THE NINTH GATE
A Screenplay by Roman Polanski, John Brownjohn and Enrique Urbizu
Based on a novel by Arturo Perez-Reverte
1. TELFER HOUSE: LIBRARY INT/NIGHT
ANDREW TELFER, a scrawny seventy-year-old, is writing a note at his desk in one corner of a big, book-lined room. Dangling from the central chandelier is a noose. A chair stands beneath it.
TELFER looks up for a moment. Blankly, he eyes a framed photoportrait on his desk: a beautiful, thirty-something blonde returns his gaze with an enigmatic smile.
He stops writing and folds the sheet, scrawls something on the back, and leaves it on the desk. Then he walks to the centre of the room and climbs on the chair. He puts his head through the noose and tightens it around his neck.
He kicks away the back of the chair, but it doesnāt fall. Frantically, he tries again: this time the chair topples over. The chandelier squeaks as it swings on its hook, but it holds. Fragments of plaster come raining down.
TELFERās neck isnāt broken: he starts to choke. His feet perform a convulsive dance in mid-air only six inches above the floor; one of his shoes comes off.
The CAMERA leaves the dying man and MOVES IN on the bookshelves. To the accompaniment of choking sounds, it PANS across the serried rows of volumes until it reaches a gap that shows where one of them has been removed.
The choking sounds cease.
The CAMERA enters the black void left by the missing book.
Absolute, abysmal DARKNESS.
3. MANHATTAN APARTMENT INT/DAY
The Manhattan skyline seen through a picture window. Above it, reflected in the windowpane, the face of an OLD WOMAN seated with her back to the room. Her expression is impassive and self-absorbed, her twisted mouth suggests sheās a stroke victim. She seems quite uninvolved in the action behind her.
CORSO (O.S.) An impressive collection. You have some very rare editions here. Sure you want to sell them all?
We now discover the speaker, BOB CORSO: a tall, lean, rather unkempt man in his 30ās. Steel-rimmed glasses, crumpled old tweed jacket, worn cords, scuffed brown oxfords. He could almost be a shabby university teacher if it werenāt for the street-wise glint in his eye.
He replaces a book on a shelf. Standing beside him is the Old Womanās SON, a middle-aged man with a puffy red face. Her DAUGHTER-IN-LAW looks on, one hand cupping her elbow, the fingers of the other playing avidly with her lower lip. The SON is cuddling a large Scotch on the rocks like itās an integral part of his anatomy. His tone is too lugubrious to be true.
SON: Theyāre no use to Father, not anymore -not now heās passed away. His library was his own little world. Now itās just a painful memory for Mother here.
DAUGHTER-IN-LAW: Unbearably painful.
CORSO glances at them over the top of his glasses, then at the OLD WOMAN. Itās clear that the OLD WOMANās true source of pain is their rapacious desire to convert her late husbandās library into hard cash.
CORSO picks up a notebook, adjusts his glasses with an instinctive, habitual movement, taps the notebook with his pencil.
CORSO: Well, at a rough, preliminary estimate, you have a collection here worth around two hundred thousand dollars.
DAUGHTER-IN-LAW (almost jumps): Two hundred thousand?!
CORSO : Or thereabouts.
He smiles sweetly at the DAUGHTER-IN-LAW.
The OLD WOMAN continues to stare blankly at her reflection in the window. Behind her, the SON sidles up to CORSO, who indicates the volumes in question.
SON: How much were you thinking of...
CORSO: Hmm... I couldnāt go higher than four grand -- four-and-a-half tops. (takes an envelope from his shoulder bag and starts peeling off some bills)
4. MANHATTAN APARTMENT HOUSE CORRIDOR INT/DAY
CORSO strides briskly along the corridor toward the elevator with the canvas bag slung from his shoulder. Heās grinning to himself. The bag is obviously heavier than it was.
The elevator doors open just as heās about to press the button. He almost collides with a bespectacled, briefcase-carrying man in a three-piece suit and bow tie (WITKIN) -- a cross between an intellectual and a business executive.
WITKIN (caustically): You here? You didnāt waste much time.
CORSO: Hello, Witkin. Thereās a small fortune in there. (smiles sardonically) Help yourself.
WITKIN (eyes CORSOās beg suspiciously): Youāre a vulture, Corso.
CORSO: Who isnāt in our business?
WITKIN: Youād stoop to anything.
CORSO brushes past him into the elevator, turns and pats his shoulder bag.
CORSO: For a ĪQuixoteā by Ybarra? You bet I would.
WITKIN (indignantly): Unscrupulous, thoroughly unscrupulous!
CORSO (thumbs the elevator button): Good hunting!
The doors close on WITKINās indignant face.
5. BERNIEāS BOOKSTORE EXT/INT/DAY
A sign says ćCLOSED.ä CORSO pushes open the door of an old fashioned semibasement bookstore -- ĪBERNIEāS RARE BOOKSā -- and enters. He walks up to the counter and deposits his bag on it.
BERNIE (O.S.): Witkin just called me. Heās spitting blood.
CORSO looks around. The voice came from ten feet up and three bookcases along. BERNIE FELDMAN, a man around CORSOās age with dark, curly hair receding at the temples, is perched at the top of a spiral staircase.
CORSO: Whatās his problem?
BERNIE (replacing some books): He says youāre a double-dealing, money grubbing bastard. He says he had that sale tied up, and now youāve queered his pitch.
CORSO (grins to himself): He should be quicker off the mark.
The spiral staircase judders as BERNIE starts to descend.
CORSO goes over to a wall cupboard and opens it. An assortment of bottles and glasses come to light.
CORSO (cont.): May I?
BERNIE: Your valuation was way over the odds itās brought those people out In a rash. Theyāre now asking twice what the books are worth.
CORSO, still grinning, pours himself a slug of Scotch. BERNIE reaches the ground.
BERNIE (cont.): Heās talking about suing you. Well, letās face it: you screwed him. Thatās what itās called.
CORSO: I know what itās called.
BERNIE comes up close.
BERNIE: He also says you snaffled the ĪDon Qui ...
He breaks off as CORSO produces the four volumes of the ĪQuixoteā, bends over to examine them, whistles appreciatively.
BERNIE: (cont.): The Ybarra ĪDon Quixoteā, 1780, four volumes. Fantastic! (opens one) Sonofabitch, youāre the best in the business. Definitely.
CORSO: And the most expensive. (smiles slyly) That client of yours, the Swiss, is he still interested in this edition?
BERNIE smiles back, then redirects his attention to the books.
BERNIE: Sure, but Witkin will blow a fuse. I told him I had nothing to do with this operation.
CORSO knocks back his Scotch in one. Extracting a crumpled cigarette from the pocket of his overcoat, he sticks it in his mouth and lights it.
CORSO: Nothing except your ten percent.
BERNIE: : Twenty. The Swiss is my client, remember.
CORSO (shakes his head): No deal.
BERNIE: Fifteen. (cynically) For my childrenās sake.
CORSO: You donāt have any.
BERNIE: Iām still young. Give me time.
CORSO (expels a lungful of smoke, unmoved): Ten.
6. BALKAN BUILDING EXT/DUSK
A taxi pulls up outside an opulent building downtown. CORSO gets out, dodges a persistent beggar, and enters. The sign above the entrance reads: ĪBALKAN PUBLICATIONSā.
7. BALKAN BUILDING: LOBBY INT/DUSK
CORSO nods to the SECURITY GUARD at the desk and makes hit way across the lobby to a door at the back. Beside it stands an easel-mounted announcement: ĪDemons and Medieval Literature, by Boris Balkan, Ph.D.ā Itās adorned with a medieval engraving depicting an Inquisition torture scene.
8. BALKAN BUILDING: LECTURE ROOM INT/DUSK
BORIS BALKAN, standing at a state-of-the-art lecturerās desk, is a bulky, imposing figure of a man around 50 years old. His thick gray hair is slicked back to reveal a domed forehead. The eyes beneath it radiate keen intelligence through a pair of heavy hornrims. He speaks in a deep, slow, almost monotonous voice, but with great authority.
BALKAN: Relevant information may be found in Antoine Martin del Rioās ĪDisquisitionum Magicarumā, Louvain 1599, and earlier, in 1580, in ĪDe la dmonomanle des sorciersā by the Frenchman, Jean Bodin...
His eyes flicker in the direction of the door as CORSO enters.
CORSOās entrance has also been noted by a GIRL in jeans and white sneakers: childlike face, short hair and green, feline eyes.
