from the
                     war, what did he say about all this?

                               ETTA
                     That he'd keep an eye on Miyamoto.
                     Watch out for him.

                               HOOKS
                     Did he see some danger from defen...

                               NELS
                     Objection.  Asking witness to
                     speculate about deceased's state
                     of mind.

                               HOOKS
                     All right.  What did your son say
                     to that effect?

     She looks up.  As if trying to recall.

                               ETTA
                     He said he wished Kabuo would forget
                     about his seven acres, and stop
                     lookin' at us cross-eyed.

     Hooks stares at the jury.  Holds the moment.

                               HOOKS
                     Your witness.

     And goes slowly back to his seat.  Nels waits until his opponent is
     seated.  Then, rises.

                               NELS
                     Just three questions.  The Miyamoto
                     family bought your seven acres for
                     $4500?

                               ETTA
                     Tried to.  Defaulted on their
                     payments.

                               NELS
                     Second question.  What did Ole
                     Jurgensen pay you per acre?

                               ETTA
                     A thousand.

                               NELS
                     So that makes what would have been
                     $4500 into $7000, doesn't it?  If
                     you sent the equity back, you had
                     a profit of $2500.

                               ETTA
                     Is that your third question?

                               NELS
                     It is.

                               ETTA
                     You done your math right.

     The old man wears a thin, cold smile.

                               NELS
                     You, too.  No further questions.

     HOLD on Kabuo.  As he watches Etta rise heavily from the box.

     EXT. DEEP FOREST - FIRST LIGHT

     Mist of moments before dawn.  As tendrils part, there is enough
     light to see...

     ...eyes.  They are Asian.  They are razor-keen.  PULL BACK to
     reveal...

     ...Kabuo alone in G.I. gear and helmet.  Rifle up high, sweat
     on his face, moving soundlessly, turning in a circle as he goes,
     until...

     ...he stops.  A heartbeat of silence.  Then...

     ...the BLAST of automatic tracer TEARS through trees, as he WHIRLS
     and RETURNS FIRE in a single motion, until...

     Silence.

     His heart is pounding.  He waits.  Waits.  Weapon at the ready, he
     pushes THROUGH the dense foliage to see...

     ...the 15-year-old German SOLDIER, splayed on the forest floor, his
     chest torn and bloodied.  Kabuo's gaze LOCKS with the boy's.  The
     young soldier's empty left hand reaches out in a a plea, and as
     Kabuo steps forward, the boy's right hand comes suddenly...

     ...INTO view, metal GLINTING in motion, as Kabuo...

     ...BLOWS the boy AWAY with staccato rifle BURSTS that JUMP the
     already-lifeless body like an electric jolt.  And falling from the
     kid's hand, not a pistol, but...

     ...ID TAGS.

     No expression on Kabuo's face.  None at all.  He moves on.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     OLE JURGENSEN wobbles slightly in the witness box, hands resting on
     the cane planted unsteadily between his frail legs.  His eyes leak
     water, his beard is wispy and unkempt.

                               HOOKS
                     Were those his exact words?

                               OLE (shaky)
                     He say Mrs. Heine robbed him.
                     Mr. Heine never woulda let no
                     such ting like that hap...

                               HOOKS
                     Robbed.  He was angry.

                               OLE
                     Oh, yeh.  He said someday he would
                     get his land back.

     Hooks nodding.  Nodding.

                               HOOKS
                     Mr. Jurgensen.  Did he offer to
                     buy the seven acres from you?

                               OLE
                     Oh, yeh.  But this is nine year
                     ago, I had my healt, I wasn't
                     wantin' to sell.

                               HOOKS
                     And then your stroke came this
                     summer.  And you put your property
                     on the market, I believe you said
                     September 7.  Which, remember, is
                     eight days before Carl Heine died.
                     And who comes Spetember 7, wanting
                     to buy?

                               OLE
                     Carl Heine came.

     Hooks pauses.  Lets that sink in.

                               HOOKS
                     But Carl was a fisherman.  And
                     successful at it.

                               OLE
                     He said he didn't want that life
                     no more.  He'd been saving to buy
                     a farm.  He was sorry I got sick.
                     But pretty excited to get back his
                     father's place.

     The old man's head bobs.  Recalling.

                               OLE
                     Liesel and me.  Was happy for him.

     Hooks smiles.  As if he would be happy, too.  Anyone would be.

                               HOOKS
                     And later, that same day.  Only
                     eight days before Carl Heine died.
                     Did another prospective buyer appear?

     EXT. FARMHOUSE PORCH - DAY

     Ole sits in a wicker chair at a wicker table.  His wife LIESEL is
     setting out cold drinks.  But their visitor stands rigid,
     disbelieving.

                               LIESEL
                     I'm sorry to tell you, we took his
                     earnest money, he shook Ole's hand.
                     Come November, he'll sell his boat,
                     and take over the farm.

     Kabuo is thunderstruck.

                               KABUO
                     But your sign...

                               OLE
                     We din't have no time to take it down.
                     He just come ten o'clock.

     Kabuo nods.  His voice is soft, but his eyes are steel.

                               KABUO
                     It's my fault.  I should have come
                     earlier.

     He looks so odd, perhaps he's ill.  Liesel looks concerned.

                               OLE
                     If you want t'buy them seven
                     acres.  Carl Heine's the only
                     fella can sell 'em.

     INT. COURTROOM - EVENING

     The witness box is empty.  The snow outside the windows is falling
     in darkness.  And Judge Lew Fielding is leaning his frame toward
     the jurors...

                               JUDGE
                     I apologize for keeping you folks
                     from your families in a storm like
                     this.  I do hope you'll be reasonably
                     comfortable in the hotel tonight.  And
                     one more thing...

     He smiles softly.

                               JUDGE
                     This Court takes judicial notice of
                     the fact that tomorrow is the 13th
                     anniversary of the attack on Pearl
                     Harbor.

     Slight pause.  To make sure they are listening.

                               JUDGE
                     Which has no relationship to this
                     trial.  Which is why I mention it.

     Gavel CRACKS down.

                               JUDGE
                     10 o'clock tomorrow, folks.  Stay
                     warm.

     INT. COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR - MINUTES LATER

     Hatsue walks briskly down the crowded hallway, her eyes searching
     the benches lining the corridor ahead.  Her view obscured by the
     crowd hurrying to fight the storm.  Suddenly...

     ...she stops.  Because there.  On a bench.  Sits Ishmael.  Next to
     him, a round Japanese-American baby boy of 11 months.  Before him,
     squat the boy's sisters, eight and four.  All are watching
     Ishmael...

     ...manipulating a COIN.  It rolls across his knuckles and back
     again, with amazing dexterity.  Then, he snatches it into his palm.
     Holds up his fist.  All little eyes are glued.  The fist...

     ...opens.  It is EMPTY.  There are GASPS.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Know where it is?

     They don't.

                               ISHMAEL
                     It's in my other hand.

     The four-year-old LAUGHS.  Her big sister socks her.  And Mom steps
     in.  The man looks up, with the sweetest smile.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Your mother went to the bathroom.
                     She said I could show them a trick.

                               FOUR-YEAR-OLD
                     HE DOESN'T HAVE A OTHER HAND!

     Hatsue is not smiling.  Nor is she angry.  Even awkward comes to
     her in a graceful way.  She scoops up her son.

                               HATSUE
                     Thank you for your help.
                           (to the girls)
                     Let's go find obaasan.

     And without even glancing at him, she heads off at a brisk pace.
     The girls following.  The four-year-old turning back to wave once.

     And then they are gone.

     INT. JAIL - NIGHT

     Kabuo stands outside the open steel door of his tiny cell, as Abel
     Martinson clumsily unfastens the manacles.  A cot, a toilet without
     a seat, a bare bulb hanging from a wire.  No windows to the outside
     world.  Only the small barred one in the cell door.  As the
     manacles fall away...

     ...Abel removes two objects from his pocket.

                               ABEL
                     This is from Nels, I can't see the
                     harm.  Don't tell Art, okay?

     Hands him two CANDY BARS.  A Snickers.  And a Baby Ruth.  Kabuo
     looks at them...

     In spite of himself.  Kabuo smiles.  Remembering...

     INT. JAIL - DAY

     Kabuo sits in jailhouse overalls on the edge of his cot.  Motion-
     less.  On a private journey of the mind.  The door CLANGS open...

                               MORAN
                     This here is Nels Gudmundsson,
                     he's your attorney.

     Kabuo looks over.  That flat, unsmiling gaze.  The old man has a
     folded chessboard and a Havana cigar box under his arm.  Their eyes
     lock, as if the Sheriff weren't even here.  And Moran leaves,
     closing the door with respectful quiet.

     Nels doesn't smile, doesn't speak.  Opens the chessboard on the
     cot.  Opens the cigar box filled with chess pieces, two cigars,
     a Snickers and a Baby Ruth.  He puts the candy bars by Kabuo's
     pillow, a silent gift.  Begins to set up the chessboard.

                               KABUO
                     What makes you think I play?

                               NELS
                     Your daddy played.  I asked, down
                     at the Japanese Community Center.
                     You smoke cigars?

     And offers one up, rough and black.

                               KABUO
                     I'm not sure.  I better check
                     down at the Center.

     Kabuo smiles only with his eyes.  Nels nods, maybe you better.
     Lights his own cigar.  Puts the matches and the other cigar at
     Kabuo's side.

                               NELS
                     White or black?

                               KABUO
                     You mean, do I like to take the
                     offensive?  Or hang back and wait.

     That seems answer enough for Nels.  He turns the board around to
     where he has white, and makes the first move.

                               NELS
                     Nice.  When two fellas understand
                     each other.

     Kabuo picks up the cigar.  STRIKES a match.

     ...........................................................
     white.  Kabuo moves a black bishop.  Nels' eyes shoot around the
     table.  He reaches and KNOCKS OVER Kabuo's black king.  Kabuo
     blinks, studies the board silently.  Then smiles.

     He unwraps the Snickers bar.  Breaks it in half.  Hands one piece
     across to his lawyer.

     SERIES OF ANGLES...

     RAPID CUTS, different days, Nels in different suits, chess pieces
     in different positions, each time Nels reaching to topple Kabuo's
     king.  The last time...

     Kabuo has to study the board for a beat.  Shakes his head.

                               KABUO
                     You must think I like losing.

                               NELS
                     I think you like learning.

     And leans his old bones back against the hard wall.

                               NELS
                     Me, too.  That's why I come.

     Pulls out two cigars.  Kabuo looks at them.

                               NELS
                     Bet there's a few things you
                     could teach me.  Kendo, for one.

                               KABUO
                     Sure.  I could take a fishing
                     gaff and split your head open.
                     Right above your left ear.

     No smile.  Steady gaze.

                               KABUO
                     You wouldn't even see it move.

                               NELS
                     You're wonderin'...how come I
                     never ask.  If you did it.

     Hands one cigar.  Across the chessboard.

                               NELS
                     Now, you've told me you killed
                     four men.  In Germany.  So I know
                     you are the kind of man who can
                     kill.  When there's a reason.

                               KABUO (very quiet)
                     Guess I am.

     Takes the cigar.  Rolls it between his thumb and forefinger.

                               NELS
                     You feel guilty.  That you took
                     their lives.  That's in your eyes.

     STRIKES a match.

                               NELS (softly)
                     Jury sees what I see.  More often
                     than not.

     Reaches stiffly.  Kabuo bends toward him.  Accepts the flame.
     Takes a puff.

                               NELS
                     Prosecutor thinks.  What was
                     your reason?  To kill Carl Heine.

     Kabuo says not a word.

                               NELS
                     Well, there is the land itself.
                     Raise your children where you
                     were raised.  Sleep with your
                     wife at night, 'stead of bein'
                     alone on the sea.

     Brings the match to his own cigar.  Careful.  Expert.

                               NELS
                     There's fairness and honor.  You
                     were cheated by that old bitch.
                     Boy, she is something.

                               KABUO (simply)
                     She's not alone.

     Worlds within those words.

                               NELS (a murmur)
                     None of us are.

     And in those.

                               NELS
                     And prejudice, like you say.  Your
                     people locked in a concentration
                     camp.  You go off to fight for our
                     country's freedom.  Come back to this.

     Shakes his head.

                               NELS
                     But Mr. Hooks has missed the one
                     reason.  One reason.  You coulda
                     done it.

     A flicker.  Behind the defendant's eyes.

                               NELS
                     I read you Etta Heine's deposition.
                     So I could watch your mind.  Like I
                     do when you move your rook, or when
                     I move mine.

     A smile now.  Very kind.  Very sad.

                               NELS
                     And you weren't thinking about her.
                     Or about land.  Or about you.

     No, you weren't.  And in the gentlest voice...

                               NELS
                     No, someone cheats you, you can
                     rise above that.  You're a family
                     man.  You put them ahead of you, hmmn?

     He sighs.  But...

                               NELS
                     Wasn't you she dishonored.

     And the old watering eyes are rock steady now.

                               NELS
                     Your father was a strong and
                     tireless man.  Honest to a fault.
                     Kind, and humble as well...

     There is a silence.  And then...

                               KABUO (real quiet)
                     Nice.  When two fellas.  Understand
                     each other.

     They let that sit.

                               NELS
                     Now this jury is gonna be lookin'
                     at the evidence with one eye.
                     And at you with the oth...

                               KABUO
                     Mr. Gudmundsson, we know what
                     that jury is looking at.

     He won't let hs eyes lie to this man.

                               NELS
                     Your father needs you.  To return
                     to your family.

     Silence.

                               NELS
                     So every time you think about
                     showing that jury strength.  Or
                     honor or composure.  Or dignity.

                               KABUO
                     I should show them an American?

     Nels sees the rage.  It breaks his heart.  It makes him feel old
     and helpless.

                               NELS
                     Show them an innocent man.

     What he stares at now.  Is a neutral mask.  As powerful and opaque
     as the voice is quiet.

                               KABUO
                     Shame you couldn't play chess with
                     my dad, sir.  He'd kick your ass.

     INT. ISHMAEL'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

     Through glass, snow is tumbling in endless cascades, the world
     dwarfed by a descending heaven.  A sound, a strange soft CLICK.
     PAN across...

     ...the small, well-kept bachelor apartment.  Neat stacks of books
     on the floor, catching the overflow of shelves crammed full.
     Someone likes to read.  Another soft CLICK.  To...

     ...the kitchen now, along the floor.  An awkward high-top SHOE, its
     buckled straps above elastic LACES that fasten across the instep.
     The shoe steps on a crude wooden PEDAL.  And we hear another CLICK.
     PAN up along a vertical strip of mesh WIRE to...

     ...a plywood CONTRAPTION, held by a partially closed drawer.  A
     piece of spring steel holding a set of NAIL CLIPPERS.

     Ishmael inserts his pinkie carefully.  CLICK.  Finishes clipping
     the fingernails of his only hand.  And looks out.  At the magic of
     white.

     EXT. HOLLOW CEDAR - DAY

     Safe within their haven, the 18-year-olds kiss and hold each other
     urgently.  Their tongues exploring each other's mouth, her legs
     open beneath her skirt, pressing her body up against him.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I gave her all of my soul to love.
                     I knew someday we would live in
                     France.  Italy.  Somewhere.  Far
                     from the things that upset her.

     ANGLE...later, they lie so quietly.  Her head nestled in the crook
     of his arm, he gently plays with her hair.  Her face so still, so
     thoughtful and grave.

                               ISHMAEL (a murmur)
                     You don't have to be so tragic,
                     you know.

     Ah.  Her dark eyes flicker.

                               HATSUE (dry)
                     Kind of magical, the way you know
                     how to comfort a girl.

     She cuts the irony by sending her fingertips to stroke his.

                               HATSUE
                     I can just feel my spirits soar.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Well, I don't do it for just
                     anybody.

     And kisses her head.  But her eyes still stare off into the tangle
     of her worries.  He draws a breath...

                               ISHMAEL
                     There can't be any wrong in
                     this, Ha...

                               HATSUE
                     I lie to my parents every day.
                     And every night.

     His light tone against the fear...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Well.  Since I never told your
                     folks, I guess I'm lying to 'em,
                     too.  But you don't hear me
                     complaining about it.

     She winds her fingers with his.  Loyalty against her doubt.
     Very soft with...

                               HATSUE
                     I'm in awe.  Of your strength.

     INT. SCHOOL BUS - DAY

     Hatsue sits with the Japanese kids.  Ishmael with his friends.  The
     bus filled with stone-faced teenagers listening to the DRIVER, who
     brandishes his newspaper at the Japanese side of the bus...

                               DRIVER
                     ...not just Pearl, they're attackin'
                     all over the Pacific, the whole
                     fleet's destroyed.  The FBI's in
                     Seattle right now...

     And pauses.  His eyes moving from one Japanese face to the next.
     Are you listening?

                               DRIVER
                     ...arresting Jap traitors, the
                     spies and everything.  There'll
                     be a blackout tonight, so keep your
                     radios off.  So the Japs don't pick
                     up no signals.  You get the message?

     Stares them down.  Until, from across the bus...

                               ISHMAEL (O.S.)
                     Hey, Mr. Lamberson, over here!

     The driver's eyes snap around.  The tall boy is waiting.

                               ISHMAEL
                     I have a radio, too.  Don't you
                     want to be sure I got the message?

     Ishmael sees the anger.  He's not afraid of it.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Just checking.

     INT. SAN PIEDRO REVIEW - LATE NIGHT

     The horrid CLANGING of the great rattletrap press, Arthur Chambers
     ducking nimbly among the rollers.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     It was a special edition, an extra.
                     My father wrote, 'These people are
                     our neighbors, they have sent their
                     sons to the United States Army...'

     Print flying onto paper as it rolls through the green metal
     gauntlet.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     'They are no more an enemy than
                     our fellow islanders of German or
                     Italian descent.'

     Belary-eyed Ishmael, pulling finished copies from the bin.  As
     he stacks them for delivery, he reads aloud, above the CLASH of
     metal...

                               ISHMAEL (sleepy and loud)
                     LET US SO LIVE THAT, WHEN IT IS OVER,
                     WE CAN LOOK EACH OTHER IN THE EYE.
                     AND KNOW WE HAVE ACTED HONORABLY.

     Big yawn.  It's really late.  He turns, and sees...

     ...his father.  Staring at him.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I guess courage never inspires the
                     young.  Until the danger of it bites
                     their butt.

     EXT. WOODS - TWILIGHT

     They walk slowly up the path.  An arm around each other's waist,
     their bodies brushing as they go...

                               HATSUE
                     My father can't get our money from
                     the bank.  We have a few dol...

                               ISHMAEL
                     It'll be over soon.  I can get
                     you money.

     She stops.  By a weathered fence, covered in vines.  It's growing
     dark.

                               HATSUE
                     It's not going to get better, okay?

