Snow Falling on Cedars Script
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.