He sits down in the same row, but on the other side of the aisle, settles himself in his chair and scans the AUDIENCE, most of whom are middle-aged and female. He gives the GIRL a cursory glance, then concentrates on BALKAN.
BALKAN (cont.): Bodin was probably the first to attempt to establish a system ÷ if the term system may be applied to the Middle Ages ÷ for classifying the contemporary perceptions of evil. In Bodin we find one of the first definitions of the word Īwitchā. I quote: (cocks his head for a better look at the text) ĪA witch is a person who, though cognizant of the laws of God, endeavors to act through the medium of a pact with the Devil...ā
As BALKANās lecture proceeds, CORSOās eyelids begin to droop. We PAN over the faces of the AUDIENCE (THE GIRL is still covertly observing CORSO). BALKANās voice drones on, fades away.
9. BALKAN BUILDING: LECTURE ROOM INT/NIGHT
CLOSE on CORSO fast asleep.
BALKAN (O.S.): I see you enjoyed my little talk, Mr. Corso.
CORSO gives a start and opens his eyes. He takes a moment or two to focus on BALKAN, whoās standing over him. Peering around through his steel-rimmed glasses, he sees that the lecture is over. The last of the AUDIENCE are filing out. We glimpse THE GIRL making her exit.
CORSO: Did I snore?
BALKAN: Nice of you to ask. No, not that I noticed. Shall we go?
He gestures at the door with a cold and impassive air. CORSO gets to his feet.
10. BALKAN BUILDING: LOBBY INT/NIGHT
BALKAN walks swiftly across the lobby to the elevators with CORSO at his heels. They leave behind a buzz of conversation from members of the AUDIENCE who are still discussing the lecture.
BALKAN: Donāt you sleep nights?
CORSO: Like a baby.
BALKAN: Strange, Iād have bet a brace of Gutenberg Bibles you spend half the night with your eyes peeled. Youāre one of those lean, hungry, restless types that put the wind up Julius Caesar ÷ men whoād stab their friends in the back...
They reach the elevator. BALKAN presses a button and turns to CORSO, who yawns.
BALKAN (cont.) Not, I suspect, that you have many friends, do you, Mr. Corso? Your kind seldom does.
CORSO (calmly): Go to hell.
BALKAN is unruffled by CORSOās discourtesy. The elevator doors open. He stands aside to let CORSO pass, then follows him in.
11. BALKAN BUILDING: ELEVATOR INT/NIGHT
BALKAN punches a code number on the elevatorās digital keyboard With a subdued hiss, the elevator starts to ascend.
BALKAN: Youāre right, of course. Your friendships donāt concern me in the least. Our relations have always been strictly commercial, isnāt that so? Thereās no one more reliable than a man whose loyalty can be bought for hard cash.
CORSO: Hey, Balkan, I came here to do some business, not shoot the breeze. You want to expound your personal philosophy, write another book.
BALKAN: You donāt like me, do you?
CORSO (shrugs): I donāt have to like you. Youāre a client, and you pay well.
The elevator reaches its destination, the doors open.
12. BALKAN BUILDING: COLLECTION INT/NIGHT
The elevator opens straight into a spacious room faced with black marble. The walls are bare save for a big, back-lighted photograph of a ruined castle overlooking a desolate valley.
Two huge windows in the right-hand wall extend from floor to ceiling. Visible outside on the buildingās floodlit facade, gargoyles gaze out over the city with their monstrous heads propped on their claws.
The centre of the room is occupied by a rectangular block of tinted glass resembling a big black monolith. Vaguely discernible through the glass are shelves filled with antique books in exquisite bindings.
BALKAN leads CORSO over to the Īmonolithā . He gestures at it proudly, soliciting admiration.
BALKAN: Well?
CORSO: Yup.
BALKAN: Youāre privileged, Corso. Very few people have ever set foot in here. This Is my private collection. Some bibliophiles specialize in Gothic novels, others in Books of Hours. All my own rare editions have the same protagonist: the Devil.
CORSO is impressed but does his best not to show it.
CORSO: May I take a look?
BALKAN: Thatās why I brought you here.
He goes over to the Īmonolithā and punches a keyboard on a control panel, gestures to CORSO to come closer.
CORSO puts out his hand. Before he can touch the glass, it glides aside with a faint hum. He adjusts his glasses and glances at BALKAN, who looks on calmly. His eyes roam along the spines of the books. BALKAN comes and stands beside him.
BALKAN (cont.): Beautiful, arenāt they? That soft sheen, that superb gilding... Not to mention the centuries of wisdom they contain -- centuries of erudition, of delving Into the secrets of the Universe and the hearts of men... I know people who would kill for a collection like this. (CORSO shoots him a quick glance) The Ars Diavoli! Youāll never see as many books on the subject anywhere else in the world. Theyāre the rarest, the choicest editions in existence. It has taken me a lifetime to assemble them. Only the supreme masterpiece was missing. Come...
He has accompanied CORSO on his tour of the collection. They come to the end of the Īmonolithā. Gesturing to CORSO to follow him, BALKAN goes over to an ultramodern, brushed steel lectern standing beside one of the huge picture windows.
As he approaches the lectern, CORSO briefly glimpses the sheer drop beyond the window, the twinkling lights of traffic passing in the street far below.
Reposing on the lectern is a black book adorned with a gold pentagram. CORSO opens it at the title page, which displays the title in Latin and a pictorial engraving.
CORSO (not looking at BALKAN) ĪThe Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows...
BALKAN: Youāre familiar with it?
CORSO: Sure. Venice, 1623. The author and printer was Aristide Torchia, burned by the Holy Inquisition, together with all his works. Only three copies survived.
BALKAN One.
CORSO: The catalogs list three copies surviving in private ownership: the Fargas, the Kessler, and the Telfer.
BALKAN: True. Youāve done your homework, but youāre wrong nonetheless. According to all the sources I myself have consulted, only one is authentic. The author confessed under torture that heād hidden one copy. Only one.
CORSO: Well, three are known.
BALKAN: Thatās the trouble.
CORSO resumes his inspection of the book.
CORSO: Where did you get it?
BALKAN: I bought it from Telfer.
CORSO (surprised): Telfer?
BALKAN (looking out the window): Yes, he finally sold it to me. The day before he killed himself.
CORSO: Good timing.
BALKAN ignores this. CORSO turns the pages with care. He lingers over AN ENGRAVING OF A KNIGHT IN ARMOR RIDING TOWARD A CASTLE WITH A FINGER TO HIS LIPS as though enjoining the reader to silence. Below it is a caption. BALKAN draws closer and reads over CORSOās shoulder:
BALKAN: Nemo pervenit qui non legitime certaverit.
CORSO: You only succeed if you fight by the rules?
BALKAN: More or less. Ever heard of the ĪDelomelaniconā?
CORSO: Heard of it, yes. A myth, isnāt it? Some horrific book reputed to have been written by Satan himself.
BALKAN: No myth. That book existed. Torchia actually acquired it.
He returns to the window overlooking the sheer drop. Gazing down, he goes on:
BALKAN (cont.): The engravings youāre now admiring were adapted by Torchia from the ĪDelomelaniconā. Theyāre a form of satanic riddle. Correctly interpreted with the aid of the original text and sufficient inside information, theyāre reputed to conjure up the Prince of Darkness in person.
CORSO: You donāt say.
He continues to turn the pages.
BALKAN: Are you a religious man, Corso? I mean, do you believe in the supernatural?
CORSO: I believe in my percentage. I also believe that books grow old and decay like the rest of us... Donāt you get dizzy, standing there?
BALKAN continues to stare down at the nocturnal cityscape. CORSO changes tack.
CORSO (cont.): What the hell do you want from me, Balkan?
BALKAN leaves the window and confronts him.
BALKAN: I want you to go to Europe and play the detective. The other two copies are in Portugal and France. You must find some way of comparing them with mine: every page, every engraving, the binding ö everything. Iām convinced that only one can be authentic, and I want to know which one it is.
CORSO: Could be an expensive trip.
BALKAN takes a folded check from his pocket and hands it to CORSO, who slips it into his breast pocket unexamined.
BALKAN: Thatās to get you started. Spend what you need.
CORSO: What if I find your copyās a forgery?
BALKAN stares at him coldly for a moment.
BALKAN: Itās quite on the cards.
CORSO seems mildly surprised. He looks at the book again, Īlistensā to the quality of the paper by putting his ear to the pages and riffling them with his thumb.
CORSO: Really? It doesnāt appear to be. Even the paper sounds kosher.
BALKAN: Even so. There may be something wrong with it.