     She sighs.  He moves close, looks so grave.

                               HATSUE
                     They arrested Mr. Shirazaki,
                     because his farm is near a navy
                     transmitter.  And his family can't
                     leave their house.

     What can he say.

                               ISHMAEL
                     It's just Pearl Harbor.  People
                     are a little crazy, right n...

                               HATSUE
                     Look at my face.  It's the face of
                     the people who did that.  My father
                     hardly speaks English.  We're in
                     bad trouble, you have to see that.

     He reaches.  Touches this face that he loves with all his heart.
     Forces up a smile.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Maybe we can fix your eyes.

     She leans up.  CROSSES her eyes in a goofy expression.  Then kisses
     his mouth.  When she pulls back...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Don't let this hurt us, okay?
                     Whatever happens.

     And she studies this boy.  Knowing more than he can ever
     understand.  And chooses to whisper...

                               HATSUE
                     It won't.  You'll see.

     INT. IMADA FARMHOUSE - NIGHT

     Hatsue and her older daughter are setting the farmhouse table, as
     snow drifts down beyond the window.  Plates and flatware.  Glasses
     and napkins.  Slowly, in silence, as if a ritual bonding mother and
     daughter.  She glances to the next room...

     ...her mother Fujiko plays with the babies.  Her father HISAO reads
     the paper.  Smoking his pipe.

     And Hatsue is motionless for a moment.  Watching him.

     INT. IMADA FARMHOUSE - DAY

     CLOSE on Hatsue at 18, staring with silent anger greater than her
     fear.

                               HISAO (O.S. shaky)
                     We are loyal.

     PULL BACK to see the room.  Hatsue and her sisters side by side,
     staring at the table.  On it rests a shotgun, four boxes of shells,
     a ceremonial sword.  An FBI AGENT, a small man in a dark suit, is
     tagging each item.  He wears a light, perpetual, insincere smile.

                               FUJIKO
                     Everyone on the island has
                     these things.

     Fujiko at her husband's side.  She is quietly indignant.  He is
     frightened.

                               AGENT (overly casual)
                     Well, they'll hold this stuff for
                     a little bit, then ship it back to
                     you.  It's nothing to worry about.

     And walks over to the tansu, a chest of drawers, and begins to
     remove items...

                               AGENT
                     You folks have been real polite,
                     and we'll be outta your hair in
                     just a second...

     ...a silk kimono with gold brocaded sash...

                               AGENT
                     That's very nice.  From the old
                     country, it appears.  Very high class.

     And lays it on another table.  Next to a bamboo flute, a stack of
     shakuhachi sheet music.

                               AGENT
                     These are real nice things.
                     They'll take special care of 'em.

     Hisao sees his wife's sudden alarm.  And, as respectfully as he can
     manage...

                               HISAO
                     The flute is precious.  The kimono,
                     the music.  Must you take th...

                               AGENT
                     ...oh yeh, any old country stuff,
                     we have to take.

     And sees on the sofa, an open album.  Strolls over.

                               FUJIKO
                     This is only my daughter's
                     scrapbook.  For her memories.

     So he picks it up.  Doesn't see Hatsue stiffen with repulsion, as
     he wanders, thumbing through it, toward the hallway...

                               AGENT (calling out)
                     Wilson?  Don't go pawing through
                     the underwear!

     And chuckles.  He knows they appreciate a joke.  It means there's
     nothing to be afraid of.  Stops turning pages now.  Looks up, his
     eyes moving until they find Hatsue.

                               AGENT
                     Strawberry Princess, huh?  You
                     musta been flattered by that.
                     Looks just like y...

     The soft slamming of a screen door.  Another AGENT, large and
     shambling in his too-small suit, is carrying a crate.  And a
     telling look.

                               AGENT #2 (quiet triumph)
                     Dynamite.  Twenty-four sticks.

     And the crate BANGS onto the table.  Just beside the kimono.  Lifts
     out two sticks and holds them high.  Proof.

                               HISAO
                     You must believe.  This for tree
                     stumps.  For clearing land.

     The small man's smile fades now.  First time.  And his eyes fix
     Hisao before he speaks.  As if reading his mind.

                               AGENT
                     Maybe.  Maybe.  But this is still
                     bad, y'see.

     Fujiko slips her hand into her husband's.  To give him strength.

                               AGENT
                     It's illegal contraband, you were
                     s'posed to turn this stuff in.
                     We, uh...

     Slight shrug.

                               AGENT
                     We gotta arrest you.  Have to
                     take you to Seattle.

     Fujiko's breath catches.  One of the daughters whimpers.  The
     silence hangs thick and frightening.  The bigger agent unhooks a
     pair of handcuffs from his belt, but...

                               AGENT
                     Naw, you don't need those.  Mister
                     Eee-ma-da-san here is a class act,
                     a real gentleman.

     The younger girls are crying now, clinging to their sisters.  The
     agent regrets this.

                               FUJIKO
                     Please, reconsider.  He has done
                     no bad th...

                               AGENT
                     Well, nobody knows that yet, do
                     they?  So, best for an honest man
                     to clear his name for godd and all.

     Ain't that right?

                               AGENT
                     Only a few questions in Seattle,
                     okay?  Few questions, few answers,
                     the whole thing is over.

     He puts his hand on Hisao's arm.  Not roughly, but much firmer than
     the ease of his voice...

                               AGENT
                     Simple as that.

     INT. FARMHOUSE KITCHEN - NIGHT

     Eight pages of a letter, carefully written in Kanji characters,
     folded neatly on a table.

                               FUJIKO (O.S.)
                     Why do I read you this distres-
                     sing letter?  From your father.
                     From this hakujin...work camp, it
                     is called.  In Montana.

     PULL BACK to see mother and five daughters around the table.  Even
     the youngest girls somber, attentive.  As if they have aged these
     past few weeks.

                               FUJIKO
                     Because you need to know the
                     darkness.  In the hearts of the
                     hakuj...

                               HATSUE (blurts)
                     Not all of them.

     The silent wake of her outburst, her interruption, lingers.  Her
     mother studies her.

                               FUJIKO
                     The whites are enslaved by their egos,
                     Hatsue.  Each believes his aloneness
                     is everything.  We seek union wi...

                               HATSUE
                     ...the ones seeking union with the
                     Greater Life bombed Pearl Harbor.
                     They are not humble.  I am not part
                     of them, I'm part of here.

     Her voice so loud, so insistent.  Her sisters are afraid for her.
     To have shown such disrespect.  They look down at their hands.  Or
     away, as if not hearing.

                               FUJIKO (quietly, slowly)
                     I see this.  This lack of purity
                     is a mist around your soul.  I see
                     it every day, it haunts your face
                     in unguarded moments.

     The room is still as the grave.  The mother's eyes burn silently.

                               FUJIKO
                     I see it in your eagerness to
                     leave here.  And walk the woods.
                     In the afternoon.

     What does she know?  Hatsue's heart pounding.  And to her surprise,
     her mother's voice softens...

                               FUJIKO
                     If you lose your true self, Hatsue.
                     True self...

     The stern warning, the unrelenting judgement, has become a plea.

                               FUJIKO
                     There is no way back.

     INT. ISHMAEL'S KITCHEN - NIGHT

     Ishmael washing his supper plate.  His fork and knife.  His coffee
     mug.  His skillet.  Hard labor with one hand.  And as he works, he
     looks at...

     ...the window above his sink.  Darkness and moonlit snow.  And his
     own reflection.  CLOSE on his face in the glass, and MATCH DISSOLVE
     to...

     INT. SAN PIEDRO REVIEW - NIGHT

     ...Arthur Chambers.  Weary.  Worn behind the smile of knowing ease,
     as he sips coffee from a mug of his own.

     His boy sits across from him in the silent press room.  Feet up,
     reading their paper.  Its headline, ISLAND JAPANESE ACCEPT ARMY
     MANDATE TO MOVE.

                               ISHMAEL
                     See, you bring it on yourself.
                     23 ladies honored by the PTA, you
                     single out three names.  And they're
                     all Japanese.  That isn't journalism.

                               ARTHUR (quietly)
                     Because...?

     Ishmael has heard this gently prodding word all his life.  He
     sighs.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Because journalism.  Is just the
                     facts.

                               ARTHUR
                     Which facts?  You can't print
                     them all.  Journalism is balance.
                     Finding the facts folks need to know.

     The boy looks dryly at his father.  SLAPS the page with the back of
     his hand.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Hence.  The letters.

     Arthur closes his eyes.  Recites from memory...

                               ARTHUR
                     'Seems like you're favoring the Japs,
                     Art.  Writin' all about their
                     patriotism and loyalty with nothin'
                     'bout the treachery.'

     A smile in the voice.  A sad one.

                               ARTHUR
                     'Your newspaper is an insult to
                     all white Americans.  Please cancel
                     my subscription and send refund.'

     Now the smile is on his face.  Even sadder.

                               ARTHUR
                     The calls are better. 'Jap lovers
                     get their balls cut off and stuffed
                     down their...'
                              (shrugs)
                     Missed the rest.  Hanging up will
                     do that.

     Silence.  Two men.  Watching each other.

                               ARTHUR
                     We lost the Price-Rite ads.  And
                     Lottie Opsvig's shop, and Larsen's
                     Lumberyard and the Anacortes Cafe.
                     And 30 percent of our subscribers.

     A deeper silence.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Integrity is expensive stuff, huh?

                               ARTHUR
                     Valuable things.  Sometimes are.

     Toasts his son.  With coffee.

                               ARTHUR
                     But.  I've got the answer.

     A wink.  A swallow of Joe.

                               ARTHUR
                     Print four pages.  Instead
                     of eight.

     EXT. HOLLOW CEDAR - DUSK

     They lie so close.  Their bodies touching, not moving.  Their faces
     inches apart, so that every word is a murmur...

                               HATSUE
                     You're like me.  You've learned
                     to be devious.

     He's never seen her this fragile, this scared.  He knows he has to
     be strong for her.

                               ISHMAEL
                     It's not devious, it's what we have
                     to do.  You're leaving tomorrow...

     He unties her hair.  So gently.  Tries to keep his smile calm,
     steady...

                               ISHMAEL
                     You write to my house, and put
                     Kenny Yamashita's name on the
                     return address.  It's no big deal.

     He brings his face to her hair.  Kisses it.

                               ISHMAEL
                     You smell like cedar.

     Her eyes are wide.  They move over his face.  A murmured...

                               HATSUE
                     So do you.  It's your smell I'll
                     miss as much as anything.

     He looks in her eyes.  And words come from his heart, before he can
     stop them...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Let's get married, okay?

     Her eyes fill with tears.  Are they from happiness?

                               ISHMAEL
                     I want to marry you.  Is that okay?

     Her face so still.  One tear falls, and he kisses it.

                               ISHMAEL (a whisper)
                     Just say yes.

     No answer.  Not knowing what to say, she winds an arm behind his
     head, and brings him nearer.  His mouth opens into hers, with more
     force, more of his heart, than he has ever given.  Deep and tender.
     His hands reach beneath her dress...

     ...peel her panties down her thighs...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     When something that means your
                     whole life.  Is the last time ever...

     And suddenly, he is OVER her, drawing her legs up around him...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     God should tell you.  Or it's not
                     fair.

     Her head tilts back, her eyes squeeze closed.  And as he enters
     her...

                               ISHMAEL (whispers)
                     Please say yes...

     ...her hands GRASP his upper arms.  And push away.

                               HATSUE (softly)
                     No.

     And he blinks.  As if waking from a dream.  Everything has stopped.
     Her face is strong and yet overflowing with regret.

                               HATSUE
                     No.  No.  It isn't right.

     So he draws away.  Stunned, uncomprehending.  Watching with blank
     eyes, as she stares up at him.  Then, with dignity and tenderness,
     he helps her dress, his eyes awkwardly away from hers...

                               ISHMAEL
                     It felt right to me.  It felt
                     like getting married.

     She draws her legs up.  Kneeling now, putting her hands on his
     face...

     But no words come.  No words.  Until...

                               HATSUE
                     I'll write you.

     And KISSES him fiercely, and BOLTS up before he can grab her,
     RUNNING off like a deer, while he...

     ...kneels.  His mouth open.  Like a silent scream.

     EXT. AMITY HARBOR FERRY - MORNING

     An army truck pulls up behind several others in cold morning air.
     Hesitantly, looking in all directions, Fujiko, Hatsue, and her four
     sisters climb from the truck, to see...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     On Monday, March 30, 1942, the
                     United States Army graciously
                     transported the Imada women to
                     the docks.

     ...a ferry, the KEHLOKEN, stands waiting.  Soldiers are dis-
     tributing tags for luggage and coats.  The evacuees, mostly women,
     stand in the cold, trying to smile bravely for each other.  And
     lined against the railing...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Lifelong neighbors came to watch.
                     Curiosity masked as kindness...

     ...a cluster of white islanders gawking as their Japanese neighbors
     file toward the ferry.  A middle-aged woman waves to Fujiko, who
     casts her eyes down, refusing to acknowledge the greeting.  And
     just as they reach the gangway...

     ...Hatsue sees Ishmael, who stands at an unobtrusive distance,
     among a group of students.  She pauses.  Her eyes hold his for a
     heartbeat...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     ...with some exceptions.

     The wisp of a smile.  And she is gone.

     EXT. IMADA FRONT PORCH - NIGHT

     Hatsue comes alone onto the white-blanketed porch.  Snow is no
     longer falling.  She takes out a cigarette, lights it impassively.
     The mannerisms make her seem fully American, despite the porcelain
     impenetrability of her Asian exterior.  She closes her eyes, and...

     ...draws deep on the smoke.  The act seems to cause her pain.  When
     the eyes open, they are frightened, unguarded.  Nowhere to turn.
     The next puff looks desperate, and she FLIPS the cigarette out onto
     the snow.  Jams her hands in the pockets of her parka, stamps her
     feet against the cold, the helplessness.  And looks out...

     ...strawberry fields, endless and white, shimmering in filtered
     moonlight, become...

     EXT. MANZANAR INTERNMENT CAMP - NIGHT

     ...a moonlit DESERT.  PAN the barbed wire, the distant barracks,
     the desolation.  Come to...

     ...two women walking alone.  The younger one glancing at her mother
     as they go.  Fujiko's eyes unreadable, stare implacably ahead.
     The barracks, everything, in distance behind them.

                               HATSUE
                     You think we're far enough
                     away now?

     No sarcasm in the voice.  She lets the words carry her irony.
     Her mother stops.  Looks at her so directly, so strong.  Even her
     tough-minded daughter flinches slightly.

                               HATSUE
                     Mom, whatever this is, they don't
                     keep war secrets this carefully.

     Fujiko thinks that over.  Nods.

                               FUJIKO
                     Secrets are hard to keep.

     She goes over to a large, flat rock.  Sits down.  Pulls two sheets
     of paper from her coat.  And waits.  As her daughter comes and
     crouches at her feet.  Fujiko clears her throat.

                               FUJIKO
                     This letter.  Was opened.
                     By mistake.

     And watches.  As the shard of fear penetrates her daughter's mask.
     Silence.  Then...

                               FUJIKO (reads)
                     'My love.  I still go to our
                     cedar tree in the afternoons every
                     day.  I shut my eyes, waiting.'

     Hatsue has turned to stone.  To ice.  Wind blows.

                               FUJIKO (reads)
                     'I smell your smell.  And I dream
                     of you.  And I ache for you to come
                     home.  So I can hold you and feel
                     you near.'

     Fujiko scans the page silently.  Turns to the second...

                               FUJIKO (reads)
                     'After all these years that we've
                     been together, I find you're a
                     part of me.  Without you, I have
                     nothing.  All my love, forever...'

     And looks up.  Her eyes calm, quiet.

                               FUJIKO
                     The neighborhood boy.  Who taught
                     you to swim?

     The look holds.  And holds.

                               HATSUE
                     You shouldn't have opened that.
                     It was mi...

                               FUJIKO (so quiet)
                     How deceitful of me.

     Anger only at the edges.  Like finely-honed steel.

                               FUJIKO
                     How can I ever hope.  For your
                     forgiveness.

     The wind swirls a cloud of dust between them.  They seem not to
     notice.

                               FUJIKO
                     I have written this letter to
                     the boy's parents...

     She pulls out a single page.  Hands it down to her daughter.
     Hatsue's eyes move quickly over the words.

                               FUJIKO
                     Attraction is no crime, certainly
                     among children.  The dishonor
                     lies in the concealment.  From
                     your families.

     Watches her daughter reading.  And quietly...

                               FUJIKO
                     I know that you know this.  I know
                     you have suffered.  Even if the
                     hakujin could not.

     Silence.  Hatsue's eyes cast down.  She folds the page.

                               FUJIKO
                     There will be no further letters.
                     No contact of any k...

     And stops.  Because Hatsue is TEARING the page in two.  She looks
     up.  Into her mother's shock.

                               HATSUE
                     One more letter.  I will write
                     it.  You may read it, and send
                     it for me.

     Her mother's anger fades.  Into interest.

                               HATSUE
                     I deceived more than you.  I
                     deceived this sweet boy.  And
                     myself.  It was never love.

     Never love.  The mother's face changes.  There is understanding,
     acceptance.  Even pride.

                               HATSUE
                     I will work hard.  To earn your
                     forgiveness.

     A sigh.  A sadness deep, beyond her years.

                               HATSUE
                     I can never hope for his.

     INT. BARRACKS - NIGHT

     Mother and daughter enter their crude quarters.  They find Hatsue's
     sisters sitting on the wooden floor, watching...

     ...a team of young MEN, working with tools and pieces of lumber.
     One is building shelves, two others, a chest of drawers.  Their
     leader kneels tacking scraps of tin over the knotholes on the
     floor.  One girl beams at her mother...

                               SUMIKO
                     These boys are buildings us
                     a mansion!

     The leader grins and rises.  Bows slightly to Fujiko.  He is, of
     course...

                               KABUO
                     I'm Kabuo Miyamoto, Mrs. Imada.

     The woman smiles.  Bows slightly in return.

                               FUJIKO
                     We are in your debt, Miyamoto-san.
                     How are your parents, your family...?

                               KABUO
                     My father is sick with the camp
                     food.  The rest of us are fine.
                     Don't speak of dept, please, we
                     just want to help.

     And glances.  To the eldest daughter.  In the doorway.

                               KABUO
                     Hi, Hatsue, remember me?

     She looks back, without expression.  There is much on her mind.
     His smile is handsome, easy.

                               KABUO
                     I was a senior when you were a
                     junior.  But I've seen you around.

     She tosses her hair free of the parka.  Gathers it in her hands.
     Saying only...

                               HATSUE
                     Hello.

     Can't win a smile, but he doesn't seem to mind.

                               KABUO
                     Nice to see you.