CORSO continues to examine the book. He smiles ironically.
CORSO: You mean the Devil wonāt show up?
He shuts the book and replaces it on the lectern.
BALKAN: Donāt be flippant. (quotes) ĪThere are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.ā
CORSO: Hamlet believed in ghosts, not demons.
BALKAN: If all three copies turn out to be bogus or incomplete, your work will be done. If one of them proves to be genuine, on the other hand, Iāll finance you further.
CORSO stares at him, then unfolds the check and glances at the amount ÷ a substantial sum, from the way he raises his eyebrows.
BALKAN (cont.): 1 shall want you to get it for me at all costs, never mind how.
CORSO: Never mind how sounds illegal.
BALKAN: It wouldnāt be the first time youāve done something illegal.
CORSO: Not that illegal.
BALKAN: Hence the size of the check. Do a good job, and Iāll double it.
He picks up ĪThe Nine Gatesā and holds it out. After a momentās hesitation, CORSO replaces the check in his pocket and takes the book.
BALKAN (cont.): Be careful, Corso.
CORSO: What do you mean? (indicates the book) With this?
BALKAN: Just be careful.
13. CORSOāS APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
A diminutive kitchenette. CORSO, one hand wrapped around a Scotch, uses the other to remove a TV dinner from the freezer compartment of his refrigerator and insert it in a microwave. He shuts the door, sets the timer, and strolls out into the living room.
A bleak bachelor pad: no pictures, ornaments or photographs, just books on every available shelf and surface. Against one wall, a desk with a computer on it. On the floor beside the desk, CORSOās shabby canvas bag. On the desk itself, ĪThe Nine Gatesā.
CORSO goes over to the desk. He stares down at the book for a long moment, meditatively sipping his Scotch. Then, without putting his glass down, he opens the book one-handed and idly turns a few pages, pauses at THE ENGRAVING OF THE KNIGHT IN ARMOR RIDING TOWARD THE CASTLE.
We slowly MOVE IN until the screen is filled with an INSERT of the knight with his finger enigmatically raised to his lips.
14. TELFER HOUSE: SITTING ROOM, LIBRARY INT/DAY
CORSO, canvas bag on shoulder, is standing in the middle of a luxuriously furnished sitting room. The decor, which includes a smiling portrait of Andrew Telfer, is extremely opulent.
CORSO is looking up at the portrait when the door opens. He turns to see LIANA TELFER on the threshold with a business card in her hand. His appreciation of her looks is evident.
LIANA (whose photoportralt we saw in Scene 1) is a very sexy, thirtyish blonde with milky skin and a figure whose generous curves are far from concealed by her ultra chic black costume. She gives CORSO the once-over, then enters, closing the door behind her.
CORSO: Mrs. Telfer? (gestures at the business card) Bob Corso. Sorry to trouble you at a time like this.
LIANA comes over and sits down on a sofa, simultaneously motioning CORSO into the armchair that faces it over a coffee table. She puts his card down, crosses her lovely legs, and waits.
CORSO sits down with his beg between his feet. Opening it, he produces ĪThe Nine Gatesā. LIANA involuntarily stiffens at sight of it.
CORSO (cont.): It would be very helpful, maāam, if you could tell me what you know about this book.
He holds it out. After a momentary pause, LIANA slowly reaches for the book, opens it at random, turns a page or two. She speaks with a slight French accent.
LIANA (casually): Isnāt this one of my husbandās books?
CORSO: Right. It was in his collection until very recently. He sold it to a client of mine. Iām trying to authenticate it.
LIANA: He sold it, you say? How strange. It was one of his most treasured possessions.
CORSO: He never mentioned the sale?
LIANA is fractionally late in answering. CORSO spots her hesitation.
LIANA: No. Itās news to me. Who bought it?
CORSO: A private collector.
LIANA: May I know his name?
CORSO: Iām afraid thatās confidential.
LIANA: I suppose he has a bill of sale?
CORSO: No problem there.
LIANA: Is this your job, authenticating rare books?
CORSO: And tracking them down.
LIANA (smiles): Youāre a book detective.
CORSO (smiles back): Kind of. (pause) Do you recall when and where your husband acquired this book?
LIANA: In Spain. We were vacationing at Toledo. Andrew got very excited -- paid a great deal of money for it. He was a fanatical collector.
CORSO: So I gather.
LIANA deposits ĪThe Nine Gatesā on the coffee table and rises.
LIANA: Iāll show you.
CORSO rises likewise. Then a thought strikes him: swiftly retrieving ĪThe Nine Gatesā and his bag, he stows one in the other as he follows her undulating hips to a door at the far end of the room, which she opens.
LIANA (cont.): Look.
She walks on ahead into the library in which Andrew Telfer hanged himself. CORSO is still eyeing her delectable rear view.
CORSO: Magnificent...
Reluctantly, he drags his eyes away from LIANA and surveys the crowded shelves.
CORSO (cont.): Really magnificent...
He goes over to inspect the bookshelves. In passing he glances up at the chandelier, which is still hanging slightly askew.
LIANA: Andrew used to spend many hours in here.Too many.
CORSO: Did he ever try it out?
He asks the question with an air of spurious innocence, looking around the room as he does so. LIANA frowns.
LIANA: I donāt understand.
CORSO (cont.): The book -- did he ever use it to perform some kind of ritual intended to... well. produce a supernatural effect?
LIANA: Are you serious?
CORSO: Absolutely.
LIANA: A Black Mass, you mean?
CORSO: More or less. An attempt to conjure up the Devil.
LIANA: Andrew was a trifle eccentric, Mr. Corso, but he wasnāt insane.
She gives a mournful shrug, every inch the recent widow.
LIANA (cont.): Itās true heād been acting strangely those last few days. He shut himself up in here -- seldom emerged except for meals.
She draws a deep breath, glances at the chandelier.
LIANA (cont.): That morning I was woken by the screams of the maid: heād hanged himself. (pauses, looks at CORSO) Whatever he was up to, I certainly canāt see him chanting mumbo-jumbo or trying to raise the dead.
The flippant tone of the last few words sounds rather forced. CORSO smiles at her faintly over his glasses, pats his shoulder bag.
CORSO: The Devil, Mrs. Telfer. This book is designed to raise the Devil.
15. TELFER HOUSE EXT/DAY
CORSO crosses the forecourt to the street. A man with a MUSTACHE and a scarred face is leaning against a limo parked outside the house, smoking a small cigar. They eye each other briefly.
CORSO reaches the sidewalk just as a cab sails past. He raises his hand too late to flag it down, looks around for another.
The MUSTACHEās cellphone beeps. He reaches into the limo and picks up the receiver.
16. REFERENCE LIBRARY INT/DAY
The big reference library is divided up by freestanding bookshelves and has a gallery running around it at second-floor level. NUMEROUS READERS are occupying the rows of tables in the central area.
CORSO is seated at one of the tables with the ĪNine Gatesā in front of him. Beside it reposes a large catalog and his notebook. The ĪNine Gatesā is open at the frontispiece, which displays the title ÷ ĪDe Umbrarum Regni Novem Portisā- and the words ĪSic Luceat Luxā separated by an emblem consisting of A TREE ENCIRCLED BY A SNAKE DEVOURING ITS OWN TAIL.
As we MOVE IN ON THE COILED SNAKE, we hear CORSO translating to himself in a low voice:
CORSO (O.S.): Sic Luceat Lux ... Thus ... let the light ... shine...
17. REFERENCE LIBRARY INT/DUSK
Many of the tables are now deserted, and the shaded reading lights have been switched on.
CORSO shuts a catalog and gets up to replace It in the wall of books behind his chair, runs his finger along a shelf till he comes to another fat tome and removes it. Heās startled to see, framed in the resulting gap, the face of THE GIRL at Balkanās lecture: short hair, green, feline eyes. The face recedes and disappears.
CORSO quickly rounds the end of the bookshelf: no sign of her. He looks both ways, but the aisles are deserted. Puzzled, he resumes his seat and opens the second catalog. Then, sensing that heās being watched, he swings around.
Nothing outwardly suspicious, just two BESPECTACLED STUDENTS comparing notes In sibilant whispers. He looks right: a scattering of READERS. He scans the reading-room at large: still nothing untoward.
He turns some pages in ĪThe Nine Gatesā, comes to AN ENGRAVING OF A NAKED WOMAN RIDING A SEVEN-HEADED DRAGON WITH A CASTLE ABLAZE IN THE BACKGROUND. He consults the second catalog, which displays a small reproduction of the same scene with text wrapped around it, and jots something down in his notebook.
Wearily, he straightens and stretches, removes his glasses, pinches the bridge of his nose. As he Idly scans the reading room, his astigmatic vision gives him an unfocused glimpse of THE GIRL looking down at him from the gallery overhead. By the time he replaces his glasses, sheās gone.
18. CORSOāS APARTMENT HOUSE EXTINIGHT
Itās raining hard. CORSO trudges up the steps of his brownstone with the canvas bag on his shoulder and a bag of groceries In his arms.
19. ELEVATOR INT/NIGHT
CORSO rides the elevator up.
20. CORSOāS APARTMENT HOUSE: PASSAGE, APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
CORSO emerges from the elevator and walks down the passage to his door. He inserts his key in the mortice lock and tries to turn it. Nothing doing: Itās unlocked already.
Next, he inserts his key in the second lock and turns it. Not being double-locked, the door opens at once. It takes him a moment to digest the significance of this fact.
Just then he hears a muffled crash from inside the apartment: a window has been flung open in a hurry. He bursts into the living room. No one there, but the light is on. Dropping his shoulder bag and groceries, he dashes into the bedroom.
The window is open and the curtains are billowing out into the room. CORSO darts to the window, flings one leg over the sill and climbs out on the fire escape.
21. FIRE ESCAPE, SIDE STREET. EXT/NIGHT
Feet can be heard clattering down the fire escape. CORSO peers over the rail just in time to see a DARK FIGURE emerge into the side street beneath him and sprint off through the rain.
CORSO (yells half-heartedly): Hey, you!
He gives up and climbs back inside.
22. CORSOāS APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
CORSO scans the living room. The only immediate sign of the intruderās presence is that the chair has been pulled away from the desk and one of the drawers is open.
CORSO pushes the chair back into place and shuts the drawer.
23. BERNIEāS BOOKSTORE INT/DAY
ON ĪThe Nine Gatesā lying open on BERNIEās desk. Heās reverently turning the pages with CORSO at his elbow.
BERNIE: Son of a bitch... Where did you get this?
CORSO: Balkan. He wants me to research it.
BERNIE: Balkan owns a ĪNine Gatesā?
CORSO: Recently acquired from the late lamented Andrew Telfer.
BERNIE: Trust Balkan. What does he need you for? I donāt suppose he plans to sell it.
CORSO: He wants me to compare it with the other two surviving copies in Portugal and France. Iām off to Europe.
BERNIE: Compare it?
CORSO: Yeah. Only one of the three is authentic, he says.
BERNIE: Well, this one looks genuine enough. Must be worth a million. Jesus! Take good care of it.
CORSO: Thatās why Iām here. I need you to stash it for me. Iām starting to see things.
BERNIE stares at him.
BERNIE: Like what?
CORSO: Uninvited visitors, unfamiliar faces. I donāt trust anyone, not even Balkan. (reflects for a moment) Come to think of it, I donāt even trust you.
BERNIE registers a mixture of affection and cynicism.
BERNIE: Thatās mean, buddy. You know Iād never screw you without a damn good reason: money, women, business. Anything else, you can relax.
CORSO taps the book with his forefinger.
CORSO: Youāll answer for this with your balls, Bernie.
BERNIE (still engrossed): Sure, man, sure. You can castrate me personally.
CORSO: Iāll pick it up on my way to the airport.
BERNIE: No problem.
He continues to pore over the book, turns another page, reads aloud:
BERNIE (cont.): ĪVirtue lies vanquishedā, huh? These engravings are terrific.
CORSO (leans over his shoulder): Or horrific, whichever.
BERNIE nods absently. He smiles to himself with an air of enchantment.
BERNIE (cont.): Beautiful, just beautiful...
Visible through the bookstoreās semi-basement windows, the legs of PASSERSBY accelerate as they scurry past: it has started to rain. A pair of MANāS LEGS in dark slacks come to a halt. The butt of a small cigar falls to the sidewalk, the LEGS walk on. Two WHITE SNEAKERS come into view. They step on the butt and extinguish it.
24. CORSOāS APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
CORSO is in the bedroom, packing some articles of clothing and toiletries in a small Samsonlte suitcase lying open on the bed.
The doorbell rings. Fractionally startled, CORSO straightens up, dumps a handful of socks on the bed and goes out into the lobby. He peers through the spyhole: LIANA TELFER is standing outside.
CORSO pauses for a moment, thinking hard, then opens the door.
LIANA: May I come in?
CORSO, rather bemused, steps aside and ushers her in.
CORSO: This way.
He shows her Into the living room. LIANA starts to unbutton her coat.
CORSO (cont.): Allow me.
He helps her off with her coat and drapes it neatly over a chair. Sheās dressed to kill In a black, lowcut cocktail gown.
LIANA: Thank you.
CORSO: Sit down, wonāt you?
LIANA sinks gracefully onto the sofa, taking in the decor of his bachelor apartment as she does so.
LIANA: Iāve come to talk business.
CORSO: Great. Everyoneās talking business to me lately.
LIANA takes a slim gold cigarette case from her purse, extracts a black Russian, and lights it with a gold Dupont. Meantime:
LIANA: Yesterday, when you came to see me about that book, I was too surprised to react as I should have done. I mean, it really was one of Andrewās favorites.
CORSO: So you said.
LIANA: Iād like to get it back.
CORSO: That could be a problem.
LIANA: Not necessarily. it all depends.
CORSO: On what?
LIANA: On you.
CORSO stares at her, absorbing the lines of her figure, the slim legs sheathed in sheer, black silk stockings.
CORSO: I donāt understand, Mrs. Telfer. The book isnāt mine to dispose of.
She sits back, showing off her superb legs to even better advantage.
LIANA: You work for money, I take it?
CORSO: What else?
LIANA: I have a great deal of money.
CORSO: Iām happy for you.
LIANA: You could stage a theft. Iām sure your client is well insured.
CORSO: Iām a professional, maāam.
LIANA: Youāre a professional mercenary. Mercenaries work for the highest bidder.
CORSO: I make a living.
LIANA (huskily): I could throw in a bonus.
CORSO: This has happened before someplace.
LIANA: I know. In the movies.
CORSO: And she had an automatic in her stocking top.
CORSO watches, mesmerized, as she slowly, very slowly, slides her skirt up her thighs to reveal the creamy flesh between her stocking tops and black lace garter belt.
LIANA: No automatic.
Just as slowly, she smooths her skirt down over her thighs.
CORSO swallows hard. He rises and goes to his drinks corner, a shelf with an array of bottles and glasses on it. Over his shoulder:
CORSO: Want one?
LIANA: Why not?
CORSO splashes some Scotch into two tumblers and carries them over to her.
LIANA sits motionless for an instant, looking up at him. Then, very slowly, she stubs out her cigarette, extends the same hand, and fondles his crotch.
CORSO, with the tumblers encumbering both his hands, can only stand there like a bird hypnotized by a snake. His Adamās apple bobs some more.
Holding his gaze, LIANA withdraws her hand and rises. Theyāre only inches apart now. She takes one of the tumblers and clinks it against CORSOāS, then drains it. CORSO, in a kind of trance, does likewise.
Very deliberately, LIANA relieves him of his glass and puts it down on the table with hers. Then, cupping his face between her hands, she proceeds to eat him alive.
CORSO responds. Re pulls up her skirt, she reaches for his zipper and yanks at it. He bears her backward and downward onto the sofa. Their bodies coalesce into a heaving mass. The gown slips down over
LIANAās left shoulder, revealing a small tattoo in the shape of a snake devouring its own tail.
25. CORSOāS APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
ON LIANAās hand reaching across the floor for Corsoās canvas bag. it gropes in the bag, then inverts it, spilling the contents: a couple of packs of Luckies, a notebook, an envelope full of bills, a Swiss Army knife, an expertās magnifying glass, some pencils, etc.
We discover CORSO and LIANA on the floor, their clothing dishevelled. CORSO is lying back, still panting and sweating from his exertions, LIANA is sitting up.
LIANA: Well, where is it?
CORSO Whereās what?
LIANA Donāt fuck with me, Corso.
CORSO: I thought thatās what we were doing.
LIANAās eyes narrow. Then, with an animal cry, she goes for his face with her nails and teeth.
CORSO turns his head away just in time and scrambles to his feet, pulling up his trousers. LIANA, beside herself with fury, flies at him with both hands extended like claws.
He manages to grab her wrists and immobilize them, so she sinks her teeth in his chest.