     EXT. APARTMENT HOUSE REAR PORCH - NIGHT

     Ishmael steps from the building onto the rear porch.  He draws from
     his coat a black CIGAR.  Box of matches.  The cigar goes into his
     mouth.  With amazing dexterity...

     ...he slips a single match from the box, turns his face to the
     wall, and still palming the box, STRIKES a match on the buckle of
     his belt, bringing it smoothly to the cigar for a few critical
     puffs before the match dies.  He turns toward...

     ...the fields.  Stretching treeless, endless, seemingly to the
     horizon.  Bathed in filtered moonlight, they become...

     EXT. TARAWA ATOLL - NIGHT

     ...the shimmering Pacific.  We are with Ishmael in an LCVP landing
     craft, as his platoon enters Tarawa lagoon.  Bobbing past two
     DESTROYERS firing in waves at the beach.  Ishmael and his platoon
     mates watch with adrenaline-fueled fear as amphibious tractors draw
     fire on the sand, one exploding in flame.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Her letter reached me on the North
                     Island of New Zealand.  So I had a
                     month to think it over...

     Men around him are shouting, cursing, jostling against each other,
     frightened out of their minds, as SHELLS POUND the ocean, horrify-
     ingly huge and near.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I wrote her four times.  'I hate
                     you with all my heart.  I hate you,
                     Hatsue, I'll hate you always!'

     Suddenly their craft runs AGROUND on the hidden reef.  They are
     still 300 yards from shore.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I never sent the letters.  I wanted
                     to kill as many Japs as possible.

                               SQUAD LEADER
                     MOVE IT, MOVE IT, MOVE IT,
                     LET'S GO!!

     The SQUAD LEADER goes over the side, Ishmael and others follow,
     struggling with 85 pound packs.  As Ishmael hits the water, the
     squad leader is SHOT in the face, a man five yards from Ishmael has
     the top of his head BLOWN AWAY, men are DROPPING in numbers under
     the WITHERING BURSTS of fire, the deafening ordnance sweeping over
     the SHRIEKS of terror and agony, and Ishmael...

     ...submerges behind his pack, splashing hard, keeping its bulk
     ahead of him as a shield, until he can wade and swim and plunge
     toward shore, as hellfire CRASHES everywhere, dead bodies floating,
     machine-gun blasts WHIPPING the water's surface, Ishmael at...

     ...the shallows now, men rising to make a run at the seawall, being
     CUT DOWN, Ishmael crouching in the water, watching other men draw
     fire, and in a moment's lull, four of them and Ishmael...

     ...GO for it, lungs BURSTING, pounding MADLY up the sand, one
     SHOT DEAD, another SCREAMS as his knee is blown away and goes down
     writhing, as three men...

     ...MAKE IT to the wall.  Gasping, puking, shivering with cold and
     fright.  They have no gear, no weapons.  One of them is Ishmael.
     He looks back to...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Eric Bledsoe was bleeding to death.
                     Thirty yards away.

     Bullets FLYING everywhere, CHEWING up the sand.  The young man
     twitching, pleading...

                               BLEDSOE (crying)
                     Oh, shit, please, please help me
                     you guys, come on, help me, fucking
                     help me, PLEASE...!

     And flat against the seawall, three men watch.  Not daring to look
     at each other.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I knew nothing could save him.  Hell,
                     I didn't have so much as a band-aid.
                     I also knew I was a coward.  For not
                     giving up my life to try.

     EXT. SEAWALL - DAY

     Ishmael and his companions have been joined by others.  Sixty or
     so men mill in the shadow of the seawall.  The beach is littered
     with dead marines and wounded, calling for help.  As Ishmael
     glances up, a SERGEANT leaps ONTO the seawall, cigarette dangling
     from his mouth...

                               SERGEANT
                     You pussies are the kinda chickenshits
                     deserve to have your balls chewed
                     off real slow when this is over!

     Stands with his hands on his hips.  The men below him properly
     mesmerized.

                               SERGEANT
                     Any man who won't follow me over
                     this wall is a cornhole-fucker with
                     a half-inch hard-on wh...

     The words CUT OFF by the shell that RIPS THROUGH his spine, OPENING
     his shirt front as he PITCHES forward FLAT upon the sand.

     No one looks.  No one speaks.  It never happened.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I wanted to live.  And I didn't
                     know why.

     EXT. SEAWALL - NIGHT

     Ishmael has a carbine now and a field machete.  PULL BACK to reveal
     300 MARINES all down the wall, a striking force assembled from the
     survivors of multiple landings.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Some colonel came down the beach.
                     Any man who didn't go over the wall
                     at 2100 would be court-martialed,
                     disgraced and imprisoned...

     Every man lining up now, rifles at the ready.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     The captain who followed said shot
                     on sight.

     They seem more resigned, or is it stunned numb, than terrified.
     There is no interaction.  Each man dealing with his own insides.
     And suddenly...

     ...squad leaders go OVER THE WALL, the firing ERUPTS, and three
     hundred marines SCRAMBLE into the teeth of it, mortar and machine-
     gun BARRAGE lighting the sky from the row of battered palm trees,
     Ishmael SPRINTING, the man next to him goes DOWN, Ishmael TURNS
     instinctively, and a shot...

     ...RIPS into his left bicep, SPINNING him OFF his feet in SLO-MO,
     falling to dirt as all goes...

     BLACK.

     INT. SHIPBOARD OPERATING ROOM - NIGHT

     Ishmael feverish, writhing unconscious against the straps that
     hold him to a table.  All around him, a hell of men and blood
     and doctors and limbs and shouted curses they never showed us
     on M.A.S.H.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     My arm was dealt with by a
                     pharmacist's mate, whose surgical
                     career was four hours old.

     Ishmael LURCHES, his eyes pop OPEN, wild and bleary...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     He used a handsaw.

     ...seeing there, in a corner, on a pile of blood-soaked
     dressings...

     ...his left arm.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I dream of it, now and then.
                     The way my fingers curled.
                     Against the wall.

     He blinks at it.  Realizing at last that the arm is his...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     ...fucking goddam Jap bitch!

     An ORDERLY turns at the words.  Nods.  As if he knows.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     It was all I could think of to say.

     His eyes squeeze shut.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     There was nothing more to say.
                     For a long while.

     INT. KABUO'S CELL - LATE NIGHT

     CLOSE on a dark blue suit.  Clean shirt.  Hanging on a hook against
     the green wall.  PAN ACROSS the bars in the cell door's tiny
     window.  All is dark out there, and silent.  Here...

     ...the bare bulb glows.  Its light throws shadows of castles and
     horses across the chessboard.

     Kabuo cross-legged on the floor, alone.  His back erect.  His eyes
     calm.  Stare at the pieces.

     EXT. WOODS - NIGHT

     Kabuo at 19 sits on the earth.  By a shovel.  By a lantern.  This
     place is shielded by trees.  PAN across the ground to...

     ...his father.  Slowly, reverently, placing objects into burlap
     sacks, beside a shallow hole in the earth.  Wooden swords, hakama
     pants, a bokken, scrolls written with care.  Dialogue plays in
     subtitled JAPANESE...

                               ZENHICHI
                     Your great-grandfather was a
                     samurai, a magnificent soldier.

     The father never looks at the son.  Only at his work.

                               ZENHICHI
                     He killed himself.  On the
                     battlefield.  At Kumamoto.

     The boy knows this.  Yet his entire being is focused on every word.

                               ZENHICHI
                     He went to battle with a sword.
                     Against rifles, mind you.  Knowing
                     what honor required.

     An elegant SWORD.  Its curved blade gleaming in the lantern light.

                               ZENHICHI
                     He was angry.  To the point of
                     being crazy, yes.  But he knew
                     what honor.  Required.

     A separate sack, just for this.  Folded with respect.

                               ZENHICHI
                     Honor can require loyalty.
                     Revenge.  Death.

     It goes into the ground.  With the others.  He seems nearly
     overcome now.  By some emotion that sweeps through him.  Prompting
     the boy to murmur...

                               KABUO
                     These are safe, father.  The
                     hakujin will never f...

                               ZENHICHI (quietly)
                     ...it is the only scale...

     Meaning, be still.  So the boy is still.

                               ZENHICHI
                     Only scale.  In which our worth.
                     Is weighed.

     The man gazes into the hole.  At his treasures.

                               ZENHICHI
                     Every life ends.  And if it ends
                     dishonored.  It is as if...

     And turns to his son.  To complete the words.

                               KABUO (in English)
                     ...we have never lived.

     There is love.  There is strength.  There is no more to say.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Sheriff Moran sits in the witness box, blade-thin and fidgeting
     ever so slightly.  Uncomfortable in the limelight.  In his hands
     are four pieces of ROPE.

                               MORAN
                     Well, this one here comes off
                     Miyamoto's boat.  Matches all his
                     others, worn equal and so on.  But
                     this one here...

     Holds it up for Hooks.  So the jury can see.

                               MORAN
                     ...comes off third cleat from the
                     stern, port side.  And it's brand
                     new.  Unlike the rest.

                               HOOKS
                     And the next one...?

                               MORAN
                     From Carl Heine's boat.  All his
                     were like this one, three-strand
                     manila, new condition, braided in
                     loops.  Not bowlined like Miyamoto's.

                               HOOKS
                     And the last...?

                               MORAN
                     Found on Carl's boat, too.  Starboard
                     side, second cleat from the stern.
                     But it doesn't match Carl's lines.
                     It matches Miyamoto's.  perfect.

     Ah.  Hooks nods.  Significant.

                               HOOKS
                     So if defendant had tied up
                     to deceased's boat.  With that
                     last one.  Would those cleats
                     have lined up?

                               MORAN
                     You bet.  And if Miyamoto there
                     had been in a hurry to cast off,
                     he coulda left this line behind
                     on Carl's boat.

                               HOOKS
                     And replaced it later with the
                     new one.  That's your inference?

                               MORAN
                     Pretty darn clear.

     I see.  Hooks begins to pace.  Toward the jury.

                               HOOKS
                     And when you visited defendant on
                     his boat.  The evening after Carl
                     Heine's death.  Did it seem pretty
                     darn clear to him?

     EXT. THE ISLANDER - NIGHT

     Kabuo kneeling at the battery well of his boat.  He is sliding a
     new BATTERY into place.  Beside its older companion.  He bolts it
     down.  Starts his engine.  He is visibly tense.  As he steps onto
     the deck, he sees...

     ...two figures at the pilings.  Sheriff Moran makes a cutting
     motion across his throat, as Abel moves to grasp the mooring line.

                               MORAN
                     Cut your engine, we're coming
                     aboard.

     Kabuo doesn't move.  The tension has fled beneath the surface.  His
     face now a mask.

                               KABUO
                     What for, Sheriff?

                               MORAN
                     We have a warrant.  To search
                     your boat.

     He holds it up.  Abel looks uneasy, as if expecting anything.

                               KABUO
                     Well, what are you looking f...

                               MORAN (calmly)
                     A murder weapon.  We think you
                     might be responsible for the death
                     of Carl Heine.

     Kabuo blinks.  As if hearing a foreign language.  Words that do not
     compute.

                               KABUO
                     Sheriff, if somebody killed Carl,
                     it sure as hell wasn't me.

     Moran steps from the dock ONTO the boat, Abel awkwardly following.

                               MORAN
                     Then let's get this over with, so
                     you can get to fishin'.  Now, cut
                     yor engine.

     And walks ahead into the cabin, shining his flashlight across
     everything.  Kabuo follows, killing the engine.  And in the sudden
     silence, Moran's beam finds...

     ...the still-open battery well.

                               MORAN
                     You always run with the well open?

                               KABUO
                     I was checking the cables.

     Moran's light moves over the batteries.

                               MORAN
                     D-6s, huh?

     And says no more.  Runs his beam once more around the cabin.

                               MORAN
                     We'll come back, let's take a
                     look at the stern.

     Off he goes.  Kabuo's glance goes to the open well.  Then follows,
     noticing Abel Martinson prowling around the bow.  But in the stern,
     Moran is shining his light.  Third cleat.  Port side.

                               MORAN
                     See you replaced a mooring line,
                     lately.  This one's new.

                               KABUO
                     Naw, I had that around for a while.

                               MORAN
                     Sure you did.  Help me with this
                     hold cover, willya?

     So Kabuo slides the cover away.  They peer in.

                               KABUO
                     There's nothin' to see.  I need to
                     get out there fi...

                               ABEL (O.S.)
                     Art.  Looka this.

     He has the fishing GAFF.  Three-and-a-half feet long.  Steel hook
     at one end.  Hands it to Moran.

                               ABEL
                     There's blood on it.

                               KABUO
                     Fish blood, I gaff fish with that.

     Moran carefully examines the object.

                               MORAN
                     You gaff with the hook end.
                     Blood's on the butt.  Where
                     your hand goes.

                               KABUO
                     Sure.  Blood gets all over your
                     hand, Sheriff, ask any fisherman.

     Moran takes out a handkerchief.  Holds the gaff with it.

                               MORAN
                     Gonna have this tested.  Now you
                     go home, okay?  Wait til you hear
                     from me.

     Kabuo's heart is racing.

                               KABUO
                     Sheriff, I can't afford not to
                     fish toni...

                               MORAN
                     Look, no way I'm lettin' you out
                     there.  In a half hour you could
                     be in Canada.

     Kabuo's face has gone dead.  Which makes it seem somehow fierce,
     almost threatening.  And the sheriff is watching that.

                               MORAN
                     I'm sorry, son.  But you're under
                     arrest.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Moran still on the stand.  The ropes are gone now.  His hands
     interlock across his narrow thighs.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     Now your testimony was interrupted
                     yesterday, when that power line
                     set fire to your mother-in-law's
                     farmhouse...

     Art looks really irritated.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     How is your mother-in-law?

                               MORAN
                     She's alright, Nels, thanks
                     for asking.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     And her farmhouse...?

                               MORAN
                     The damage was considerable.
                     But she's insured.  Thanks, again.

     See Nels now.  Avuncular as hell.  Bemused by Moran's annoyance.

                               NELS
                     Well, just to put it back in
                     our minds, could you repeat what
                     you told us.  About the type of
                     batteries you found.  One Carl's boat.

     Moran sighs.  Tries to be patient.

                               MORAN
                     One D-6 and one D-8 in the well.
                     And a dead D-8 on the deck.

                               NELS
                     Which you inferred was replaced by
                     the D-6, which must have been a spare.

                               MORAN
                     What else could it be?

                               NELS
                     Even though a D-6 is too big, and
                     the flange had to be banged out to
                     squeeze it in.
                              (beat)
                     Which makes it a peculiar choice.
                     For a spare.

                               MORAN
                     You said that.  That was your
                     testimony.

     Everybody laughs.  Including Nels.

                               NELS (chuckling)
                     I guess I'm a pretty smart feller,
                     after all.  And what were the type
                     batteries you found on defendant's
                     boat?

                               MORAN (bland)
                     D-6s.  Like I sa...

                               NELS
                     No further questions.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     DR. STERLING WHITMAN sits in his expensive suit, a giant of a man
     whose towering frame ill fits the witness box.  His eyes are small
     and blue, and carry the weight of superiority with practiced ease.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     So the blood on the gaff was not
                     fish blood at all.  It was human,
                     yes?  Type B positive.

                               DR. WHITMAN
                     Carl Heine's type.

     Nels nodding.  Seemingly unconcerned by this fact.

                               NELS
                     But you can't say with any certainty
                     that the blood was his.

                               DR. WHITMAN
                     No, but as I say, the type is rare.
                     Ten percent of Caucasian males.

                               NELS
                     And the blood could not have
                     belonged to defendant.  Seeing
                     that his type is O negative.

                               DR. WHITMAN
                     That's obvious.

                               NELS
                     You scraped the dried blood from
                     the butt of the gaff.  Where a fella's
                     hand goes.  And what did you see under
                     your microscope, besides the B positive
                     blood and the wood scrapings...?

     And the witness stops.  A curious question.  But Nels is waiting.
     With an expectant smile.

                               DR. WHITMAN
                     Bits of blood and wood.  What else
                     would there be?

                               NELS
                     No bits of bone, no particles of
                     scalp, no strands of hair?

                               DR. WHITMAN
                     None.

                               NELS
                     Well, if the blood got onto the
                     gaff by crushing a man's skull...

                               DR. WHITMAN
                     I'm a hemotologist, sir, I was
                     asked only t...

                               NELS (gently persistent)
                     ...would that seem logical?

                               DR. WHITMAN
                     I don't know.

                               NELS
                     You don't.

     Nels lifts the gaff off the table.  Looks at it.

                               NELS
                     The coroner testified that Carl
                     Heine had a cut.  A fresh cut.
                     Probably one or two hours old.

     And grasps the butt end.  Of the gaff.

                               NELS
                     On the palm.  Of his right hand.

     Walks, dragging one leg just slightly, toward the box.  And holding
     the butt of the gaff toward him...

                               NELS
                     With no bone or scalp or hair
                     present.  Would it be more probable
                     that the blood came from crushing
                     a man's skull...

                               DR. WHITMAN
                     I'm a hemotologist, not a detective.

                               NELS
                     ...or from the cut on his hand.
                     Which is more probable?

     Whitman won't be badgered.  His smile carries only a trace of
     coldness...

                               DR. WHITMAN
                     It is not my function.  To weigh
                     those probabilities.

     Nels looks him over.

                               NELS
                     You're right.

     And turns his back.  Walks away.

                               NELS
                     ...that's the jury's job.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Hooks in pin-stripe serge today.  Pommaded hair, glossy wing-tips.
     He is crisp.

                               HOOKS
                     Now this regiment you were training,
                     the 442nd, this was all Nisei boys...

     First Sergeant VICTOR MAPLES wears his green dress uniform,
     splashed with decorations.  Thick and powerful, no neck, razor cut.
     The eyes are alive.

                               MAPLES
                     They were Japanese-American boys,
                     yes sir.

                               HOOKS
                     And you were generally experienced
                     in training men for hand-to-hand
                     combat.

                               MAPLES
                     It was my specialty, sir, I trained
                     several thousand over the years.

                               HOOKS
                     So.  Wide cross-section of men to
                     evaluate.  And the day that the
                     defendant volunteered for this...
                     demonstration.  Did you find him
                     eager?

                               MAPLES
                     More than eager.  He was out to
                     make a point.

     Hooks finds that interesting.  Begins to pace.

                               HOOKS
                     And what point.  Was that.

     EXT. TRAINING FIELD, CAMP SHELBY, MISSISSIPPI - DAY

     The squad of Nisei recruits, one hundred young Asian faces,
     surround Sgt. Maples.  He paces before them, holding up a wooden
     staff, looking in their eyes...

                               MAPLES
                     Anyone.

     And Kabup steps forward.  Bows slightly.  Then salutes...

                               KABUO
                     SIR!

     Maples stares.  Hard.