With an agonized yell, CORSO releases her wrists, clasps his chest and staggers back ÷ hardly a dignified proceeding, because heās hobbled by the trousers that have slumped around his ankles.
LIANA looks around wildly for a weapon of some kind, catches sight of the Scotch bottle and seizes it by the neck.
CORSO, one hand holding his trousers at half mast, the other raised in supplication, comes shuffling toward her.
CORSO: Hey, look, be reasonable...
Unmoved, LIANA raises the bottle and smashes it over his head.
26. CORSOāS APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
CORSO recovers consciousness, gingerly feels his aching head. Some blood has trickled down his face. He surveys the room, which is in chaos and has obviously been ransacked.
He goes into the bathroom and inspects himself in the mirror, takes a hand towel and gingerly dabs his scalp.
Holding the towel to his head, he returns to the living room, where he picks up the phone and punches out a number. We hear a recorded announcement:
BERNIE (V.O.): Hi, this is Bernieās Rare Books. Iām not available right now. If you want to leave a message, please speak after the beep...
CORSO (into phone): Bernie, you there? Bernie? Pick up!
No response. He replaces the receiver.
27. BERNIEāS BOOKSTORE EXT/NIGHT
CORSO, bag on shoulder, is lurking in a doorway across the street from the bookstore. The place looks silent and deserted, but a dim glow indicates that a light must be on somewhere inside.
CORSO quits the doorway and hurries across the street. He walks down the steps to the door and tries the handle. The door opens.
28. BERNIEāS BOOKSTORE INT/NIGHT .
Only Bernieās desk light is on. No sign of Bernle himself. CORSO listens intently, looks up at the top of the spiral staircase, which is in shadow, calls in a low voice:
CORSO: Bernie?
No response. He listens some more: nothing but the sound of a passing car.
He makes his way cautiously along the bookcases and rounds a corner, then stops short with a look of horror on his face.
BERNIE has been lashed upside down to the handrail of the spiral staircase. His mouth and eyes are open, and his battered face is streaked with blood.
CORSO (cont.): Jesus Christ!
He puts out a hand toward BERNIE, but the man is so obviously dead that he withdraws it. He looks around in an involuntary, apprehensive way. Then, satisfied that heās alone, he starts to climb the staircase. Once past BERNIEās corpse, which he studiously avoids touching, he climbs faster. The staircase creaks and sways.
Reaching the third tier of bookshelves, he presses a hidden button. With a faint click, a panel springs open to disclose a recess filled with books.
CORSO expels a deep breath. There it is, safe and sound: ĪThe Nine Gatesā. He looks down at BERNIE.
CORSO: Thanks, man... Iām sorry...
29. AIRLINER INT/DAY
CORSO, ensconced in a window seat, is moodily gazing out at some passing cloud-castles. The sun is setting.
30. SPANISH AIRPORT INT/NIGHT
The brightly illuminated arrivals hall is thronged with PASSENGERS in transit.
COP.SO, wearing his overcoat and carrying his suitcase, threads his way through them with the canvas bag on his shoulder. Weary and unshaven, he stares straight ahead with an abstracted expression, adjusts his glasses.
31. TOLEDO STREET, ALLEYWAY EXT/DAY
CORSOās footsteps echo as he walks, bag on shoulder, along one of Toledoās narrow medieval streets. Very few people to be seen. The sun is shining brightly, but thereās a strong wind blowing.
Rounding a corner, CORSO heads down an alleyway flanked by scaffolding swathed in protective netting and blue tarpaulins. itās completely deserted. No sound but that of canvas billowing in the wind like a shipās sails. He consults a street sign, turns another corner.
He reaches a doorway leading to an inner courtyard, bumps into a BOY who comes running out. We hear the strident cries of a woman.
BOY: S!, si, mama!!!
A flight of steps in one corner of the courtyard leads down to the basement. CORSO descends them and stops outside a door. A grimy window beside it serves to display some old books and religious prints. The sign on the door reads HERMANOS CENIZA RESTAURACION DE LIBROS. Below it: ĪOn parle Franaisā and ĪEnglish spokenā. CORSO opens the door, which creaks.
32. CENIZA BROS. WORKSHOP INT/DAY
CORSO enters. A gaunt, bent-backed old man (PEDRO CENIZA) with a pair of glasses perched on the end of his big nose looks up from an old hand press. Everything about him is as gray as the cigarette ash that rains down on his clothes and the books heās working on. Heās a chain-smoker.
PEDRO: Senor.
CORSO: Buenas tardes.
PEDRO: Buenes tardes.
PABLO (O.S.) Buenas tardes.
CORSO turns to see another old man (PABLO CENIZA) surface from behind some stacks of paper. His resemblance to PEDRO ÷ bent back, big nose, spectacles ÷ is such that they can only be twins. PABLO wipes his inky hand on a rag before shaking CORSOāS. PEDRO follows suit.
CORSO hesitates briefly, taken aback by this dual apparition. PEDRO and PABLO look him up and down with their keen, twinkling little eyes. Their movements are slow and serene, their expression carries a hint of mockery, and they often exchange knowing smiles. Theyāre so in sync that they communicate by means of glances and finish off each otherās sentences.
CORSO: You speak English?
They nod simultaneously. He produces ĪThe Nine Gatesā from his shoulder bag.
CORSO (cont.): Iād appreciate your opinion on this.
PEDRO takes the book with tremulous hands. PABLO quickly clears away some parchments on the workbench to make room for it.
Some ash from PEDROās cigarette falls on the cover.
PABLO clicks his tongue and blows it off.
PABLO (reprovingly): What a habit for a bookbinder! (smiles at CORSO) ĪThe Nine Gates...ā A superb edition. Very rare.
PEDRO (opens it): The Telfer copy.
CORSO: You used to own it, right?
PEDRO: We used to, yes.
PABLO: We sold it.
PEDRO: We sold it when the opportunity presented itself. it was too...
PABLO: ... too good to miss. An excellent sale.
PEDRO: An excellent buy ÷ impeccable condition.
PABLO: Impeccable. You are the present owner?
CORSO: A client of mine.
PABLO (over his glasses): I would never have believed she would part with it.
CORSO: She?
PABLO (without looking up): Senora Telfer.
CORSO reaches into his overcoat pocket and extracts a crumpled cigarette. Heās raising it to his lips when he stops short, produces the equally crumpled pack and offers it to PEDRO, who has just discarded his butt.
PEDRO helps himself to a Lucky, breaks off the filter and jams it in his mouth. CORSO lights both of them.
CORSO 1 understood it was Mr. Telfer that bought it.
PABLO: He paid for it.
PEDRO: It was the senora who made him buy it. He did not seem particularly... (glances at PABLO)
PABLO: ..interested.
PEDRO has finished examining the text. He looks at the spine.
PEDRO: A superb specimen.
CORSO (hesitates briefly): Could it be a forgery?
PEDRO (suspiciously, almost indignantly) A forgery? (turns to PABLO) You heard that, Pablo?
PABLO wags his finger reprovingly in CORSOās face.
PABLO: I took you for a professional, senor. You speak too lightly of forgeries.
PEDRO: Far too lightly.
PABLO: Forging a book is expensive. Paper of the period, the right inks.... (makes a dismissive gesture) Too expensive to be profitable.
PEDRO and PABLO assess the effect of their words on CORSO, who digests them.
CORSO: Iām aware of all that, but could some part of it be forged? Restorers have been known to replace missing pages with pages taken from another copy of the same edition. Have you never done that yourselves?
The old men look at each other, then turn to CORSO simultaneously. PEDRO, looking flattered, nods.
PEDRO: Of course it can be done.
PABLO: It requires great skill, naturally, but yes, it can be done.
CORSO: Couldnāt that be the case here?
PABLO: What makes you ask?
CORSO: My client wishes to satisfy himself of the bookās authenticity.
The brothers eye each other over their glasses. CORSO adjusts his own.
CORSO (cont.) : His name is Balkan. Boris Balkan of New York.
PABLO and PEDRO exchange another glance. CORSO detects the hint of a smile that passes between them.
PEDRO: All books have a destiny of their own.
PABLO: Even a life of their own. Senor Balkan is a noted bibliophile. Heās no fool. He must know this book is authentic.
PEDRO: We know it.
PABLO: So must he.
PEDRO: This book was with us for years.
PABLO: Many years.
PEDRO: We had ample opportunity to examine it thoroughly. The printing and binding are superb examples of 17th century Venetian craftsmanship.
He picks up the book and riffles the pages under CORSOās nose.
PEDRO (cont.): Finest rag paper, resistant to the passage of time! None of your modern wood pulp!
PABLO: Watermarks, identical shades, ink, type faces... If this is a forgery, or a copy with pages restored, itās the work of a master.
PEDRO: A master.
CORSO contemplates the brothers with a smile.
CORSO: Did you study the engravings? They seem to form a kind of riddle.
PEDRO and PABLO reopen the book and look at the engravings.
PABLO: Well, yes... (another glance at PEDRO) Books of this type often contain little puzzles.
PEDRO: Especially in the case of such an illustrious collaborator.
CORSO looks at PEDRO with sudden interest, then at the book, then back at PEDRO.
CORSO: Collaborator?
PEDRO shrugs, PABLO refocuses on CORSO.
PEDRO: You cannot have proceeded very far with your research. Come, look closely.
He takes a magnifying glass and holds it over one of the engravings, which shows A HERMIT WITH TWO KEYS IN HIS HAND AND A DOG AND A LANTERN BESIDE HIM.
A microscopic inscription can be detected in the bottom right corner.
CORSO bends over it, looking mystified. PEDRO grows impatient.
PEDRO (cont.): Donāt you see? Only seven of the engravings were signed by Aristide Torchia.
CORSO: And the other two?
PEDRO: This is one of them. Look.
CORSO peers through the magnifying glass once more.
We see the INSERT ĪInvenit L.F.ā
CORSO: ĪL.F.ā? Whoās that?
PEDRO: Think.
CORSO: Lucifer?
PEDRO and PABLO chuckle heartily.
PEDRO: Youāre a clever man, senor. Torchia was not alone when they burned him alive.
CORSO: But thatās absurd! You donāt honestly believe...
PEDRO: The man who wrote this did so in alliance with the Devil and went to the stake for it. Even Hell has its heroes, senor.
CORSO looks from one to the other, trying to figure this out.
33. TOLEDO ALLEYWAY EXT/DAY
CORSO walks back along the narrow alleyway with the canvas-covered scaffolding. He glances over his shoulder. Not a soul in sight. The blue canvas flaps in the wind, the scaffolding creaks and groans. He walks on.
He hears a sudden rending sound, looks back and up.
Thereās little time to react: the scaffolding has come away from its mountings. itās starting to buckle and fall out into the street.
Desperately, he breaks into a run. Behind him, collapsing like a house of cards, the mass of canvas and metal gains on him as he sprints for the end of the alley, summoning up all his energy for a final burst.
The last of the scaffolding hits the ground only inches behind him. He looks back at the tangled mass that has only just failed to engulf him.
34. TRAIN EXT/NIGHT
A train speeds through the darkness.
35. TRAIN: DINING CAR INT/NIGHT
The dining car is deserted save for CORSO and a STEWARD, who is lolling against the kitchen bulkhead at the far end.
CORSO, with a coffee cup and a brandy glass at his elbow, has ĪThe Nine Gatesā lying open in front of him at THE ENGRAVING OF THE HERMIT WITH THE KEYS, DOG, AND LANTERN. Thereās some cigarette ash trapped between the pages. Smiling faintly, he blows it away. Then he reaches into his bag for his magnifying glass, pushes up his steel-rimmed specs, and screws the glass into his eye. He examines the engraving at close range.
We see again the INSERT of the inscription ĪInvenit L.F.ā
CORSO straightens up and removes the glass from his eye. He finishes his brandy and beckons the STEWARD.
36. TRAIN: CORRIDOR INT/NIGHT
The clickety-clack of wheels on tracks swells in volume as CORSO, bag on shoulder, crosses the sliding floorplates that connect one car to another.
He enters the next corridor and stops short: thereās a lone figure leaning against a window, looking out: itās THE GIRL we saw at Balkanās lecture: short dark hair, catlike green eyes, slim, athletic figure, jeans and white sneakers.
CORSO sets off along the corridor. When he reaches her, they eye each otherās reflections in the windowpane.
THE GIRL (softly): Hi.
CORSO pauses to look at her, unable to make up his mind.
CORSO: Iāve seen you before, havenāt I?
THE GIRL: Have you?
CORSO: Yes, somewhere.
A brief silence.
THE GIRL: Are you traveling in this car?
CORSO: The next one.
THE GIRL: The sleeper. (smiles) I travel on the cheap.
CORSO: Are you a student?
THE GIRL: Something like that. (looks out the window again) I like trains.
CORSO: Me too. Whatās your name?
THE GIRL: Guess.
CORSO: (shrugs, smiles): Greeneyes.
THE GIRL: Thatāll do. Whatās yours?
CORSO: Corso.
THE GIRL: Strange name.
CORSO: Italian. it means ĪI runā.
THE GIRL: You donāt look like a runner to me ö more the quiet type.
They look at each otherās reflections once more. THE GIRLās gaze is direct and unwavering. CORSO terminates their encounter with a diffident little nod.
CORSO: Well, have a good trip.
THE GIRL: And you.
CORSO walks on down the corridor. Thereās something weird about this chance encounter, but he canāt figure out what.
THE GIRL (cont.): See you around, maybe.
CORSO pauses and looks back. Sheās still leaning against the window, staring out. He nods.
CORSO: Maybe.
37. SINTRA STATION EXT/DAY
Itās a damp, gray morning. A sign reads: ĪSINTRAā.
CORSO, bag on shoulder and Samsonite suitcase in hand, gets off the train.
38. QUINTA FARGAS GATEWAY EXT/DAY
One of Sintraās traditional horse-drawn carriages drops CORSO in front of a massive gateway flanked by stone walls thick with ivy. Some birds peer down at him from a branch.
The gateposts are surmounted by two mildew-covered female busts in gray stone, one of them with its face obscured by ivy. CORSO contemplates them for a moment, then pushes open the gate, which squeaks protestingly. Beyond it, a neglected drive.
39. QUINTA FARGAS: DRIVEWAY, GROUNDS EXT/DAY
A gray, desolate, infinitely melancholy scene. Dead leaves litter a gravel driveway flanked by crumbling statues, some of which have toppled over onto the long-neglected, weed-infested lawn. CORSOās muffled footsteps are the only sound.
Near the house is a dried-up, dilapidated fountain faced with tiles and topped by a mouldering cherub. The waters of the ornamental pond beside it are dark as molasses and coated with dead leaves and water lilies.
The Quinta Fargas is a gloomy, four-square, 18th century mansion. CORSO walks up the steps and tugs the old-fashioned bellpull. A mournful jangling sound issues from the recesses of the house. CORSO waits, glances at his watch.
Echoing footsteps approach. A sound of bolts being withdrawn, and the door opens to reveal VICTOR FARGAS. Tall and emaciated as an El Greco saint, he has a drooping white mustache. His baggy trousers and oversized woollen sweater contrast with a pair of old but immaculately polished shoes. His appearance perfectly matches his melancholy surroundings.
FARGAS: Yes?
CORSO: Bob Corso, Mr. Fargas. (Puts out his hand) How do you do.
FARGAS hesitates before shaking hands. Then his face clears.
FARGAS: Corso, ah yes. Please come in.
40. QUINTA FARGAS: RECEPTION ROOMS, DRAWING ROOM INT/DAY
FARGAS, who has a slight limp, leads the way through two reception rooms, once imposing but now entirely bare and empty. By the dim light that filters through their dusty windows, CORSO observes the patches on the walls that indicate the former location of paintings, curtains, pieces of furniture, etc.
FARGAS: Home, sweet home!
He ushers CORSO into a large but sparsely furnished drawing room.
FARGAS (cont.): You wonāt say no to a brandy, 1 take it?
He goes over to a side table and pours some cognac into two fine crystal glasses.
CORSO, meantime, is surveying the room. At the far end, a huge open fireplace. Two ill-assorted armchairs, a table, a sideboard, some candlesticks, a violin case ÷ and books. Theyāre neatly stacked on the floor and the few pieces of furniture. CORSO has just discovered them when FARGAS comes over with the glasses. He puts his bag down and takes one.
CORSO: Thanks. (admiringly) Handsome glasses.
FARGAS: These are the only ones I have left.
CORSO looks around the room.
CORSO: Must have been a beautiful place.
FARGAS: it was, but old families are like ancient civilizations: they wither and die.
He raises his glass in a silent toast. CORSO reciprocates. FARGAS gestures at the books.
FARGAS (cont.): There they are, eight hundred and thirty-four of them. A pity you didnāt see them in better times, in their bookcases. I used to have five thousand. These are the survivors.