                               MAPLES
                     You don't salute me, you don't
                     call me 'sir', soldier, I'm an
                     enlisted man.

     Kabuo stares back.  Blank.

                               MAPLES
                     And nobody bows in this man's
                     Army, you're in America, son.
                     Not Japan.

                               KABUO
                     I'm sorry, sir, force of habit.

                               MAPLES
                     No more 'sir'.  That's the last
                     of that.

     Tosses Kabuo a wooden staff and a helmet.  A little hard.  As Kabuo
     slips the helmet on...

                               MAPLES
                     The exercise is avoiding thrusts.
                     Now, first y...

                               KABUO (quietly)
                     Ready, sergeant.

     Cut off in mid-word, Maples glares back.  Are you?  THRUSTS
     sharply, but Kabuo moves just enough to slip the blow by no more
     than an inch.  Their eyes lock.  Suddenly, Maples unleashes...

     ...a SAVAGE series of THRUSTS at blinding SPEED, and Kabuo...

     ...SLIPS them all effortlessly, scarcely seeming to move.  As a man
     might toy with a child.  Maples studies the face for any trace of
     mockery.  And sees nothing at all.  STABS out, only to have Kabuo...

     ...SLASH Maples' staff from his grasp, with a move so quick as to
     be nearly invisible.  Maples clearly STUNNED by the display.

                               KABUO (quietly)
                     Excuse me.

     He bends, picks up Maples' staff, hands it to him.  And bows.
     Slightly.  The sergeant is hot.  He looks into the faces of this
     Nisei regiment, searching for a single smirk.  There is none.

                               MAPLES
                     Are you ready for some simulated
                     combat, soldier?

                               KABUO
                     For combat.  Sergeant.

     And Maples LUNGES with surprising speed, to be SWEPT off his feet
     in a BLUR, lying FLAT on the earth, his head PINNED to the ground
     by the tip of Kabuo's staff.

     A hush.  Kabuo withdraws his staff.  Retrieves Maples'...

                               KABUO (just above a whisper)
                     Your weapon, sergeant.

     And bows.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Maples smiling easily.  Like a guy telling the story in a bar.

                               HOOKS
                     Well, what then, sergeant?

                               MAPLES
                     What else?  I had the boy teach
                     me kendo.  Including...the importance
                     of the bow.

     Everyone laughs.  Maples the loudest.  Hooks smiles like a regular
     Joe.

                               HOOKS
                     And your evaluation of the
                     defendant?  Could he kill a much
                     larger man with a fishing gaff?
                     So quickly, there would be no
                     sign of struggle?

                               MAPLES
                     Oh, in a heartbeat.

     And the smiles are gone.  All around.

                               MAPLES
                     Able and willing.  Like few men
                     I've ever seen.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Hooks sits against the prosecution table.  His demeanor gentle,
     respectful.  His voice soft.

                               HOOKS
                     So the plan was for your husband
                     to fish through the prime season.
                     Then, in November, sell the boat.
                     And you would move onto the farm.

     In the box, the widow sits in lovely dignity.  Blonde and alabaster
     and modest, in her black dress of mourning.

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     That was his plan, yes.

     In the press row, the boys are attentive.  An angle they know they
     can sell.  Ishmael among them, watching with neutral eyes.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Whatever she said, she was Hooks'
                     star witness.  The jury, especially
                     the men, would not betray this fine
                     lady with a not guilty verdict.  How
                     could they face her?

     Hooks walks slowly toward her.  As if she were a precious object,
     deserving of reverence.

                               HOOKS
                     Can you think back for me to the
                     morning of September 8?  The day
                     after your husband purchased the
                     farm.  One week before his death.
                     Can you recall that morning?

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     I can.

     INT. BATHROOM - DAY

     A bright bathroom, filled with STEAM, filtering the sunlight.  PUSH
     toward the opaque shower door, TOWARD the sound of rushing water.
     And of breathing.  THROUGH it to...

     ...Susan Marie and her husband.  Her arms are wound about his neck.
     Her legs wrapped around his body, feet locked behind the small of
     his back.  Carl holds her high with his strong hands, so he can
     lick her breasts to the rhythm of the slow, slow thrusts.  Her wet
     blonde hair is pasted across her face, and her eyes are closed.
     The intensity holds us.

     INT. PARLOR - MORNING

     CLOSE on a paint brush.  It rests across the lid of a can of wood
     stain.  See now...

     ...Susan Marie kneeling by the table she is refinishing.  But her
     hands, her body, are motionless.  Her eyes stare out the window...

     ...across the yard.  Her towering husband walks beside a smaller
     man.  Carl is doing the talking.  Kabuo's face is stone.

     INT. PARLOR - LATER

     Susan Marie sits quietly in a rocker, nursing her baby.  Her hands
     tenderly stroke the feeding infant.  But her eyes are attentive.
     Concerned.

                               CARL (O.S.)
                     What could I tell him?  There's
                     my mother to think about.  You
                     know what she'd say?

     Susan Marie knows.  What Etta would say.

                               CARL (O.S.)
                     I said I'd think it over, talk
                     with you.

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     Did he go away angry?

     See Carl now, pacing his own parlor like a caged bear.  Agitated in
     a way we could not have expected.

                               CARL
                     He kept talkin' about those seven
                     acres belonged to his father, and
                     how honorable and decent his father
                     was.  His meaning was pretty clear.
                     And I didn't much like it.

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     You had a scrap.

     Nursing her baby.  Calm, direct.

                               CARL
                     I couldn't...talk to him.  Look,
                     Kabuo's a Jap.  And I don't hate
                     Japs, but I don't like 'em neither.
                     It's hard to explain if you weren't
                     in the war, you know?

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     He's not a Jap.  You don't mean
                     that.  You and he were friends.

     And Carl turns.  Looks at her.  A full beat.

                               CARL
                     We were kids.

     He looks helpless.  Frustrated.  He doesn't want his anger to spill
     onto her.

     He leaves the room.  Without a word.  HOLD on her.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Susan Marie's cornflower eyes are set.  Wary.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     So your husband said he's think
                     it over.  Encouraged Mr. Miyamoto
                     to believe he might sell to h...

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     I wouldn't say encouraged.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     Well, he didn't say 'no', did he?
                     Didn't say no hope existed.

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     Not in those words.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     So the defendant was encouraged
                     to hope.  Or could have been.

     She thinks about this.

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     I guess so.

     Nels is nodding.  Nodding.

                               NELS
                     I guess you'd have to guess.
                     Not having been there with them.
                     Having to guess whether your husband's
                     report was word for word accurate.

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     Carl never lied.

                               NELS
                     Of course not.  But it was
                     emotional.  A friend's plea set
                     against his mother's attitude.

     And then.  As if it had just occurred to him...

                               NELS
                     Those 'dirty looks'.  Defendant
                     ever aim one of those at you?

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     He had no reason to.

                               NELS
                     Carl ever say he got one?

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     I can't speak for him.

                               NELS
                     You can speak for what he said.
                     Just like you did for Mr. Hooks...

                               HOOKS (O.S.)
                     Objection, badgering the wi...

     CLICK.  All the lights in the courtroom go OUT.  A loud murmur.  A
     FLICKER of light.  Then, they go OUT again.

     The crowd BUZZES, laughs, the gavel RAPS.  The lights come ON.  A
     collective sound of relief.  The gavel AGAIN.  Finally, silence.

                               NELS
                     Sorry about that, Mrs. Heine.
                     Shall I repeat the ques...

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     Carl said he didn't like Kabuo
                     much anymore.

     A silence.  A deep one.

                               NELS
                     The question is more about the
                     defendant's attitu...

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     That's all he said.

     She arches her throat.

                               SUSAN MARIE
                     And we can't ask him anymore.

     INT. ISHMAEL'S DESOTO, CENTER VALLEY - TWILIGHT

     Ishmael driving an aged DeSoto through the blanketed strawberry
     fields of Center Valley.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     My father had bought the DeSoto
                     fifteen years before.  Driving it
                     reminded me of him.  Which I
                     considered a neutral fact...

     He turns the wheel, using a cherry wood knob, specially mounted for
     his convenience.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Actually, it was pleasant.

     Following the curve, fields are pure white to the horizon.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Snow made all the fields into one.
                     The notion that one man might kill
                     another for a small patch, made no
                     sense.

     Up ahead, a Willys station wagon has run into a ditch.  A middle
     aged Japanese man is working at a rear wheel with a shovel.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     But I knew such things occurred.
                     Having been to war and all.

     The man is Hisao Imada, and we can now see his eldest daughter
     working with a shovel behind the car.  Ishmael pulls up behind
     them.  And gets out.

     He crunches over to where Hisao works...

                               ISHMAEL
                     May I give you folks a lift?

     Hatsue has come around the car now, pulling her snowflaked hair
     from her eyes.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I didn't look at her.  I thought
                     that would be best.

     Her eyes on Ishmael's profile, Hatsue goes to her father's side.
     Murmurs to him in Japanese.  WHen he answers, she turns to face
     Ishmael...

                               HATSUE
                     My father is grateful for your
                     kindness.  But he will free his
                     car, shortly.

     Ishmael smiles softly.  This car isn't going anywhere.  He goes to
     Hatsue, reaching gently for her shovel.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Okay, I'll help.

     INT. DESOTO, SOUTH BEACH DRIVE - TWILIGHT

     Ishmael drives with Hisao beside him.

                               ISHMAEL
                     I know it's caused you trouble.
                     But don't you think the snow is
                     beautiful, coming down?

     His eyes flick to Hatsue in the rearview mirror.  She stares out
     the side window, concentrating on the world.  Two strands of wet
     hair pasted against her cheek.

                               HISAO
                     Yes, very beautiful.

     Suddenly, her eyes SNAP to meet Ishmael's in the mirror.  His dart
     away.  Hers hold.

                               HATSUE
                     This trial is unfair.  You should
                     write about that in your newspaper.

     He keeps driving.  And he keeps his eyes on the road.

                               ISHMAEL (calmly)
                     What should I say?

                               HATSUE
                     Just that.  This trial is wrong,
                     they are calling a good man a killer.
                     It is only about prejudice, and that
                     is unfair.

     He thinks.  As he drives.  Hisao Imada silent beside him.

                               ISHMAEL
                     We all expect the world to be fair.
                     As if we have some right t...

                               HATSUE
                     I don't mean everyone.  Just people
                     who can do things because they can
                     arrest people or convict them.  Or
                     run a newspaper.

     And his eyes come up.  Meet hers in the mirror.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Maybe I should write a column.
                     What do you think?

     She studies his face.

                               HATSUE
                     What do you think?

     No smile.  On either side.

                               ISHMAEL
                     I think people.  Should be fair.

     His eyes on the road now.  The farmhouse seen through the drifting
     screen of white.

                               HATSUE
                     Will you write that?

     Her voice is soft.  The difference is palpable.

                               ISHMAEL
                     I might just.

     His voice is kindness and friendship.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I was part of her life again.  I
                     was a person.

     EXT. COAST GUARD LIGHTHOUSE, POINT WHITE - DUSK

     A tower of reinforced concrete, rising a hundred feet above the
     sea.  Ishmael's hand in his pocket.  Trudging toward it.

     INT. LIGHTHOUSE RECORDS ROOM - DUSK

     Ishmael being led into a cramped room, stacked floor to ceiling
     with wooden crates, file cabinets, duffel bags.  Our host is
     LEVANT, a young Coast Guard radioman nearly six foot six, with a
     huge Adam's apple, and kinky black hair.  He gestures around the
     room at all the records.  Voila.

                               ISHMAEL
                     You have the night watch?  On the
                     radio.

                               LEVANT
                     Since September.  Last guys got
                     transferred.

     Ishmael looks around.  There is a lot of stuff.

                               ISHMAEL
                     And you keep the records, or
                     contribute to 'em.

                               LEVANT
                     Shorthard the radio transmis-
                     sions, write 'em up, file 'em
                     in a cabinet.  Nobody ever looks.
                     Just take up space.

     Ishmael nods.  Guess so.

                               ISHMAEL
                     All kinds of radio transmissions?
                     Fisherman in trouble, and such.

     Innocent question.  Random example.

                               LEVANT
                     All kinds.  Make yourself at home.

     And leaves.  Ishmael looks at the task before him.  Then, out
     the window.  Dark now.  His reflection stares back.  As troubled
     as he is.

     INT. PETERSEN'S GROCERIES - DAY

     Ishmael at 24, carrying milk and crackers down the aisle of a
     grocery store, the empty sleeve of his mackinaw pinned up at the
     elbow.  He turns the corner to see...

     ...three people in line at the register.  The second is Hatsue.  An
     infant carried at her shoulder.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I'd been back two months.  It was
                     the first time I'd seen her.

     He joins the line.  The CHECKER glances his way, then looks
     awkwardly down.  This makes the others turn.  And Hatsue's eyes.
     Meet his.

                               HATSUE
                     Hello.

     The voice, the face, are cool and formal.  There is no anger, no
     unkindness.  Only the absence of warmth.  Ishmael nods.  His face
     hard, stricken.  His heart pounds in his throat.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I couldn't say anything.  I just
                     stood there, hating her.

                               HATSUE
                     I'm sorry about your arm.  Kabuo and
                     I.  Are very sor...

                               ISHMAEL
                     The Japs did it.

     No one knows where to look.  Down, away, anything.  But Hatsue
     never blinks.

                               ISHMAEL
                     They shot it off.  At Tarawa.

     She holds her ground, her eyes soften, somehow.  Somewhere between
     compassion and pity.  Her slender fingers stroke the baby at her
     shoulder.

                               ISHMAEL
                     I'm sorry, I'm sorry I said that.

     All the feeling comes to his eyes.  Everything he will never tell
     her.  A murmur...

                               ISHMAEL
                     I'm sorry about everything.  All
                     of it.

     He drops his milk and crackers on the counter.

     And walks away.

     INT. LIGHTHOUSE RECORDS ROOM - NIGHT

     Ishmael sits alone.  Beyond the glass, a SEARCHLIGHT sweeps the
     sea, the snow-covered shore.  But Ishmael stares at a folder.  Open
     in his lap.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     September 16.  At 1:42 A.M., the
                     dead of night.  The S.S. West Corona,
                     a Greek-owned freighter, was lost.
                     In heavy fog.

     His finger.  Traces a line of the report.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     They radioed to the lighthouse.
                     They would have to dogleg, bisecting
                     Ship Channel Bank.  And Seaman Philip
                     Milholland wrote that down.  In his
                     report.

     Ishmael closes his eyes.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Carl Heine drowned.  In Ship
                     Channel Bank.  And his watch
                     stopped.  At 1:47.

     He looks out through the glass.  As if he could watch it happen.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     A huge freighter plowing through.
                     Throwing a wake big enough to fling
                     any man overboard.

     And Ishmael removes the page from the file.  Slowly, he folds it
     into quarters.  Slides it into his coat pocket.

                               ISHMAEL (calls out)
                     Seaman...?

     And closes the file.  Slips it back into the cabinet.  Levant
     appears, vaguely irritated by the summons.  So Ishmael smiles.
     Sorry, nothing important.

                               ISHMAEL
                     How long you have this detail?

                               LEVANT
                     Me and Smoltz came on dogwatch
                     September 16.

     Ishmael's face.  Just to clarify...

                               ISHMAEL
                     You mean, early morning the 16th?

                               LEVANT
                     No, night of the 16th, morning the
                     17th.  We replaced two guys named
                     Miller and Milholland.

     Oh.  Ishmael nods.

                               LEVANT
                     They got transferred that day.
                     Out to Cape Flattery.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Some seaman's loast report.
                     Stuffed in a cabinet, good as
                     lost forever.  No one knows.

     Ishmael rises, stiffly.  Starts to pull on his coat.

                               LEVANT
                     You get what you come for?

     And Ishmael looks at the youngster.  A little oddly.  Admits...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Guess I'm not completely sure.
                     What that was.

     EXT. FLETCHER'S BAY - MORNING

     Ishmael at 24, crouched among trees.  Above a sunlit stretch of
     beach.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I left the grocery, and wrote a
                     letter.  I apologizes from my heart.
                     I should never have said that word
                     to her.  I never would again.

     CLOSE on his face.  Eyes gazing down.  At something.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     It sat in my desk for two weeks.
                     Before I threw it away.

     He sighs.  Rises slowly.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I knew her car.  And sometimes
                     when I'd see it, I'd...drive that
                     way.  At a distance.

     See Hatsue down on the beach.  Alone, raking for steamer clams.
     Her baby beside her on a blanket, beneath an umbrella.

     Ishmael walks down to the sand.  Crosses to where she works.  And
     squats down.  At a respectful distance.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Can I talk to you?

     She must have seen who was coming.  Because the words do not
     startle her.  Or slow her work.

                               HATSUE
                     I'm married, Ishmael.  It isn't
                     right for us to be alone.  People
                     will t...

                               ISHMAEL
                     There's no one here, and I've got
                     to talk to you.

     Her back is to him.  She is motionless.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Don't you owe me that?

     And she turns.  Her eyes go first to her sleeping child.  Then she
     walks over, and sinks to the sand.  Just before him.  Near enough
     to touch.

     She looks in his eyes.  And waits.

                               ISHMAEL
                     I'm like a dying person.

     The words just came out.  His eyes move over her face.  His aching
     for her is naked, beyond his ability to cope.

                               ISHMAEL
                     I don't sleep.  I tell myself this
                     can't go on, but it goes on anyway.

     He seems at the edge of insanity.  Or tears.

                               HATSUE
                     I did a terrible thing, Ishmael.
                     I knew what you felt.  And what I
                     didn't.

     Sadness in her voice.  But strength as well.

                               HATSUE
                     And I never found the courage to
                     tell you.

     His eyes swim with tears.  He chokes them back, he has to.

                               ISHMAEL
                     You'll think this is crazy, but all
                     I want is to hold you.  Just once.
                     And smell your hair.

     She absorbs this.  No sign of repulsion or anger.  Her eyes seem
     wise.  And very sad.

                               HATSUE
                     You have to hear this, I can
                     never touch you, Ishmael.  Not
                     once, not ever.  There's no half-
                     way.  As much as I know it hurts
                     you, you have to let this go.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Look, I want to forget you, I do.
                     I think if you hold me, just this
                     once, I can walk away and never
                     speak to you again.

     She just keeps looking at him.  There is a bravery to her steady
     gaze.  Her calm resolve.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Please?  As one human being to
                     another, just because I'm miserable
                     and don't know where to turn.  I
                     need to be in your arms.  If it's
                     just for thirty seconds.

     His pleading look holds her for a moment.  In the silence...

                               HATSUE
                     I hurt for you.  Whether you'll
                     ever believe that or not.

     Feeling behind her eyes.  First time she lets it show.

                               HATSUE
                     I feel sick sometimes, with the
                     guilt of what I've done to you.
                     And I can't make it right.