CORSO, runs his fingers caressingly over a book.
CORSO: So this is the Fargas collection. Not quite as I imagined it.
FARGAS: Cāest la vie, my friend. But I keep them in perfect condition, safe from damp, light, heat and rats. I dust and air them every day. itās all I do do, in fact.
CORSO: What happened to the rest?
FARGAS: Sacrificed in a good cause. I had to sell them to preserve the others. Five or six books a year. Almost all the proceeds go to the state in taxes.
CORSO: Why donāt you sell up?
FARGAS: Sell the Fargas family estate? itās obvious youāre an American, my friend. There are things you canāt be expected to understand.
CORSO continues to survey the books, fascinated.
CORSO: If you sold all these your financial problems would be over... (picks up a book and examines it) Look at this, Poliphilo, for example: a real gem!
He replaces it. FARGAS leans over and carefully adjusts the book until itās precisely in its original position.
FARGAS: I know, but if I sold them all Iād have no reason to go on living. More brandy?
He heads for the bottle on the side table without waiting for a reply.
CORSO: What about ĪThe Nine Gatesā?
FARGAS (puzzled): What about it?
CORSO: Thatās why Iām here.. I told you on the phone.
FARGAS: The phone? (pause) Yes, of course, I remember now. Forgive me. Of course, ĪThe Nine Gatesā.
He looks around several times as if trying to collect his thoughts, drains his cognac, and limps over to some books on a rug near the fireplace. FARGAS and CORSO kneel on the rug side by side. CORSO examines the books, which all deal with magic, alchemy and demonology.
FARGAS (cont.): Well, what do you think?
CORSO: Not bad.
FARGAS: Not bad indeed. These I will never sell. At least tan of them are exceedingly rare. Look, Plancyās ĪDictionary of Hellā, first edition, 1842, Leonardo Fioravantiās ĪCompendi di Secretiā of 1571... But this is what interests you, no?
He picks up a black book with a gold pentacle on the cover ÷ the second copy of ĪThe Nine Gatesā ÷ and holds it out. CORSO takes it carefully and gets to his feet. FARGAS rises too.
FARGAS (cont.): There it is, in perfect condition. it has travelled the world for three-and-a-half centuries, yet it might have been printed yesterday.
CORSO takes the book over to a window. FARGAS follows.
CORSO: Is it in order? You havenāt detected anything unusual?
FARGAS: Unusual? No. The text is complete, the engravings too. Nine plus the title page, just as the catalogs state ÷ just like the Kessler in Paris and the Telfer in New York.
CORSO: it Isnāt the Telfer anymore. Telfer killed himself, but he sold his copy to Balkan first.
FARGAS: Balkan... If he sets his heart on a book, no price is too high...
He reflects for a moment, shaking his head and staring at the floor.
FARGAS (cont.): itās strange he should have sent you here, if he already...
He breaks off as If something has just occurred to him. He points to CORSOās bag.
FARGAS (cont.): You have it with you? May I see it?
CORSO fetches the book, and they go over to a table. FARGAS places the two copies side by side, bends over them.
FARGAS (cont.): Superb, beautiful, identical. Two of the only three that escaped the flames, reunited for the first time in over three centuries.
The shadows are lengthening. FARGAS reverently turns the pages of each book In turn, caresses the yellowing paper with his fingertips.
FARGAS (cont.): Look at this imperfection In the fourth line here ÷ the damaged S. The same type, the same impression.
He turns both copies of ĪThe Nine Gatesā over to reveal their backboards.
FARGAS (cont.): You see? If it werenāt for this slight discoloration on the back of my copy, one couldnāt tell them apart.
CORSO: If itās all right with you, Iād like to stay awhile and study them in detail.
FARGAS (eyes him keenly): What are you looking for, Mr. Corso?
CORSO: I wish I knew.
FARGAS looks suddenly grave.
FARGAS: Some books are dangerous. Not to be opened with impunity.
CORSO (with equal gravity): Very true.
41. QUINTA FARGAS: DRAWING ROOM INT/DUSK
A fire is burning on the hearth. FARGAS, seated at a window, is practicing the violin. He repeats the same short piece over and over again, occasionally pausing to take a sip of brandy.
CORSO Is sitting at a table with both copies of ĪThe Nine Gatesā open in front of him at the engraving of THE KNIGHT WITH A FINGER TO HIS LIPS. CORSO compares the two copies with the aid of his magnifying glass. They look identical.
CORSO turns over several pages in each book until he comes to THE HERMIT WITH THE KEYS, DOG, AND LANTERN. He compares the two copies. Again, no apparent difference.
He proceeds to a third engraving: A WAYFARER APPROACHING A BRIDGE WITH TWO GATE TOWERS AND AN ANGELIC ARCHER IN THE CLOUDS OVERHEAD. Another seemingly identical pair. Then he stops short and returns to the second engraving. it looks the same, but...
Then he spots it: in Balkanās copy the keys are In the Hermitās right hand, in Fargasās copy In his left!
Fascinated by this discovery, CORSO peers closely at each signature In turn. Balkanās reads ĪA.T.ā, Fargasās... ĪL.F.ā
CORSO turns to an engraving of A JESTER OUTSIDE A MAZE WITH TWO ENTRANCES. Comparison of the two copies reveals that in Fargasās copy one of the doorways is open; in Balkanās itās bricked up. The signatures, too, vary: ĪA.T.ā in one, ĪL.F.ā in the other.
CORSO (excitedly, under his breath): Now weāre getting somewhere ...
An old-fashioned telephone bell starts ringing in the bowels of the house. CORSO looks up.
FARGAS doesnāt hear the bell immediately. He plays on for a bar or two, then pauses and listens with his head cocked. The telephone continues to ring. His chair scrapes the floorboards as he gets to his feet. He puts the violin down and limps out.
42. QUINTA FARGAS: DRAWING ROOM INT/NIGHT
CORSOās open notebook now displays a chart consisting of two horizontal rows of nine boxes. One row is marked ĪBALKANā, the other ĪFARGASā.
CORSO is busy filling In the boxes with either ĪA.T.ā or ĪL.F.ā
FARGAS reappears. He gives CORSO a friendly nod, returns to the window and launches Into the same old piece on his violin.
CORSO has now filled in all the boxes. He studies them for a moment, then rings all the ĪL.F.ās in red.
43. QUINTA FARGAS: GATEWAY, ROAD EXT/NIGHT
Under an owlās vigilant gaze, CORSO shuts the gate. His breath Is visible as steam In the chilly night air. After a last backward look at the statue-bordered driveway and the neglected garden, he turns up his overcoat collar, settles his bag on his shoulder, and sets off down the road toward the lights of Sintra, which are visible in the distance. His footsteps re-echo from the wall that bounds the Fargas property.
Then it happens: he hasnāt gone far when two headlights snap on behind him. Simultaneously, the car starts up and takes off with a squeal of tires.
CORSO spins around. He stands there transfixed for a moment, then dodges behind a projecting buttress as the car hurtles past, missing him by a whisker.
The car, a big dark sedan, skids to a halt some twenty yards away. The driverā s door opens and A TALL MAN gets out. He momentarily hesitates when he sees CORSO still on his feet.
Just then we hear a motor vehicle ÷ a noisy one ÷ rounding the next bend. The TALL MAN is captured by a beam of light. CORSO has seen him before: itās the MUSTACHE.
The MUSTACHE decides to beat it. He dives back Into the car and takes off fast.
CORSO, trembling with shock, watches the tail lights recede and disappear. The sound of the approaching vehicle increases in volume. CORSO turns to stare at it.
Wobbling unsteadily along the road comes a lone PEASANT astride a ramshackle motorbike with a blown exhaust. The PEASANT honks as he goes by. CORSO retrieves his bag from the roadside.
44. SINTRA HOTEL EXT/NIGHT
CORSO enters a small hotel.
45. SINTRA HOTEL: RECEPTION, LOUNGE INT/NIGHT
CORSO, still looking pretty rocky, collects his key from the reception desk and sets off In the direction of the elevator.
Visible in the background Is the hotel lounge. TWO ELDERLY FEMALE TOURISTS, possibly retired English schoolmarms, are quietly conversing at one table while AN OVERWEIGHT GERMAN COUPLE sip cocktails at another.
CORSO, idly scanning the lounge as he makes for the elevator, stops short: a pair of legs In jeans and white sneakers are jutting from an inglenook fireplace in the far corner. He goes over to investigate.
THE GIRL Is snuggled up In an armchair with a book on her lap. He hesitates for a moment. She looks up.