     She rises slowly.  Brushes the sand from her skirt.

                               HATSUE
                     To hold you would be wrong and
                     deceitful.  You're going to have
                     to live without holding me, that
                     is the truth of the way things are.

     She takes one step back.

                               HATSUE
                     Things end.  They do.  Get on
                     with your life.

     And turns away.  She gathers her baby in her arms.  Takes her
     blanket, her umbrella, her rake and her pail.  He watches, never
     moving, as she gathers her things.  Gathers them as if he wasn't
     there.  And with her back turned...

                               HATSUE
                     Get on with your life.

     She walks slowly away.  Her baby cries.

     INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT

     CLOSE on a steaming soup kettle, resting on a woodstove.  A woman's
     hand stirs with a wooden ladle.  PULL BACK to see...

     HELEN CHAMBERS, slender and strong and keen.  She is not yet 60.  A
     code of fairness and self-reliance is written on the fine-boned
     features.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I drove from the lighthouse to
                     my mother's place.  I brought
                     her some groceries.

     Beyond the window, snow falls more heavily than ever.  Silent.
     Spellbinding.

                               HELEN
                     Your father thought that heavy snow
                     was God's kindness.  Despite the
                     hardship, it brought us beauty...

     Ishmael at the rustic table.  Watching her back.

                               HELEN
                     ...and reminded us.  Of our place
                     in things.

     Softer.  Not bitter, but regretful that...

                               HELEN
                     You don't believe in God anymore.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Agnostics don't believe or disbelieve,
                     Ma.  We just don't pretend we know.

     She begins ladling the soup into big porcelain bowls.

                               HELEN
                     We don't know God, we feel Him.  You
                     felt Him as a child.  I remember.

     And turns.  Looks at him.

                               ISHMAEL
                     That's a long time ago.  What a
                     child feels...that's different.

     She studies him silently for a moment.  Then brings the bowls to
     the table...

                               HELEN
                     Spend the night, will you?  Don't
                     go back out into all that snow.

     Sets them down.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I felt Milholland's report in my
                     pocket.  And wondered why I wasn't
                     telling her.  Telling someone.
                     What I'd found.

                               HELEN
                     You've been busy with that trial,
                     I suppose.  Such a travesty...

     She takes her seat.  As he watches her.

                               HELEN
                     They only arrested that poor soul
                     because he's Japanese.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Seattle boys think he's guilty.  They
                     say the evidence is rock solid.

     She begins to eat.  Eyes on her bowl.

                               HELEN
                     They're not his neighbor, like
                     you are.  He is a husband, a father,
                     he risked his life for their country.
                     The same as you.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Those aren't the facts that matter.

     She looks up.  Straight to his eyes.

                               HELEN
                     Well, folks are pretty cold.
                     And folks who believe in nothing
                     else...they're cold, too.

     No mistaking her meaning.  He swallows.  Uneasy as always, in the
     path of her disapproval.

                               HELEN
                     I've tried to understand your
                     unhappiness, all these years.
                     Having gone to war, losing your arm...

     The directness of her gaze.  He can't turn from that.

                               HELEN
                     But other boys came back.  And
                     pushed on.  They found girls, and
                     married, had babies...

     He doesn't flinch.  His voice too quiet with...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Someday I'll get lucky, too.

     Too quiet to conceal the hurt.  She thinks it is hurt she has
     caused.  It changes her tone to a plea...

                               HELEN
                     Your father fought at Belleau
                     Wood, it took him years to get
                     over it.  Nightmares, tears, b...

                               ISHMAEL
                     ...but he found you.

     Their eyes locked.

                               HELEN
                     It isn't the war, Ishmael.  All
                     those years growing up.  You never
                     had a real girl of your own.

     And now he looks down.  He sees that his fist is tight around the
     handle of his spoon.

                               HELEN
                     And I know you have it in you
                     to love.  I know that much.  I
                     wish I knew more.

     His fingers open, and the spoon clatters softly on the wood.

                               ISHMAEL
                     I'll stay tonight.  Thanks
                     for asking.

     INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT

     Ishmael wanders through a silent room.  A bed, a dresser.  Work
     table and lamp.  A room denuded of all decoration, all possessions,
     all sign of life.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I came back from the war to
                     this room.  I stayed a few
                     months.  Until my father passed.

     EXT. VETERAN'S CEMETERY - DAY

     Ishmael at 24, the left sleeve of his dark suit of mourning pinned
     at the elbow.  The diggers are filling a grave in distance.
     Mourners mingle, some casting glances back at Ishmael.  Keeping
     their distance out of awkwardness rationalized as respect.

     One man comes to him.  MASATO NAGAISHI is aging and frail.  But his
     voice is clear...

                               NAGAISHI
                     The Japanese people of the island
                     are saddened by this loss.  Your
                     father was a man of great fairness
                     and compassion for others...

     He stands at a respectful distance.  Ishmael clears his throat.  He
     nods, thank you.  No words to say.  So the small man adds...

                               NAGAISHI
                     A friend to us.  And to all people.

     Silence.  They are a tableau of stone.  Finally...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Well...

     And no more.  The man takes a step back...

                               NAGAISHI
                     We know you will follow in his
                     footsteps.  And honor his legacy.

     Which changes Ishmael's face.  To something harder.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     I thought it then.  And often since.
                     A balance, he's said.  Finding the
                     facts.  That folks needed to know.

     INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT

     Ishmael stands at an open closet.  Cardboard boxes have been set
     aside.  One has been searched for treasure.  The page is in his
     hand.  Only slightly discolored by age.

                               HATSUE (V.O.)
                     Dear Ishmael.  These things are
                     very difficult to say.  I can't
                     think of anything more painful
                     than writing this letter.

     He closes his eyes.

                               ISHMAEL (a murmur)
                     Think of reading it.

                               HATSUE (V.O.)
                     I don't love you, Ishmael.  There
                     is no more honest way to say it.

     He carries the letter to the twin bed.  Where he slept alone.
     Thinking of her.

                               HATSUE (V.O.)
                     Whenever we were together, I knew
                     it.  I loved you and I didn't love
                     you at the same moment.

     He sinks slowly.  As if beneath the letter's weight.

                               HATSUE (V.O.)
                     The last time.  At the cedar tree.
                     I knew we could never be right
                     together.  And that soon I would
                     have to tell you.

     His eyes are dry.  The letter has used up his tears long ago.

                               HATSUE (V.O.)
                     This is the last time I will write
                     to you.  I am not yours anymore.

     He sets the letter on the bed beside him.

                               HATSUE (V.O.)
                     I wish you the very best.  Your
                     heart is large and you are gentle
                     and kind.  I know you will do great
                     things in the world.

     He reaches now to his inside coat pocket.  Withdrawing...

                               HATSUE (V.O.)
                     I must say good-bye to you now.
                     Our lives will move on.  The best
                     we can.

     ...a page.  Folded in quarters.  Sets it near the letter.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Milholland's report was like her
                     letter.  Something no one else.
                     Would ever read.

     He stares at them.  Side by side.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Thing about having only one hand.
                     It's hard to tear pages up.  And
                     I wasn't carrying a match.

     He lies back.  Across the bed.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     So I thought of my father.  The man
                     who would have taken this report to
                     Judge Fielding.

     Tears stand in his eyes.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     But every reporter.  Chooses his own
                     balance.  FInds the facts that matter.

     Shuts the eyes.  Against them.  Against everything.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     After all, the freighter was only
                     a theory.  It proved nothing at
                     all.  There were other facts.
                     That mattered.

     We CLOSE on his face.  The tightness of the muscles.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Tomorrow I would write a column.
                     About prejudice.  And she would
                     be grateful.  For my large...and
                     gentle...heart.

     The eyes open, they are blank.  Staring...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Her husband would be judged.  And
                     she would be alone.

     ...at the future.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Alone.  The past looks different.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Hatsue Miyamoto in the witness box. Graceful, erect, her porcelain
     beauty accessible, eager to cooperate.  Humble.

                               HATSUE
                     Hopeful.  Is the word I would use.

     And Nels seems slightly surprised.

                               NELS
                     But Carl didn't say yes.

                               HATSUE
                     He didn't say no.  That was Kabuo's
                     point.  Given how Carl's mother
                     felt, Carl was still willing to
                     consider selling to us.  It was a
                     good sign.

     Nels considers that.

                               NELS
                     Well, in the week that followed,
                     the week before Carl's death...
                     did your husband pursue him?

                               HATSUE
                     No.  Kabuo did not wish to beg,
                     he respected Carl's right to
                     reflect.  He was sure Carl would
                     do the honorable thing.

                               NELS (right back)
                     And did he?

     She nods.  Only once.  Her eyes bright.

                               HATSUE
                     The night of the 15th, Kabuo helped
                     Carl at sea.  With his dead battery.

     Nels raises his eyebrows.  To give the point its weight.

                               HATSUE
                     Right there, on the boat, they
                     agreed.  $8400 for the seven acres,
                     $800 down.  They shook on it.  Kabuo
                     was so excited when he came home.

     Nels lets that sit.  And sit.

                               NELS
                     And when did you first learn.
                     That Carl had drowned?

     The slightest pause.  As if hesitant to confess...

                               HATSUE
                     One o'clock, that afternoon, from
                     a clerk at Petersen's.

                               NELS (turning to Hooks)
                     Your witness.

     And Alvin Hooks rises.  Perches on the edge of the prosecutor's
     table.  And looks at the witness with fairness and suspicion.

                               HOOKS
                     Your husband came home agitated,
                     after his encounter with the
                     deceased?

     No impatience across her perfect features.  Only earnestness
     will do.

                               HATSUE
                     I said 'excited'.  Not agitated,
                     he was excited in the sense of
                     being overjoyed.

                               HOOKS
                     You were...overjoyed yourself, to
                     hear the news?

                               HATSUE
                     Happy for him.  And relieved.

                               HOOKS
                     So, then, you...and your husband...
                     must have called friends, relatives,
                     to tell them the amazing news.  Yes?

                               HATSUE (calm, respectful)
                     No.

                               HOOKS
                     Really?  Didn't call your mother,
                     your sisters, about starting a new
                     life.  Your husband never tells
                     his brothers that the family honor
                     is vindicated.

     Hatsue shifts in her chair.  Smooths her skirt.

                               HATSUE
                     We hear how Carl...passed away.
                     Only a few hours later.

                               HOOKS
                     Your husband returned at, what,
                     seven o'clock?

                               HATSUE
                     Closer to eight.

                               HOOKS
                     So, five hours.  Plenty of time for
                     a call.  He was 'excited', you say.
                     In the sense of being 'overjoyed'.

     She nods, he was.

                               HATSUE
                     We are...cautious people.  You
                     would say conservative.  There
                     would be time for celebrating
                     with others when a paper was signed.

     Hooks pouts.  He allows himself that.

                               HOOKS
                     You thought the deceased might...
                     break his promise?

                               HATSUE
                     Of course not.  We're just not
                     quick to run and boast.  In case
                     something went wrong.

                               HOOKS
                     And then, something did.  Carl
                     Heine was found dead.  With his
                     head crushed.

     She weathers that last part.  As if taking no notice.

                               HATSUE
                     Yes, and then, what was there
                     to call about?  Everything was
                     up in the air.

                               HOOKS
                     Up in the air?  Was that your
                     reaction?

     And he rises.  Tastefully indignant.

                               HOOKS
                     I would suggest that more happened
                     than a land sale evaporating.  A
                     man died, Mrs. Miyamoto.  A husband
                     and father of small children had
                     his skull bashed in!

                               HATSUE (quiet dignity)
                     If you mean to imply that we were
                     callous about Carl's death, that is
                     wrong and insulting.

                                HOOKS
                     I see.  Well, did you come
                     forward to tell Sheriff Moran
                     what you knew?  The encounter in
                     the fog, the...dead battery, was it?

     Silence.

                               HATSUE
                     We discussed that.  And decided
                     not to.

                               HOOKS
                     Why not?

     She looks at him with the directness we've seen before.

                               HATSUE
                     Because the facts could be
                     misconstrued as murder.

                               HOOKS
                     But if truth was on your side,
                     whatever were you worried about?

     Her eyes cut to Nels.  He smiles, to blunt the harm she's done by
     looking to him for support.  Her gaze goes down now.  And then...

     ...back up.  Straight to Hooks.

                               HATSUE
                     Trials aren't only about truth,
                     Mr. Hooks.  Even though they
                     should be.  They're about what
                     people believe is true.

                               HOOKS
                     So you hid the truth.  Deliberately.

                               HATSUE
                     We were afraid.  Silence seemed
                     better.  To come forward seemed
                     like a mistake.

                               HOOKS
                     Well, it seems to me...

                               NELS (gently)
                     Objection.  Mr. Hooks can give
                     his view in his summation.

                               HOOKS
                     Doesn't it seem to you, Mrs.
                     Miyamoto, that your mistake was
                     in being deceitful?  Concealing
                     information during the course of
                     a sheriff's investigation.

                               HATSUE
                     It seems human.  To me.

     Oh.  Hooks raises his brows.

                               HOOKS
                     I suppose that you mean this excuses
                     concealing the truth.  Then why
                     ahouls any of us believe you now?

     And in the silence...

                               HOOKS
                     Question withdrawn, you may
                     step down.

                               HATSUE
                     You're implying th...

                               HOOKS
                     I said.  No further questions.

     Anger flashes across her eyes.  Her face colors.  She draws a
     breath...

                               JUDGE
                     That's enough, Mrs. Miyamoto, not
                     another word.  Step down, please.

     She looks to Nels in her desperation and regret for making things
     worse.  he chuckles and waves.  It's quite all right.  She sits for
     a frozen moment.  And as she rises...

     The boys in the reporter's row are scribbling furiously.

     All but one.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     JOSIAH GILLANDERS folds his blunt, thick hands across his belly.
     Nearly 50, sporting a walrus moustache and the watery, dull eyes of
     an alcoholic, he is a man ready to make the most of his fifteen
     minutes of fame.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     Thirty years fishing alone.  Ever
                     had an occasion to board another
                     man's boat except in an emergency?
                     Maybe to socialize or some such?

                               GILLANDERS (ready for this)
                     Never.  Only boarded some fella's boat
                     five, six times in thirty-one years.
                     Dead engine, broken hip, only in need.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     Now, Mister Gi...

                               GILLANDERS
                     Unwritten rule of the sea.  We don't
                     bother each other, stick to ourselves.
                     Ask anybody.

     Nels is wandering over to the jury box.

                               NELS
                     Now if you wanted to kill a man.
                     Think you'd try boarding against
                     his will, and hitting him with a
                     fishing gaff?

                               GILLANDERS
                     It's a joke.  Maneuver up to Carl's
                     boat?  Tie your lines fast?  Come
                     aboard?  All against Carl's will?
                     It's the stupidest suggestion I
                     ever heard of.

                               NELS
                     I'm sorry about that.  It wasn't
                     mine in the first place.

     Gentle laughter.  Even some on the jury.

                               NELS
                     So the fishing gaff method wouldn't
                     make sense?

                               GILLANDERS
                     Couldn't get on the boat.  I'd
                     just shoot the feller.  Then tie
                     up, throw him inta th' drink.  And
                     skip bein' the first gill-netter
                     in history to make a successful
                     forced boarding.

     More laughter.  Hooks at his table.  Simply smiles.

                               NELS
                     Now the sheriff believed that the
                     D-6 battery in Carl's well was
                     Carl's own spare.  Even though it
                     was too large f...

                               GILLANDERS
                     No sense to have any at all.,
                     even the right size.  It's like
                     having an extra battery in the
                     trunk of your car.  Nobody does.

     Nobody.  No way.

                               GILLANDERS
                     Boat has two batteries.  Lose one
                     you run off the other til morning.
                     Carl musta lost both, so Miyamoto
                     there gave him one a his.

                               NELS
                     Course, if Carl lost both batteries,
                     dead in the water, his radio wouldn't
                     work.  So how would he signal for help?

                               GILLANDERS
                     Compressed air horn, most likely.
                     Hope to God some man hears you in
                     that fog.

                               NELS
                     All right, what if the defendant
                     heard?  So Carl let him aboard, to
                     help.  And then the fishing gaff?

     Gillanders grins.  Wide.

                               GILLANDERS
                     You mean Miyamoto followed him out
                     there, and sucker-punched him?

                               NELS
                     Well, what if?

                               GILLANDERS
                     Now, how is Miyamoto gonna know
                     in advance?  That Carl loses two
                     batteries.  Must happen once ever'
                     20 years or so.

     Another chuckle or two from the gallery.

                               NELS
                     Thank you, Mr. Gillanders.  Thank
                     you for coming down, in this cold
                     weather.

                               GILLANDERS
                     Well, it does seem mighty warm in
                     here.  Specially for Mr. Hooks.

     And looks at the prosecutor.  Who rises, easily.  A most polite
     fuck-you smile.  Hooks strolls now.  Slow and steady.  Straight to
     the witness box.  Rests his hands on the rail.  Leans in.

                               HOOKS
                     What if the defendant follows Carl.
                     And pretends his own batteries are
                     dead?  Would Carl tie up and help?

     And the smile on Gillander's face.  Stops.  Cold.

                               HOOKS
                     Is the word you're groping
                     for...'yes', perha...

                               JUDGE (O.S.)
                     Alvin!

                               HOOKS
                     Rephrase.  Do you agree that he
                     might tie up to the defendant's bo...

                               GILLANDERS
                     So why's the D-6 in Carl's well?

                               HOOKS
                     Who's to say?  Maybe it was just
                     a spare, after all.  Or maybe the
                     defendant left it, as a potential
                     alibi.  In case somebody saw him
                     in Ship Channel Bank.
                              (beat)
                     In case we put two and two
                     together, knowing of the hostility.
                     Between the families.

     Gillanders.  Actually thinking about that.

                               HOOKS
                     My question is.  Could Carl have
                     tied up to help the defendant?

     A beat.  A cleared throat.

                               GILLANDERS
                     It coulda happened.  And if I start
                     to say it's doubtful, you'd probl'y
                     say 'no further questions', right?

     Once more, laughter.  Enough to bring the gavel DOWN.

                               HOOKS
                     Right about that.  And right that
                     it 'coulda happened'.

     Turns his back, walks away.

                               HOOKS
                     Thanks for your help.  Hope the
                     witness box wasn't too warm for
                     your comfort.

     All eyes follow the prosecutor, as he sits.  Except for the
     defendant.  His stare forward.  Recalling...

     INT. KABUO'S CELL - NIGHT

     Kabuo seated on the concrete floor of his cell, leaning back
     against the wall.  Leaving the cot.  For his guest.

                               NELS
                     But the toughest scenario.  Is the
                     one Hooks will never raise.

     Kabuo watching.  Quiet.  Takes a breath...

                               KABUO
                     And what's that?

                               NELS
                     That you came upon Carl by accident.
                     Like you said.  Gave him the battery.
                     Like you said.  Asked him about the
                     seven acres.  Like you said.

     The hardest.  Straightest.  Look.

                               NELS
                     Only.  He said no.

     Silence.

                               NELS
                     And something...happened.  That
                     you'd never planned.  Because
                     you're not a cold-blooded killer.

     Nobody flinches.  Nobody blinks.

                               KABUO
                     I'm more a hot-blooded killer, huh?
                     Like a soldier.  Like a samurai.

                               NELS
                     You won't hear that from Hooks.
                     Because the charge is first-degree
                     murder, which requires premeditation.
                     He can't change the charge.

     Do you understand?

                               NELS
                     So if the jury thinks you did kill.
                     but only in the heat of anger.  They
                     have to acquit.

     Do you?

                               NELS
                     And you couldn't.  Be.  Re-tried.

     Kabuo's face is stone.  A warrior's mask.

                               KABUO
                     You want me to say that.

                               NELS
                     I want you.  To tell the truth.

     There is no kindly smile tonight.  No candy bars.

                               KABUO
                     You think that is the truth.

                               NELS
                     I told your wife.  Trials aren't
                     always so much about actual truth.
                     As about what folks believe is true.
                     That's sad.  And it's real.

                               KABUO
                     And what do you believe?

     Nels sighs.  Cocks his head just to one side.

                               NELS
                     A question first.  Why do you want
                     to know?

                               KABUO (straight back)
                     Because you're my friend.

     The old man thinks about that.  Studies his client.

                               NELS
                     I believe you are a good man.  Who
                     belongs with his family.

     And then the feeling comes.  To the watery eyes.

                               NELS
                     And I believe.  You didn't do it.

     EXT. SHIP CHANNEL BANK - NIGHT

     Fog.  The sound of water.  Lapping at the hull of a boat.  The mist
     drfits, revealing...

     Eyes.  They are blue.  The heavy brows above them dark gold, matted
     and damp.

                               CARL (O.S.)
                     My batteries are drawed down, both
                     of 'em.  ALternator belts were loose.

     PULL BACK to see him.  With his keroses lantern and his air horn.

                               KABUO (O.S.)
                     No sweat.  We'll pull one a mine,
                     get ya started.

     PULL BACK to see him now, leaning on his gaff.  Squinting up.  At
     the top of Carl's mast.  We follow his gaze to see...

                               KABUO (O.S.)
                     You lashed up a lantern?  'Gainst
                     a fog like this?

     See it now.  SWAYING as the helpless boat bobs in the night.

                               CARL (O.S.)
                     Lantern and a air horn.  That's
                     all I got, without my juice.

     INT. CARL'S CABIN - LATER

     CLOSE on a battery well.  One battery sits in place, one spot is
     empty.  And...

     ...CRASH!  The butt end of a fishing gaff BANGS against the metal
     flange.  Again.  Again.  AGAIN.  And as the next blow is STRUCK,
     the huge hand...

     ...slips, and the soft metal SLICES Carl's flesh across his palm.
     He stops.  Then SMASHES away, twice more.  We PULL BACK to see...

     ...two batteries lie above the well.  Carl sucks the blood from his
     cut.  Then lifts Kabuo's D-6 into place...

                               CARL
                     Don't know how long it's take to
                     get a charge...

                               KABUO
                     Keep it tonight.  We'll catch fish.
                     I'll see ya back on the docks...

     Kabuo takes his gaff.  Heedless of Carl's blood on the butt end.
     Carl looks up, still crouching above his well.

                               CARL (quietly)
                     Hold on.  You know as well as
                     I do, we got somethin' to talk
                     about.

     No response from Kabuo.  He stands above the larger man.  Silent,
     neutral.  Waiting.

                               CARL
                     Seven acres.  I'm wonderin' what
                     you'd pay for 'em.  Just curious,
                     is all.

                               KABUO
                     What are you sellin' 'em for?
                     Why don't we start there.

     Which makes the big man smile.  Just a little.

                               CARL
                     Did I say I was selling?  But
                     if I was, I'd have to figure you
                     want 'em real bad.  Oughta charge
                     a sall fortune, maybe...

     A slight shrug.  Of giant shoulders.

                               CARL
                     Then again.  Maybe you'd want
                     your battery back.

     Kabuo doesn't grin back.  His face shows nothing at all.

                               KABUO
                     The battery's in, that's done
                     with.  Besides, you'd do the
                     same for m...

                               CARL
                     ...might do the same.  I have to
                     warn you 'bout that, chief.  I'm
                     not screwed together like I used
                     to be.

     Kabuo's face remains impassive.  Patient.  And the big man squints
     up into it.  Holding a handkerchief to his injured hand.

                               CARL
                     Hell, I'm sorry, okay?  About
                     the whole damn mess.  If I'd a
                     been around, my mother wouldn't
                     a pulled it off that way.

     He is sorry.  And with that, Kabuo's face eases.  Becomes like
     Carl's own.

                               CARL (grins)
                     I was out there at sea.  Fightin'
                     you Jap sons-a-bitches.

                               KABUO (no grin)
                     I'm an American.  Did I call you
                     a Nazi, you big Nazi bastard?

                               CARL (softly)
                     Not that I recall.

                               KABUO
                     I killed men who looked just like
                     you, pig-fed German bastards.  And
                     their blood don't wash off so easy.

     Still no smile.  Carl staring up.

                               KABUO
                     So don't talk to me about Japs,
                     you big Nazi son of a bitch.

     Carl laughs.  And Kabuo chuckles, right along with him.  Having
     kept his poker face the longer.

                               CARL
                     I am a bastard.  I'm a big Hun
                     Nazi son of a bitch.  And I still
                     got your bamboo fishing rod.

                               KABUO
                     Oh, yeh?

                               CARL
                     Hid it from my mom.  Caught a mess
                     a sea runs.  Damn thing's still in
                     my closet.

                               KABUO (very softly)
                     You can have it.  The hell with it.

     The look between them now.  Is very wonderful.  In the subtlety of
     its connection.

                               CARL
                     $1200 an acre, that's what I paid
                     Ole, won't take a dime less.  You
                     got no choice on that.

                               KABUO
                     Didn't say I was buyin' did I?
                     What you want down?  Just bein'
                     curious, is all.

     The handkerchief comes away from Carl's palm.  And rising, his hand
     extends toward the smaller man.

                               CARL
                     A thousand down.  We'll sign
                     papers t'morrow.

     The hands grip.  And they hold.  And the length of this clasp, and
     the straightness of their gaze, and the silence of the moment.
     Wash years away.

                               KABUO
                     Eight hundred.  And it's a deal.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     CLOSE on eyes.  They are Asian.  Unblinking.

                               HOOKS (O.S.)
                     For the life of me, sir, I cannot
                     imagine why you kept this story from
                     the sheriff.

     PULL BACK to see Kabuo in the witness box.  Ramrod straight.  Face
     composed.

                               KABUO
                     As my wife testified, we were
                     considering it.

                               HOOKS
                     Actually, she said you had decided.
                     Decided not not come forward.

                               KABUO (quietly)
                     I was thinking about it.  Every
                     minute.

                               HOOKS
                     Except even when Sheriff Moran
                     arrested you.  You said nothing
                     about seeing Carl.

     Turns to the jury.  Openly bewildered.

                               HOOKS
                     At that point, you were already
                     under suspicion.  The battery story
                     explained things.  If the story was
                     true...and not simply something you
                     thought up later...

     Turns back.  To the defendant.

                               HOOKS
                     Why.  Didn't you.  Tell it?

     No reaction from the defendant.  Nothing anyone can see.

                               KABUO
                     Sheriff said right off, I was
                     under suspicion.  I didn't have
                     a lawyer...

                               HOOKS
                     But even after you had an
                     attorney.  You still claimed to
                     know nothing.  Claimed not to
                     have seen Carl. Am I correct?

     A beat.

                               KABUO
                     Yes.  Initially.

                               HOOKS
                     Well, 'initially' is an interesting
                     word, sir.  You'd been arrested,
                     you had a lawyer, and you still
                     claimed ignorance!

     Silence.

                               KABUO
                     I should have told everything
                     right away.  I know that now,
                     and I regret it.

                               HOOKS
                     Should have told 'everything'.
                     Meaning, you should have told
                     the truth.

     We can just discern the anger.  At the edge of Kabuo's steady gaze.
     Silence.

                               HOOKS
                     Nothing to say?

                               KABUO (quietly)
                     I didn't know that was a question.
                     It sounded like a speech.

     And Hooks smiles.  Loving it.  Walks toward the witness, stalking
     him.

                               HOOKS
                     My apologies.  Do you regret
                     not telling the truth?

                               KABUO
                     I have told the truth.

                               HOOKS
                     You mean, this morning.  The
                     new story, the battery story.
                     That one is the truth?  That's
                     a question, sir.

                               KABUO (even quieter)
                     Yes.  And I told it long before
                     this morning.

                               HOOKS
                     I see.  Now what happened the
                     day Carl Heine was found?  Before
                     your arrest.

                               KABUO
                     I slept til one-thirty, when my
                     wife woke me up with the news.  We
                     talked for a few hours.  I left at
                     six and went straight to my boat.

                               HOOKS
                     Didn't go anywhere else?  No errands,
                     no purchases?  Just straight to the
                     boat.  That's the truth.

                               KABUO
                     Yes.

     Hooks leans over the box.  Ever so slightly invading Kabuo's space.

                               HOOKS
                     Well, the sheriff found two batteries
                     in your well.  If you left one with
                     Carl Heine, how is that possible?

                               KABUO
                     I had a spare battery in my shed.
                     I brought it down, and put it in
                     just before the sheriff showed up.

     Ah.  I see.

                               HOOKS
                     Conveniently, in your shed.  Only
                     you didn't mention that a moment ago.
                     Why does this battery story change
                     every time a new question is raised?

     Kabuo looks at him, evenly.

                               KABUO
                     You asked if I went straight to the
                     boat.  I did.  With the battery.

     Hooks steps back.  Looks the witness over.

                               HOOKS
                     You're a hard man to trust, sir.
                     You sit before us, with no expression,
                     keeping a poker f...

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     Objection!

                               JUDGE
                     You know better than that, Mr.
                     Hooks.  Either ask questions
                     that count for something, or sit
                     down and be done with it.

     Silence.  The judge staring hard.  Hooks never flinching.

                               JUDGE
                     Shame on you.

     Hooks turns his eyes to Kabuo.  Stares him down, so the jury can
     watch Kabuo's implacable stare in return.  And softly...

                               HOOKS
                     I apologize to the court, for
                     letting my feelings get the
                     better of me.

     Turns away.

                               HOOKS
                     No other questions.  We'll go to
                     summation.

     As he returns to his table.  As Kabuo steps down from the box.
     We PAN...

     ...reporters' row.  The boys are writing as fast as their hands can
     move.  Only Ishmael is not writing at all.  He stares at the pad
     resting on hsi right knee.  We CLOSE to see...

     One word circled.  The word 'lantern'.

     INT. COURTROOM - LATER

     Alvin Hooks stalks the jury box now.  Prowls before them along the
     rail.  As their eyes follow.

                               HOOKS
                     ...believing that Etta Heine's son
                     would never sell him the land.  Land
                     that in his mind, filtered through
                     ancient rules of behavior handed down
                     from his ancestors' culture, belonged
                     to his family by right...

     Stops.  To make sure they understand.

                               HOOKS
                     His only choice to get the land
                     would be to eliminate Carl Heine.
                     So that Ole Jurgensen would need
                     a new buyer.

     Pacing again, hand trailing along the rail...

                               HOOKS
                     In his mind.  Seen through codes
                     of revenge difficult for us to
                     fathom, this was also the only way
                     to avenge what he felt to be the
                     grievous dishonor brought to his
                     father, his family...

     Raises his finger.  This must be heard...

                               HOOKS
                     ...to a thousand years of ancestry,
                     in a foreign land we still find an
                     enigma.  Despite our recent bitter
                     experience with its ways.

     And stops once more.  Places his hands on the rail.

                               HOOKS
                     Thus believing cold-blooded murder to
                     be justified...he trailed Carl Heine...
                     could hear his engine in the fog...and
                     sounded his own horn, claiming distress.

     Straightens up.  Shakes his head, ever so slightly.

                               HOOKS
                     As Carl pulled alongside: 'Please,
                     Carl,' the defendant must have said.
                     'I am sorry for what has come between
                     us, but adrift here in the fog, I
                     plead for your help!'

     Imagine.  Imagine that.

                               HOOKS
                     And so this good man tied his
                     boat fast, while his enemy leaps
                     aboard, striking the treacherous
                     blow he was trained to strike by
                     his father's hand.

     Counting off the facts.  One finger at a time.

                               HOOKS
                     The feud over these seven acres
                     had festered for eight years.  He
                     argued with Carl about buying the
                     land one week before Carl was killed.
                     Carl's skull was crushed, and his
                     blood is on a murder weapon with which
                     the defendant is a deadly expert!

     Spreads his arms.  Wide.

                               HOOKS
                     And after a series of lies.  The
                     defendant at last admits he was
                     there.  Alone on the boat.  In
                     the fog.  Carl Heine's blood on
                     his fishing gaff.

     A hush.  A murmur...

                               HOOKS
                     My lord.  My lord.

     Looking into the eyes now.  Of each man.  Each woman.

                               HOOKS
                     Look clearly at the defendant.
                     See the truth self-evident in him.
                     And in the facts of this case.

     And turns.  So that they will follow his eyes to Kabuo's stone-
     hard gaze.

                               HOOKS
                     Look into his eyes, ladies and
                     gentlemen, consider his face.
                     And ask yourself what your duty
                     is as citizens of this community.

     INT. COURTROOM - LATER

     PAN the jury, slowly, as they hear...

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     ...not a single witness has testified
                     to anything that could suggest pre-
                     meditated murder.  Not in the days
                     before Carl Heine's death...or at
                     any time...has anyone described a
                     murderous rage toward the deceased.

     Nels stands very still.  Hands resting on the rail.  As calm and
     quiet as his adversary had been dramatic.

                               NELS
                     Etta Heine had cheated his family.
                     He had asked his childhood friend
                     Carl to sell him the land.  And
                     Carl was considering it.

     Leans forward.  Just a little.

                               NELS
                     There is no evidence of anger at
                     Carl, much less rage, much less
                     murderous rage.  No reason for
                     premeditation and no evidence of
                     it.  Anywhere.

     He picks out a housewife.  The youngest.  Smiles sadly, wisely.  As
     her grandfather might.

                               NELS
                     And yet the state is required to
                     prove these things.  Beyond.  A
                     reasonable.  Doubt.

     His eyes widen.

                               NELS
                     Can you seriously think there is
                     no reasonable doubt?  Why is Kabuo's
                     D-6 battery in Carl's well, if Carl
                     was helping him?

     Why?

                               NELS
                     Why isn't the blood on the gaff
                     more consistent with Carl's hand
                     wound than a skull fracture?  Given
                     the absence of bone or brain tissue.

     And now.  he begins to pace, limping slightly, eyes down.

                               NELS
                     What Mr. Hooks asks you to believe
                     is that no proof is needed.  Against
                     a man who bombed Pearl Harbor.

     Slow.  Eyes on his feet.

                               NELS
                     Look at his face, the prosecutor said.
                     Presuming that you will see an enemy
                     there.  Treacherous by nature, by a
                     thousand years of something or other.

     He stops.  Looks at them.

                               NELS
                     An argument I find as despicable as
                     it is dishonest and twisted and
                     insulting to us all.  Mr. Miyamoto
                     is a much-decorated hero of the United
                     States Army.  For God's sake.

     The feeling wells in te old man.  It bleeds through the very
     quietness of his voice.

                               NELS
                     If someone said you should convict
                     Carl Heine.  Or his lovely widow.
                     Of murder.  Without proof.  Because
                     their ancestry is the same as
                     Hitler's.  You would spit in his eye.

     Yes, you would.

                               NELS
                     And every decent American.  Would
                     applaud you.

     He leans his elbows on their rail.  As if confiding to them across
     their backyard fence.

                               NELS
                     Now Kabuo Miyamoto did one thing
                     wrong.  He was afraid to trust us,
                     at first.  Afraid that he would be
                     crucified by prejudice.  As Mr. Hooks
                     is urging you to do.

     Silence.

                               NELS
                     Well, we sent him.  And his wife.
                     And thousands of Americans to
                     concentration camps.  They lost
                     homes, belongings, everything.
                     We did that, folks.  Can we now be
                     unforgiving about his uncertainty?
                     His mistrust?

     Looking in their eyes.  As if waiting for an answer.  They shift
     their weight, fidget beneath his gaze.

                               NELS
                     You may think this is a small trial.
                     In a small place.  Well, it isn't.

     He straightens his spine.  Winces slightly, with the pain of it.

                               NELS
                     Every once in awhile.  Somewhere
                     in the world.  Humanity goes on
                     trial.  And integrity.  And decency.
                     Every once in awhile, common folks
                     get called on to give the report
                     card for the human race.

     The eyes are watering.  But the voice gains strength.

                               NELS
                     Now here in America.  We relish
                     those chances.  Give us that one,
                     we say.  That's why we built this
                     country in the first place.

     One step back.  Just above a whisper...

                               NELS
                     Be Americans.  Make your
                     children proud.

     INT. COURTROOM - LATER

     CLOSE on handcuffs SNAPPING into place.  Sheriff Moran checks their
     snugness about Kabuo's wrists, as the crowd mills through the
     courtroom in the wake of adjournment.  Grasping Kabuo's arm, Moran
     begins leading him toward a small doorway just at the rear of the
     witness box.  But...

     ...someone is there.  In the doorway.  And Moran's grip tightens as
     they approach...

                               MORAN
                     I'm awful sorry, Ma'am, but you
                     know I c...

                               HATSUE
                     What are you afraid of, Sheriff?

     The edge on that, the ballsy undertone, throws him a little.

                               HATSUE
                     Am I going to slip him a weapon
                     for a mad escape?  Perhaps a kendo
                     staff hidden in my dress?

                               MORAN
                     There's rules.

                               HATSUE
                     Well, please break them, then.
                     I won't keep you a moment.

     And she reaches past him.  To take her husband's hands.  She looks
     in his eyes, as if they are alone.

                               HATSUE
                     I love you.  And tomorrow, when
                     I make our bed.  I'm setting out
                     your pillow.

     Tears just flood her eyes.  Sudden, unbidden.  She holds tight to
     her smile.  And to his hands.

                               HATSUE (whispers)
                     You better be there.

     He smiles.  A lovely, easy, cowboy-American smile.

                               KABUO
                     Only if you ask me nice.

     ANGLE...from the gallery.  One man watches.  Watches as a woman
     brings manicled hands to her lips.  And walks quickly away...