CORSO: Hi. You didnāt say you were bound for Sintra.
THE GIRL: Neither did you.
CORSO: What are you doing here?
THE GIRL Reading.
CORSO: I can see that.
THE GIRL: And bumping into people unexpectedly.
CORSO: Unexpectedly is right.
THE GIRL: Are you on a business trip? (indicates his shoulder bag) Is that why you always carry that thing around?
CORSO doesnāt answer, adjusts his glasses. inquiringly at her book.
THE GIRL hands it to him. We see the title: ĪThe Devil in Loveā by Jacques Cazotte.
CORSO: You like Gothic novels?
THE GIRL: I like books. I never travel without one.
CORSO: Been traveling long?
THE GIRL: Ages.
CORSO eyes her, intrigued. She uttered the word in the simple, natural way that characterizes all her behavior.
CORSO: You said you were a student?
THE GIRL: Did I? (shrugs) So I am. In a way.
CORSO shakes his head and smiles. Heās getting nowhere fast.
THE HOTEL PORTER appears at his elbow.
HOTEL PORTER: Excuse me, senhor. Phone call.
CORSO (surprised): For me? Are you sure?
HOTEL PORTER: Sim, senhor.
He withdraws. CORSO turns back to THE GIRL.
CORSO: Well, sorry I disturbed you.
He hands back the book and turns to go.
46. SINTRA HOTEL: PHONE BOOTH INT/NIGHT
CORSO picks up the receiver with a puzzled frown. He gestures
CORSO: Yes?
BALKAN (V.O.): Mr. Corso?
CORSO (startled): Balkan? How did you find me?
BALKAN (V.O.): Made any progress?
CORSO: Progress? You could call it that.
BALKAN (V.O.): Well?
CORSO: Iāve examined the Fargas copy. itās authentic. At least it looks that way. Like yours. But there are discrepancies.
BALKAN (V.O.): Discrepancies?
CORSO: In the engravings. Like keys in different hands, doorways open In one copy and bricked up In the other.
BALKAN (V.O.): 1 see.
CORSO: And thereās another thing.
BALKAN (V.O.): Yes?
CORSO: The ones that differ are ail signed ĪL.F.ā Seems like some kind of riddle.
A long pause.
CORSO (cont.): Are you still there? Where are you, anyway?
BALKAN (V.O.): I think youād better get it for me.
CORSO: The old man wouldnāt sell it to save his life ÷ he said as much.
Another long pause.
CORSO (cont.): Balkan?
A click, and the line goes dead.
47. SINTRA HOTEL: CORSOāS ROOM INT/DAWN
The curtains are drawn, but thereās light enough for us to see CORSO lying fast asleep on his back in bed, one limp arm trailing over the edge.
A knock at the door. He grunts and props himself on one elbow.
CORSO (sleepily): Just a minute.
He rolls out of bed and wraps the bedspread around his waist. Then he opens the door and stands there, a tousled figure with Lianaās teeth marks clearly visible on his chest. THE GIRL is outside.
THE GIRL: You left your phone off the hook.
CORSO: Jesus... (peers blearily at his watch): What time is it?
THE GIRL: Early, but you have to go.
CORSO (bewildered): Go where, for Godās sake?
THE GIRL: The Fargas place.
CORSO is at first too bemused to find it odd that she should know the name.
CORSO: Fargas? I already saw Fargas.
THE GIRL: I think you should see him again.
CORSO: What is this, a practical joke? Who the hell are you? What do you know about Fargas?
THE GIRL: Better get dressed. Iāll wait for you downstairs.
48. QUINTA FARGAS: DRIVEWAY, HOUSE EXT/DAY
CORSO and THE GIRL are walking in silence up the driveway, with its carpet of dead leaves and avenue of crumbling statues. He eyes her, mystified, as she strides briskly along with a blue duffel coat over her usual attire. The early morning mist is dispersing.
With another look at THE GIRL, who remains standing at the foot of the steps, CORSO goes up to the front door and yanks at the bellpull, producing the same muffled jangling sound as before.
THE GIRL: Donāt bother. He isnāt there.
CORSO (sarcastically): Really. So where is he?
THE GIRL: Over there.
She points in the direction of the ornamental pond. CORSO stares at her, then walks over to it and freezes: VICTOR FARGASās corpse is floating face up among the dead leaves and lily pads. An empty brandy bottle is floating alongside.
CORSO (mutters): God Almighty!
He emerges from his stupor and walks back to THE GIRL, whoās still standing outside the front door. Ignoring her, he tries the handle, but itās bolted.
THE GIRL: You want to get inside?
CORSO nods wordlessly, too shocked to bandy words with her.
THE GIRL looks up at the facade. Then, with unsuspected agility, she shins up a drainpipe beside the door and climbs onto the balcony above it. One of the French windows is broken. She reaches inside, releases the catch, and disappears from view.
CORSO waits, casting occasional glances at the ornamental pond and its occupant.
Thereās the rattle of a bolt being withdrawn, and THE GIRL opens the front door from the inside.
CORSO: Wait here.
He enters the house.
49. QUINTA FARGAS: RECEPTION ROOMS, DRAWING ROOM INT/DAY
CORSO traverses the empty reception rooms and reaches the drawing room. His foot crunches on something as he crosses it on his way to the rug on which the occult books were stacked: itās the remains of one of Fargasās treasured brandy glasses. He pauses for long enough to identify it, then walks on.
The books are lying scattered across the rug: no sign of ĪThe Nine Gatesā.
CORSO: Shit! Shit, shit!!!
He looks around helplessly. Then he sees it: the last of the fire is still smoldering on the hearth, and lying open among the ashes, charred around the edges, is Fargasās ĪNine Gatesā.
He picks up,the mutilated volume, looks at it for a moment, ruefully shaking his head, and stows it in his canvas bag.
50. QUINTA FARGAS EXT/DAY
CORSO emerges from the house.
THE GIRL: Well, did you find it?
CORSO: You know too damned much. More than I do. Why do you keep following me around? What are you, a groupie or something? IRS, CIA, Interpol? Who are you working for?
THE GIRL: Youāre wasting time, asking all these questions. Weād better get out of here. Thereās a flight from Lisbon to Paris at noon. We should just make it.
CORSO: Whatās with the Īweā?
THE GIRL: There are two of us, arenāt there?
51. AIRLINER CABIN INT/DAY
A sunlit mountainscape of dazzling white cloud glides past the window beside which THE GIRL is drowsing with her head on CORSOās shoulder. The cabin is bathed in milky radiance, the atmosphere is tranquil and soothing.
CORSO looks down at THE GIRL.
CORSO: Somebodyās playing a game with me.
THE GIRL (drowsily): Of course. Youāre a part of it.
CORSO: What exactly happened back there?
THE GIRL: Fargas caught someone stealing, I guess.
CORSO: And what do you guess happened to him?
THE GIRL simply): He drowned.
CORSO: With a little help from who?
THE GIRL (shrugs): Heās dead. Who cares?
CORSO: I care. I could wind up the same way.
THE GIRL: Not with me around to take care of you.
CORSO: I see. Youāre my guardian angel.
THE GIRL: Something like that.
She removes her head from his shoulder, turns away, and snuggles up against the window instead.
52. PARIS AIRPORT ARRIVALS HALL INT/DAY
CORSO makes his way across the bustling arrivals hall. THE GIRL, now with a backpack slung over her blue duffel coat, is trailing along in his wake. He glances back at her occasionally.
The PASSENGERS slow as they reach the bottleneck at immigration control. CORSO, shuffling along in line, takes out his US passport in readiness to show it. He looks around for THE GIRL, but thereās no sign of her.
53. PARIS HOTEL EXT/DAY
A taxi drops CORSO in front of a modest but respectable three-star hotel. He hands some money through the driverās window and heads for the entrance.
54. PARIS HOTEL: LOBBY, RECEPTION DESK INT/DAY
CORSO walks up to the reception desk, which is presided over by a desk clerk (GRUBER). A short, squat reincarnation of Erich von Stroheim, he wears his uniform like a Prussian grenadier.
CORSO: Hello, Gruber.
GRUBER looks up, acknowledges CORSOās presence with a curt, faintly military inclination of the head.
GRUBER: Welcome, Mr. Corso. Delighted to see you again. (consults his computer screen) We donāt have any vacancies, but Iām sure Iāll be able to organize something.
CORSO: Thank you, Gruber.
Discreetly, he slides a 100 franc bill across the desk. GRUBER makes it vanish with elegant alacrity and smiles ÷ almost. </