     ...toward us.  Straight toward us, in fact.  And when she stands
     before us, her hands mangle her purse.  The eyes are hollow, flint-
     edged.

                               HATSUE
                     Did you write that column?

                               ISHMAEL
                     I did.  But the jury won't s...

                               HATSUE
                     It's not for the.  They only
                     get to convict him.

     She arches her throat.  As if facing a firing squad.

                               HATSUE
                     It's the judge who decides.  If
                     he'll hang.

     He reaches.  His fingertips find her shoulder.  She does not resist
     his touch.

                               ISHMAEL (gently)
                     None of that is gonna ha...

                               HATSUE
                     You don't think he did this.

     His hand comes away.  From his heart...

                               ISHMAEL
                     I know he didn't.

     She nods.  Nods.  Her eyes filling.  Moving over his face.

                               HATSUE
                     Come to supper, tonight.  My
                     mother would be proud to have
                     you with us.

     He hears the emotion in her voice.  He swallows hard.

                               ISHMAEL
                     I can't.

     No, I can't.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Tell your mom.  I want a rain check.

     INT. KABUO'S CELL - NIGHT

     Kabuo sits on the cot, the way we have always seen him.  Alone in
     his mind.  Footfalls.  Kabuo oblivious, far away.  The door CLANGS
     open.

                               MORAN
                     You have a visitor, son.

     Turns to the visitor...

                               MORAN
                     You said three minutes.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Won't take two.

     And Moran leaves.  The door CLANGS shut.  They are alone.  Only one
     man smiling...

                               KABUO
                     Please, sit down...

     But the tall man doesn't.  Doesn't move.

                               KABUO
                     She told me you're writing a
                     column.  We're very grateful.

     Ishmael nods, awkwardly.  Acknowledging this.

                               KABUO
                     She.  Said you two go way back...

     Ishmael stares into Kabuo's earnest smile.

                               KABUO
                     That's nice.

                               ISHMAEL
                     You said there was a lantern
                     in his hand.  When you found
                     him in the fog.

     Kabuo blinks.  The man's tone is formal.  As if the offer of
     friendliness is somehow rejected.

                               ISHMAEL
                     And another one.  Lashed to
                     the mast?

     Kabuo's own smile has faded.  The mask has returned.

                               KABUO
                     That's right.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Two.  Lanterns.

     And Kabuo grins.  In spite of himself.

                               KABUO
                     If I did the math right.

     Ishmael leans back.  Against the door.

                               ISHMAEL
                     It's the sheriff's math.  I'm
                     wondering about.

     INT. SOMMENSEN'S WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

     Blackness.  The sound of wind.  Of water lapping at wood.  CLICK of
     a key, springing a lock.  The SCRAPE of a large PADLOCK sliding
     away.  A door CREAKS open, and from the sound of it, a large one.

     Gray light seeps in.

                               MORAN (O.S.)
                     Blackmail.  That's all it is.

     See them now.  Three SILHOUETTES framed in thr barn's open doorway.
     Against the night sky.

                               ISHMAEL (O.S.)
                     I call it keeping your promise.
                     We said if I ever needed some
                     cooperation from you...

     A soft CLICK, and the LIGHTS go on.  Such as they are.  A few
     bare bulbs strung across the rafters of this towering ramshackle
     enclosure.  A 50-year-old mildewed barn, built of creosoted
     timbers.  This is a place for overhauling boats, with sea doors
     facing the harbor.

     Two BOATS are tied to wide-elbowed piers.  We've seen them before.

                               MORAN
                     You threatened me, Chambers, pure
                     and simple.  And what idiot's gonna
                     believe some cock and bull story
                     that I made a deal to keep stuff
                     outta your paper?  Not that anybody
                     reads your paper.

     Abel Martenson leads the way.  Along soaking planks.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Same idiots who'll believe you
                     cracked this case.  When I tell
                     'em you did.

     Moran snorts.  Points up to the cross spar, high on the mast of the
     first boat.

                               MORAN
                     See, no lantern.

                               ABEL (respectfully)
                     Sheriff?  That's Miyamoto's boat.

     Oh.  Moran swings his gaze up to the second boat.

                               MORAN (quiet triumph)
                     No lantern there, neither.

     Sure enough.  No lantern on the cross spar.  They keep walking.

                               MORAN
                     Never shoulda given you that
                     inventory in the first place.

                               ISHMAEL
                     It's public record.  If the public
                     cares enough to read it.

     They step across the gunnel.  Onto Carl Heine's boat.  Flashlights
     working against the dim, eerie glow of distant bulbs, they enter
     Carl's cabin.

     Neat as a pin.  Ishmael scans the floor.

                               ISHMAEL
                     You said there was a coffee c...

                               ABEL (sorry)
                     I picked it up.

     And points to the cup.  Sitting on the counter.

                               ABEL
                     It's the only thing I moved, I
                     swear.  It was right there.

     The sheriff glares at the boy.

                               MORAN
                     You wanna see that in the papers?
                     Don't ever touch something at a cri...

     And stops.  Because Ishmael's gaze has gone to a kerosene lantern.
     In the corner.

                               MORAN
                     One lantern.  Like the inventory
                     says.  Sorry to disappoint you.

     But Ishmael is out the door.  Shining his flashlight.  Up the mast.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Actually.  I was hoping you got
                     it right.  What's that, up there?

     And they all squint up.  Shining their lights together.  Along the
     cross spar.

                               MORAN
                     Nothin'.  Bits of string.

     That's what it looks like.  Many of them.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Pieces of twine aren't nothing.

     And he steps to the base of the mast.  Puts the flashlight in his
     pocket.  Wraps his arm around the shaft of wood.

                               MORAN
                     Here now, what are you fixin'
                     to do?

                               ISHMAEL
                     Have a look.  At nothing.

     And wrapping his legs around the mast, he hoists himself up.

                               MORAN
                     You can't go up there, touch things...

     With all his strength.  Ishmael begins to climb.

                               ISHMAEL (grunting)
                     Trial's over, Sheriff, it's with
                     the jury now.

     Supporting himself with his legs, he struggles upward.

                               MORAN
                     You gonna climb that with one arm?

                               ISHMAEL
                     You're right.  I better use two.

     Up he goes, inching his way, Abel shining his flashlight.  Moran
     swings his beam up, too.

                               ABEL
                     There's lots of 'em, Art, look.

     And Moran is looking.  Saying nothing.  Now, Ishmael is there.

                               ISHMAEL
                     A dozen or more, all figure eights.
                     All cut clean through on an angle.

                               ABEL
                     And look at that streak of rust,
                     across the mast.

     His light playing on it.  Bracing his full weight with his legs,
     Ishmael fingers the scraps of rope...

                               ISHMAEL
                     It's on the twine, too.  But it's
                     not r...

                               MORAN
                     Don't prove there was two lanterns.
                     Coulda been the one in the cabin.

     Still supporting  himself with his legs, Ishmael pulls out his
     flashlight...

                               ISHMAEL
                     There's a stretch of ground
                     between guessin' and provin',
                     Sheriff.  I'll give you that.

     ...shines it DOWN on the deck.  Along the gunnel.  Just below the
     mast.  And as we watch the circle of light move...

                               MORAN (O.S.)
                     What do you think you're lookin'
                     at now?

     Still moving.  And in the silence, an absent...

                               ISHMAEL (O.S.)
                     Not what I'm looking at.  It's
                     what I'm looking for.

     INT. JURY ROOM - NIGHT

     Eleven citizens around a walnut table.  Eleven.  Glaring at the
     twelfth.

                               ALEXANDER VAN NESS
                     Well.  I guess it comes down to
                     a feeling, don't it?  If I feel
                     uncertain, I feel a doubt.  Isn't
                     that it?

     And the boat builder smiles amicably, rubs his gray beard.  No
     other smiles.  Anywhere.

                               HAROLD JENSEN
                     Alex, nobody ain't ever sure about
                     nothin'.  It's unreasonable to be so
                     stubborn that you think you're smarter
                     than eleven folks who all agree!

                               EDITH TWARDZIK
                     The man sat there and admitted he
                     lied, Mr. Van Ness.  Now why isn't
                     that enough for you?

                               ALEXANDER VAN NESS
                     We're not tryin' him for lying.  Lots
                     of us told lies, one time or another.
                     Prob'ly none of us murdered anybody.

                               HAROLD JENSEN
                     But what drives a man to lie?
                     Means he's hiding somethin'.

                               ALEXANDER VAN NESS
                     Not necessarily that he killed
                     Carl.  I'm not sayin' you're wrong,
                     just that I have my doubts.

                               BURKE LATHAM
                     Look, if you changed chairs right
                     now, cos you doubted that maybe a
                     chunk of the moon was gonna fall
                     through the roof, that wouldn't be
                     a reasonable doubt.

     Folks turn to Burke.  What the hell are you talking about?

                               ALEXANDER VAN NESS (laughs)
                     Okay, you win that one.  Now can
                     we all go to bed?

                               HARLAN McQUEEN
                     The mooring line.  Doesn't that
                     tell you something?

                               ALEXANDER VAN NESS
                     I think it does.  Miyamoto was on
                     Carl's boat, or vice-versa.  Not
                     much doubt about th...

                               MARLAN McQUEEN
                     And Carl's blood on the gaff?

                               ALEXANDER VAN NESS
                     There's a chance it came from his
                     hand.

                               BURKE LATHAM
                     There's a chance of everything.
                     But you add a chance from here and
                     a chance from there, the world ain't
                     made a coincidences only.

     Everyone agrees.  Almost everyone.

                               EDITH TWARDZIK
                     Look, if he gave Carl a battery
                     like he said, he'd only a had one
                     left.  Not two.

                               ALEXANDER VAN NESS
                     He explained that.  He replaced it.

                               HARLAN McQUEEN
                     Only he threw that part in when he
                     got cornered.  But first time around,
                     he never mentioned it.

                               ROGER PORTER
                     Alex, stop arguin' just to argue.
                     You can see what really happened,
                     same as us.  Isn't that what we're
                     supposed to do is tell the actual
                     truth?  My God, Carl died, here.

                               ALEXANDER VAN NESS
                     So I don't care Carl died, unless
                     I'm ready to reach for the hangman's
                     rope?  You oughta stop tryin' to
                     bully me into hurrying.

     Little anger in that.  It brings a silence.

                               BURKE LATHAM
                     Been six hours.  You sayin' there's
                     a way to go slower?

     INT. NELS' KITCHEN - LATE NIGHT

     Nels in a ratty, frayed old robe, pouring hot water from a kettle
     into mismatched cups.  His hair is wispy and wild, his eyes puffy.
     He COUGHS horrible.  CLEARS his throat...

                               NELS
                     Well.  It's imaginative...

     And drops tea bags into the cups with a splash.

                               NELS
                     ...I'll give you that.

     Lisps over to the cluttered table.  Where his guest is waiting.

                               ISHMAEL
                     It's the way it happened, I know
                     it is.

                               NELS
                     No, you don't.

     Nels sits.  Slowly.  Ishmael removes his bag.  Sips his tea.

                               NELS
                     That report.  About the freighter?
                     You didn't find that tonight, did you?

     No answer.  Ishmael keeps sipping.  Holding eye contact.

                               NELS
                     You went right to the cell.  Then
                     to the boat.  Then here.  How long
                     did you know about the freighter?

                               ISHMAEL (just above a whisper)
                     One day.

     Nels' turn.  To sip his tea.

                               NELS
                     This tastes horrible, hmmn?

                               ISHMAEL
                     You're wondering why I held it.

                               NELS
                     I'm wondering how the judge is
                     gonna like my waking up his old
                     bones.  in the middle of the night.

     And he smiles.  A wonderful smile.

                               NELS
                     Your daddy.  Was quite a feller.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Yes, he was.

     Another sip.

                               NELS
                     He's looking down.  And he's not
                     thinking 'bout the man you were
                     yesterday.  He's proud of the man
                     you are tonight.  That's what counts.

                               ISHMAEL
                     To my father.  Everything counts.

     Nels watches the pain in that.

                               NELS
                     What if I told you he once said
                     to me...don't matter the road we
                     take.  Just so we get there.

                               ISHMAEL (smiles)
                     Then you'd be lying.

                               NELS
                     Doesn't make me wrong.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     The jury once more in the jury box.  PAN their faces.  The faces we
     saw last night.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     All right, let's say that twine
                     had been there to lash a lantern.
                     That it had come from the shuttle of
                     twine found in the deceased's pocket.

     Edith Twardzik.  Burke Latham.  Alexander Van Ness.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     Now to re-open a trial that had
                     gone to jury...new evidence should
                     be pretty important.

     See Ishmael.  Quiet, intense.  On the witness stand.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     Tell us why that lantern would be
                     so significant.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Well.  It shows the prosecutor was
                     wrong.  It was Carl's boat that was
                     dead in the water.  Or he'd never
                     have put up the lantern.

     Nels thinks about that.  So the jury will, too.

                               NELS
                     Now you believe there were two
                     lanterns when defendant arrived.
                     One in Carl's hand.  The second
                     lashed to the mast.

                               ISHMAEL
                     That's what Mr. Miyamoto reported,
                     and he'd have no reason to lie.
                     He couldn't know that it would help
                     his case.

                               NELS
                     Well, why does it?

                               ISHMAEL
                     Because the second lantern, the one
                     on the mast.  Was never found.  So
                     we have to ask...

     A slight shurg.  Stating the obvious.

                               ISHMAEL
                     ...where did it go?

     And then...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Maybe it went.  Where Carl went.
                     Over the side.

                               HOOKS
                     Objection!  Speculation.

     Nels smiles his grandfather smile.

                               NELS
                     Your Honor, all of this is
                     speculation.  Including Mr. Hooks'
                     dramaturgy about the defendant
                     issuing a false distress call.

                               HOOKS
                     Tht was summation, Your H...

                               JUDGE (gently)
                     Overruled, Alvin.  Let's hear
                     this, hmmn?

     Nels Gudmundsson nods to himself.  Takes a stroll over to the jury
     box.  No limp today.  Something has put some spring in his step.

                               NELS
                     So how does this fit with what
                     you told us at the start?  The
                     freighter that plowed through
                     Ship Channel Bank...

     And turns.  Leaning his scrawny butt against the jury's rail.
     He'll watch this with them now.

                               ISHMAEL
                     That's when he fell.

                               NELS
                     Fell.

     Ishmael settles in.  Here we go.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Miyamoto gave him the battery, and
                     left.  Carl's boat was running, he
                     goes back to fishing.  But at some
                     point, he thinks of the lantern...

                               NELS
                     Still lashed to the mast.

                               ISHMAEL
                     He figures a perfectly good
                     lantern could get banged around
                     up there.  So he climbs up.  To
                     cut it down.

                               NELS
                     Just as the freighter comes through?
                     Isn't that quite a coincidence?

                               ISHMAEL
                     Coincidences happen.  You run a
                     yellow light just as a car comes
                     out of nowhere.  Split-second tragedy
                     happens every day.  Or maybe...

                               NELS
                     Maybe...?

                               ISHMAEL
                     Maybe Carl picks up something about
                     the freighter on his radio, which is
                     now working.  Same report Milholland
                     heard.  And that makes him get the
                     lantern fast.  Before the freighter's
                     wake can bang it around.

                               NELS
                     But you could be wrong.  He could
                     have climbed up earlier.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Then where's the lantern?  And
                     where's the knife?

                               NELS
                     The knife.  What knife?

     As if he really has forgotten.  As if he wants to know.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Coroner found an empty knife sheath
                     on Carl's belt.  But they never
                     found the knife.

     He's nodding.  Yes, that's right.

                               ISHMAEL
                     He climbs up.  His hand wound still
                     bleeding.  That's the blood I found
                     on the mast.  And the twine.

     Nels' eyes are rapt.  His mouth is shut.  No way he interrupts this
     roll.

                               ISHMAEL
                     He cuts the lantern free, the
                     freighter's wake hits, the boat
                     rolls hard, his bloody hand slips.
                     tracing blood along the mast...

     A hush.

                               ISHMAEL
                     He falls.  The lantern, the knife,
                     go into the water.  Same as Carl.

     The words hang there.

                               ISHMAEL
                     And inside the cabin, a coffee
                     cup falls off the counter.

     Shakes his head.

                               ISHMAEL
                     But there's no one around.  To
                     pick it up.

     Nels ponders.  Puts his hand to his chin.

                               NELS
                     Still a coincidence.  Timing
                     and all.

                               ISHMAEL
                     The freighter started through
                     at 1:42.  The sea water seeped
                     into Carl's watch and stopped it.
                     At 1:47.

     CUT to the defendant.  Ramrod straight, nothing revealed in his
     face.  And to his wife.  Elegant, erect.  Her eyes flooded with
     tears.

                               NELS
                     Still and all.  Carl was a strong
                     swimmer, he m...

                               ISHMAEL
                     He hit his head.  On the way in.

     Silence.

                               NELS
                     You think so?

                               ISHMAEL
                     The sheriff and the deputy and I
                     inspected the deck closely.  We
                     found a small fracture in the wood
                     of the gunnel.  Just below the mast.

                               NELS
                     Well, anything coulda caused that.

     Ishmael nods.  No smile at all.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Anything.  That had a blond hair.

     And Nels is walking now.  Toward the prosecutor's table.  Pulling a
     small cellophane bag from hisinside pocket.

                               NELS
                     Request introduction of Exhibit 18.
                     One single blond hair.  Which Sheriff
                     Moran dug out of that fracture.  Below
                     the mast.  Of Carl Heine's boat.

     Lays the bag on the table.  Just in front of Hooks.  Turns to the
     judge.

                               NELS
                     We will call Sheriff Moran, who
                     will confirm this.  And Coroner
                     Whaley to testify that the damage
                     to the gunnel is of a size and
                     nature not inconsistent with the
                     deceased's skull fracture...

     Turns to the prosecutor...

                               NELS
                     But for now.  Your witness...

     And just strolls on over to his seat.  Looks in his client's eyes.
     How 'bout them apples?  Kabuo loves this old guy.  And right here,
     he lets a little of that show.

     Across the way, the prosector is rising.  He smiles.  Friendly,
     almost amused.

                               HOOKS
                     I have to start reading your
                     paper more closely.  You're quite
                     a storyteller.

                               ISHMAEL (straight back)
                     Thank you.  Coming from the man who
                     wrote, 'But here, adrift in the fog,
                     I plead for your help'...that's quite
                     a compliment.

     There is a ripple of laughter.  But no smile on Ishmael's features.
     His game face is on.  Come and get me, sucker.  And Hooks does
     come, one step at a time.  Straight to the box.

                               HOOKS
                     Everything had to happen just
                     right.  For your little story to
                     fly.  I mean, a blond hair could be
                     on that gunnel for a lot of reasons.

                               ISHMAEL
                     I'm sorry, was there a question
                     in there?

     No love lost.  And no pretense about it.  Hatsue Miyamoto sits with
     her hand in her mother's.  Watching these men battle for her
     husband's life.

                               HOOKS
                     Well, the freighter.  The twine.
                     The blood.  The knife.  The cup.
                     The watch.  The second battery.
                     The phantom lantern.  The fishing
                     gaff.  The cracked gunnel.  The
                     skull wound.  The blond hair.  That's
                     eleven things...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Twelve.

     Hooks smiles.

                               HOOKS
                     I stand corrected, sir.  And you
                     have a neat explanation for every
                     one of them.

     Hooks nods.  Yes, you do.

                               HOOKS
                     And since you confess this is
                     all pure guesswork.  What is your
                     expertise, sir, are you a detective
                     of sorts?

                               ISHMAEL
                     My expertise.  Is that I'm a
                     journalist.

     Right at his eyes.

                               ISHMAEL
                     And journalism.  Is balance.  Finding
                     the facts folks need to know.

     The words ring with quiet, heartfelt conviction, that others cannot
     fully appreciate.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Then putting them together.  So
                     truth is revealed.

                               HOOKS
                     But isn't the truth that there are
                     several other ways to explain each
                     of these twelve pieces.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Oh, yes.

     And the prosecutor stops.  Confused for an instant by this
     confession.  Until...

                               ISHMAEL
                     But no other way.  To explain
                     them all.

     A heart-stopping hush.  As everyone, as Hooks himself, sees the
     cehckmate.

                               ISHMAEL
                     And since they all happened.
                     This is the only explanation
                     that's the truth.

     The prosecutor looks like he's been slapped.  Like every act of
     will is necessary to maintain composure.  To find the easy,
     untroubled smile.

                               HOOKS
                     Your line of work.  You must meet
                     a lot of men play fast and loose
                     with the truth.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Like you couldn't believe.

     Service returned.  Hooks leans in.

                               HOOKS
                     Well, the defendant is a liar.
                     He's confessed that much.  And his
                     explanation is...he was afraid.

     And leans in some more.

                               HOOKS
                     Afraid that the good folks of
                     this jury.  Would be too stupid
                     to understand.  Too prejudiced
                     to be fair.

     Shakes his head.

                               HOOKS
                     You buy that?

                               ISHMAEL (gently)
                     I think he was greedy.

     And once more.  The prosecutor can only blink.  Can only move
     toward the trap.

                               HOOKS
                     Greedy.

                               ISHMAEL
                     He didn't want to lose any more.

     No smile.  No smile as the trap springs shut.

                               ISHMAEL
                     He'd lost a lot in the war, you
                     see.  I had sent him away.  To a
                     concentration camp.  But a nice
                     one.  Far less brutal than the Nazis.
                     Because I'm a civilized person.

     He stops.  Lets Hooks clear his throat.

                               HOOKS
                     I asked you a question, you're writing
                     a tract, h...

                               ISHMAEL
                     That's how journalists.  Answer
                     questions.

     Turns to Judge Fielding.  With all respect...

                               ISHMAEL
                     May I answer the question, Your
                     Honor?  Anout the defendant's
                     motivation to lie?

                               JUDGE
                     I wouldn't miss it for the world,
                     son.  Now, you say you sent the
                     defendant to Manzanar?

                               ISHMAEL
                     I didn't say.  I did it alone.

     And things get real quiet.

                               ISHMAEL
                     So there he was.  His father lost
                     his health there, finally died.
                     They lost more than Etta Heine's
                     seven acres.  They lost their
                     liberty, their dignity.  Their
                     ideals about this country.

     So much feeling in this.  He has to stop.  Swallow hard.

                               ISHMAEL
                     They lost their trust in us.  We
                     had treated them worse than animals.
                     How would we now see tham.  As human
                     beings?

     Tells the jury.  Straight to their faces.

                               ISHMAEL
                     This man lost a lot in the war.
                     He didn't want now to lose his
                     babies.  Or the woman who loves him.

     Another level of quiet.  He turns to the prosecutor...

                               ISHMAEL
                     And my expertise in this, sir.  Is
                     that I lost a lot in the war myself.

     Words coming from someplace very deep.

                               ISHMAEL
                     And the fact that I am the only
                     witness.  Who placed his right hand
                     upon the Holy Bible.  Is the least
                     of it, sir.  I assure you of that.

     Silence.

                               HOOKS
                     Well, sir.  I hate to spoil the
                     soliloquy, I truly do.  But the
                     fact is...you are not on trial here.
                     Nor is Judge Fielding, or myself.
                     Nor the good people of this jury.
                     For events that took place twelve
                     years ago.

     No sir.

                               HOOKS
                     And I wouldn't blame these good
                     people if they were a mite resent-
                     ful.  At a tactic that insults
                     their intelligence.

                               ISHMAEL
                     That's curious.  I was appealing
                     to their intelligence.

                               HOOKS
                     Were you, sir?  Can you prove one
                     word of all your fancy story?

                               ISHMAEL
                     No, sir, I can't.  Not beyond a
                     reasonable doubt.

     And he smiles.  First time.

                               ISHMAEL
                     It's fortunate that the man who
                     needs to prove his fancy story.
                     Beyond a reasonable doubt.  Is
                     someone else.

     There is laughter in the room, so welcome is any chance to relieve
     the tension.  The gavel BANGS.

                               ISHMAEL
                     I'm sorry, Mr. Hooks.  I apologize
                     for my tone.  This is not a contest.
                     Between you and me.

     Shakes his head.  No, it isn't.

                               ISHMAEL
                     For it is not.  As Mr. Gudmundsson
                     so wisely put it.  A small trial.
                     In a small place.

     His eyes are damp now.  Strangely enough, after all this.  He is at
     last on the brink of losing control.  Because...

                               ISHMAEL
                     I lost more in that war than
                     anyone will ever know.  So did
                     a lot of folks.  And what we got
                     back in return...

     His voice breaks slightly.  But it rings with dignity on...

                               ISHMAEL
                     ...was a country.  Where a man
                     was innocent.  Until we proved
                     him guilty.

     And the voice drops.  To just above a whisper...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Whether we all got cheated.
                     We're about to find out.

     INT. COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR - DAY

     CLOSE on Hatsue Miyamoto, speaking earnestly, her eyes down, her
     purse in her lap, her slender hands expressing the intensity of her
     feelings as she makes her point, and we...

     PULL BACK to reveal that she is on a corridor bench, surrounded by
     a half dozen REPORTERS, who are crouching, standing, scribbling
     away.  Two PHOTOGRAPHERS pop flashes that she does not seem to
     notice, as she continues with refined determination, and we...

     PULL BACK, down the hallway to the POV of a man who sits alone,
     unnoticed.  There is an unopened pack of cigarettes in his only
     hand, turning absently in long, strong fingers that crinkle the
     pristine cellophane.  His eyes are fixed to hatsue, holding court
     at a distance.  Fixed, as if no other sight could ever command this
     level of attention.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     All things considered...

     Hearing the voice, Ishmael looks down.  Uneasy to have been caught
     staring so intently.

                               NELS
                     ...you were adequate.

     No smile accompanies the irony.  For that would be condescending.

                               NELS
                     I could make a few quibbles, but
                     I am loathe to hurt your feelings.

     The old man sits.  Very slowly.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Cigarette?

                               NELS
                     I'll take two.  One for later.

     Ishmael tries to tear the cellophane without success.  Nels seems
     not even to notice.

                               NELS (quietly)
                     She is simply.  Beautiful.

     Ishmael's eyes cut to him.  A little quickly.  Confides...

                               ISHMAEL
                     I've always thought so.

     There it sits.  His fingers claw absently at the cellophane.  Nels
     makes no move to intervene.

                               NELS
                     If I whistle.  Those boys'll see
                     you, and come runnin'.  You're
                     the story today.

                               ISHMAEL
                     You ever been strangled by a
                     single hand?

                               NELS
                     Naw, I've seen what that can do
                     to a pack of cigarettes.

     Comfortable together.  In this hour of discomfort.  Ishmael brings
     the corner of the pack to his teeth, and tears the cellophane away.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Better take three...

     Fingers nimbly shred the seal, open the pack.

                               ISHMAEL
                     Maybe they'll keep us waiting.

     Shake the tips free.  Holds the pack forward.

                               NELS (very quiet)
                     Maybe they won't.

     The way he said that.  Subtly ominous.  Ishmael watching Nels'
     face, as the old man takes two cigarettes...

                               NELS
                     Prejudice is like any obsession.

     Tucks one in his pocket.  And his eyes slide, unmistakably, to
     Hatsue.

                               NELS
                     There's a reason why we can't
                     let go.  Even when we want to.

     Ishmael is stone still.  Nels just gazing at Hatsue.  Until...

                               ISHMAEL
                     A reason.

                               NELS (simply)
                     We don't want to.

     Looks back to Ishmael.  Very straight.

                               NELS
                     Hate or love.  It works the same.

     In the silence...

                               ISHMAEL
                     Your client's wife ever mention?
                     We go way ba...

                               NELS (softly)
                     Her mother.  May have said
                     something.

     There it is.  Kindness in this old man's face.  He brings the other
     cigarette to his lips.  And Ishmael takes out the match box.  Never
     breaking eye contact.

                               ISHMAEL
                     We don't let go, you s...

                               NELS
                     It's a rare thing.  Takes a
                     turning point.

     Expertly, Ishmael's fingers withdaw a match.

                               NELS
                     You gave this jury three chances.
                     To turn.

     Palming the box, Ishmael STRIKES the match.  On his belt buckle...

                               NELS
                     No other way to explain it all.
                     That was one.  I caught some of
                     'em fluttering, waking up, on that.

     Reaches the flame toward the old man...

                               NELS
                     Second.  You sent him to
                     Manzanar, and you didn't do
                     it alone.  I liked that one,
                     they didn't.  No surprise.

     Nels leans to the flame.  Sucks it in.  Savors a drag.

                               NELS
                     Last.  You gave your arm.  To
                     buy this woman back her husband.
                     Are they gonna cheat you out of that?

                               BAILIFF (O.S., calling out)
                     JURY'S COMIN' IN...

     Everywhere, the buzz RISES, there is motion an expectation.  But
     Nels doesn't seem to notice.

                               NELS
                     Some let go, some don't.  Where
                     did you?

     Asked so casually.  Ishmael turns.  Hatsue is standing now,
     surrounded by people, her mother grasping her arm.

                               ISHMAEL (a murmur)
                     Hooks called her deceitful.
                     And I knew she wasn't.

     He's watching her.  Across the way.  So intently.

                               ISHMAEL
                     She was an honest person.  Doing
                     the best she could.

     We follow her approach toward the courtroom door.  She has not yet
     turned to us.

                               NELS (O.S.)
                     The prosecutor, the judge, cut
                     her off.  She was desperate.  Her
                     husband helpless...I was helpless...

     Nels rises.  With great effort.

                               NELS
                     You couldn't let her.  Be
                     helpless.

     Ishmael's eyes still fixed to Hatsue, grim-faced, listening to her
     mother's murmurings, as she...

     ...disappears through the door.  Never having looked our way.

                               NELS
                     When this verdict is read.  She
                     may look for your face.

     And Ishmael's eyes come up.  Because the voice commands it.

                               NELS
                     Here's what she needs to see:  This
                     is nothing.  We win it on appeal.

     The old man is stern and strong.  He wants a promise.

                               ISHMAEL
                     It'll be there.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     The hush of a hundred silences.  We can feel the air crackle in the
     stillness.  Judge Fielding is leafing through papers.  No one
     coughs, no one blinks...

                               JUDGE (clears his throat)
                     Mister foreman, has the jury
                     reached a verdict?

     He looks up.  Across the distance, Harold Jensen rises in the jury
     box.

                               HAROLD JENSEN
                     We have, Your Honor.

     And holds out a slip of paper.  Little more than a scrap.  Folded
     once.

                               JUDGE
                     Will the bailiff please bring
                     the verdict to the bench.

     The bailiff does so, walking crisply to minimize his moment in the
     limelight.  He hands the slip to the judge, who unfolds it, and...

     ...stops.  Staring for a hung instant.  As if seeing something
     unexpected.  he folds it again, rather carefully, thoughtfully, and
     as he hands it back to the bailiff...

                               JUDGE (softly)
                     Will the defendant please rise.

     Kabuo and Nels rise together.  But it is only into the defendant's
     eyes that the judge stares.  No expression in the face of either
     man.  But something passes, all the same.

     As the bailiff crosses to return the verdict to the foreman, we
     SNAP TO...

     REVERSE ANGLE...every pair of eyes in the room are on the foreman,
     now opening the slip of paper.

     Every pair.  But one.

                               JUDGE (O.S.)
                     Will the foreman please read the
                     verdict aloud.

     One reporter stares across the grain of all other sight lines.
     Toward a woman who does not see him.  In case she needs his eyes.
     To be waiting.

                               HAROLD JENSEN (reads)
                     We the jury, find the defendant,
                     Kabuo Kenji Miyamoto, to be not
                     guilty of the cri...

     A sharp SCREAM, and the defendant's mother-in-law covers her mouth
     in embarrassment.

                               HAROLD JENSEN (continues)
                     ...of the crime with which he
                     has been char...

     APPLAUSE breaks out from the back row of the gallery, where
     citizens of Japanese ancestry have forgotten custom and decorum,
     as has...

     ...a woman who comes OUT of her seat, tears on her face, not
     even realizing she is standing, Hatsue clings to the railing that
     separates her from her husband.  Throughout the gallery, now...

     ...some of the citizens assembled add their applause.  Others look
     awkward, not knowing how to react.

     The gavel lies untouched, unnoticed, by a jurist who has no problem
     with anything that is taking place right now.  Saying only to the
     jury...

                               JUDGE
                     This is your verdict, so say
                     you all?

     As they assent...

                               JUDGE
                     This Court thanks you for the
                     good work you have done under
                     difficult circumstances...

     Reaches STRONG to the gavel, turns to the defendant...

                               JUDGE
                     Go home, son.  God bless.

     CRACKS the gavel on its block.  The defendant is OUT of his chair,
     and with one strong grip of gratitude to the frail shoulder of his
     counsel, he is...

     ...AT the rail, through the POPPING of flashbulbs, she is IN his
     arms, the embrace so FIERCE on both sides, everyone crowding around
     them.

     An old man's eyes sweep the gallery, looking for someone.  Only
     to find...

     ...Ishmael's back.  As he disappears through the door.

     INT. COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR - LATER

     The Miyamotos holding court, surrounded by nearly twenty reporters
     and photographers, and countless looky-loo's of all persuasions.
     Hatsue's face is flushed and intense, unsmiling, she seems scarcely
     to have caught her breath.  She holds tight to her husband's hand,
     as he...

     ...carries his baby son in the other arm, his 8-year-old daughter
     leaning against him, her 4-year-old sister standing on the bench
     beside her mom.  Kabuo submits to questions with a boyish grin of
     humility and friendliness.  An American family.  Photogenic as
     hell.

                               REPORTER #1
                     And how about the jury?  You had
                     confidence they'd see justice done?

     Kabuo glances to his lawyer, wanna field this one?  But Nels sends
     it back with a twinkle.

                               KABUO
                     Oh, sure.  These are our neighbors,
                     you know.  They've got good
                     hearts.  We could see they were
                     following the evidence real close...

     At his side, Hatsue seems to be scanning the jumble of faces...

                               KABUO
                     We're just grateful to every one
                     of them.

     ...looking for something she doesn't find.

                               REPORTER #2
                     And you ma'am?  You felt the same
                     as your husband, I expect?

     Her eyes move to the eager young man.  She reflects for a beat.

                               HATSUE
                     Honestly, no.

     Which catches everyone.  A little short.

                               HATSUE (quietly)
                     I felt my husband would be found
                     guilty.  Unless proven innocent.

     No apologies for the truth.  That's not her way.

                               HATSUE
                     And Mr. Chambers did that.

     INT. COURTHOUSE BASEMENT

     A vending machine stands in silence.  The eerie strobing glow of
     defective neon.  PULL BACK as...

     Ishmael thinks it over.  Drops in his dime.  Pulls the plunger, to
     watch a Snickers fall.  Scoops the candy from the tray, pins it
     between his body and the machine.

     ...tears the wrapper.

     INT. COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR

     BACK to the reporters.  The crowd of onlookers has grown.

                               REPORTER #3
                     ...can we get some background on
                     your handsome family?  I understand
                     you two were childhood sweethearts...

     And brings his Parker pen to his notepad.  His subject smiles
     easily...

                               KABUO
                     Well, no sir, not exactly.  We met
                     in the Manzanar camp, you see, so I
                     guess that was the most beautiful
                     place I've ever been.

     There is gentle laughter.  And as Kabuo looks up, he sees something
     in the rear of the crowd.  Something we do not.  And softly...

                               KABUO
                     No, her first love was another
                     fella...

     Which brings Hatsue's eyes up, following his gaze.  And there, in
     the back.  A man watches.  Eating a candy bar.

                               KABUO (O.S.)
                     I was the lucky one.

     No one sees their eyes lock.  It is only an instant.

     It is enough.

                               REPORTER #4
                     It all sounds very romantic,
                     ma'am.  Falling in love under
                     those circumstances...

     And as she looks to the reporter, Ishmael begins to walk away...

                               HATSUE
                     He went off to the Army, right
                     from Manzanar.  And that last
                     night, we danced alone in the
                     desert...

     And somehow, Ishmael catches the eye of Hatsue's 4-year-old
     daughter.  So he pulls a coin from his pocket...

                               HATSUE (O.S.)
                     I told him.  If you don't come
                     back alive, I'll kill you.

     ...Ishmael ROLLS the coin across his knuckles.  And the child
     responds...

     With her mother's smile.

     EXT. COURTHOUSE STEPS - DUSK

     Alone on the steps where the Strawberry Princess once winked at
     him.  Snow has begun to fall, soft and altogether beautiful.  He
     squints up...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     God's kindness, my father said.
                     Despite the hardship...it reminds
                     us.  Of our place in things.

     Our place in things.  He slides a black cigar between his teeth...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     What the hell.  Did he mean
                     by that?

     He has the match box.  Manipulating it with the dexterity we've
     come to know.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Things fall on us, I suppose.
                     From the sky.

     STRIKES the match on his belt buckle...

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Wars.  Freighters plowing through...

     Cupping it expertly in a single motion, he brings the flame to the
     cigar.  A single puff.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     And we seem...helpless.  Until we
                     understand.

     One more.  Savors it.  The sky.  The thought.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Accident rules every corner of
                     the universe...

     Down the steps.  Snow swirling between us.  Gone.

                               ISHMAEL (V.O.)
                     Except the chambers.  Of the
                     human heart.


     FADE SLOWLY TO BLACK.  ROLL END CREDITS.