SCUMBAGUETTE (fit 7)
(Andrew's bedroom. He lies on his back, wide awake, or so it seems. It's 4:30 in the morning; we know this because Andrew's digital clock says so. Downstairs, a neighbor is playing the "Jeopardy" theme song loudly on a brittle home Wurlitzer organ at various octaves, changing the sounds as he does. Occasionally, you can hear him saying "yeah!" He's really getting into it. Andrew briefly covers his ears with a pillow, then thinks better of it. Finally, he just closes his eyes.)
(Eyes shut tight, Andrew cannot see the shadow fall over his sleeping body. But wea ll know who's returned -- it's Guy de Mauppasant RABINOWITZ, wielding a huge, phallic baguette. Is he about to smite Andrew with it? It's impossible to tell, because all we can see is his shadow.)
(GILLIGAN's eyes flash open. Immediately, we see from his perspective. RABINOWITZ's leering face fills his field of vision. Andrew slides back with a gasp.)
GILLIGAN
Holy shit!
RABINOWITZ
Clever, clever, Gee-lee-gahn.
GILLIGAN
Clever, wha, who's clever?
RABINOWITZ
Ze French always know how to play ze weemen off of each ozzer, eh?
GILLIGAN
No, I, it was a total, you don't understand, one of those women was my aunt.
RABINOWITZ
Oho. Now you are really French.
GILLIGAN
(Covering himself up with his blanket.) Oh, never mind.
(RABINOWITZ strikes GILLIGAN's prone body hard with the baguette.)
GILLIGAN
Hey! Ow! What the hell, that hurt, cut it out!
RABINOWITZ
Oh, deed it? I am usually a shy, reserved character, but sometimes I have ze urg to beat somebody to deass. Eeet ees part of my eempulsive, vibrant French nature. Do you understand zis?
GILLIGAN
Um...
RABINOWITZ
I steel zink you need work on ze French kiss.
GILLIGAN
(Suddenly sitting up.) Oh God, the only think I need work on is my game. I mean, I spent all week preparing, both to play Oliver Klozov, and also getting mentally prepared to lose. Because, I haven't been at the top of my game, see, but now, Oliver Klozov isn't even my opponent anymore, because he lost to a kid who's twenty, thirty times better than he is. So what do I do now?
RABINOWITZ
Why deedn't you tell me?
GILLIGAN
Why, what?
RABINOWITZ
Ees time for za training.
(Trumpets sound a fanfare. There's a pounding beat, and the type of vainglorious music generally associated with the Rocky movies. What follows is a nauseating montage of training images, including Andrew playing chess on three boards at a time, skipping rope and castling, boxing with a huge, hanging pillow shaped like a knight, running up the steps of the Jersey City courthouse carrying an enormous pawn, jogging while RABINOWITZ throws chess pieces at him, and, finally, in a triumphant but meaningless gesture, throwing a chess set into the Hudson River.)
(Andrew is shocked awake by the sound of a megaphone shouting his name.)
THE TOILET BOWL
(From outside, through a megaphone.) Andrew Gilligan! Wake the fuck up!
(Groggily, Andrew checks the clock. It's 7:20 A.M. Rain patters on the windowsill.)
THE TOILET BOWL
I want you to put the chess pieces down, come out with your, mo fuckin, hands up, and tell me when you gonna let my man whup your sorry ass.
(Andrew stumbles out of bet and shuts the window. But this doesn't deter the harangue, which continues in the manner of a hostage negotiator.)
THE TOILET BOWL
(Muffled, now.) Right about now, you're prolly, you might be tempted to end it all. Don't do anything rash, we want you in one mo fuckin piece.
(And so on. Andrew paces around the room.)
THE TOILET BOWL
Why don't you get your black ass down here. By "black", I do not, I am not referring to any racial category, but to hopelessness, and despair.
GILLIGAN
(To himself.) Cheap intimidation tactics. (Flinging open the window.) Cheap intimidation tactics!
THE TOILET BOWL
You come down, say it to my face, mothafucka!
(Andrew slams the window shut. Throwing on a shirt and wandering out of the bedroom, he walks into the living room. A small boy clutching a Superman lunchbox sits slumped in the easy chair by the main chess table. It's BHOPAL. He's sleeping, and his lunchbox has tumbled open. The contents are exposed: a withered tamarind, two fig newtons, and a handi-wipe. GILLIGAN taps BHOPAL on the shoulder. The youngster snaps awake.)
BHOPAL
Andrew, Andrew! I must have -- I was on my way to school, I dropped by to give you, I must have fallen asleep, I apologize, I --
GILLIGAN
It's okay. But how, how did you get in?
BHOPAL
Oh, there are many ways in.
GILLIGAN
There are?
(BHOPAL pulls from his knapsack a stack of looseleaf notebook papers.)
BHOPAL
These are for you. They are transcriptions of the five matches Broccoli Rob played with Klozov, complete with commentary. (Pause.) The commentary is by me.
GILLIGAN
Thank you.
BHOPAL
Also, I brought you these.
(GILLIGAN accepts a stack of folded-up pieces of paper vfrom BHOPAL. He unfolds them.)
GILLIGAN
Placemats from Howard Johnson's?
BHOPAL
Many games, many brain-teasers. Several of them have mazes, also word games.
GILLIGAN
Well, thank you, but you know...
BHOPAL
A personal favorite are the faces, you can draw on them hair, moustaches, what-ever you please.
GILLIGAN
Bhopal, I, I can't accept these, you've clearly --
BHOPAL
Draw on the faces, Andrew.
THE TOILET BOWL
(Audibly, from outside.) The boffa you mo fuckas get your NAMBLA asses out here.
(The exterior of the Chew-Z Cafe in the pouring rain. A banner hangs above the door. Written on it, in big block letters, are the words "Friday -- Karaoke Night". Inside, the place is jumping. Packed to the walls, the Chew-Z seems to be at full weekend capacity, yet partygoing locals continue to stream in. Unclear on the concept of Karaoke, a salsa band with a good handle on how to fake pop standards allows patrons to choose a song from a list. Then, the person who chose the song can opt to sing it, or allow the band's usual singer, Jorge MAS FAMOSA, to do the honor. The trouble is that MAS FAMOSA, a terrible drunk, clearly resents this arrangement, and spends the time when he's not singing haranguing the customers who are. Strangely, nobody seems to mind.)
(The video game, Rush 'N' Attack, has been restored to its original location.)
(From the outside of the cafe, GILLIGAN can hear a loud and familiar bass line. The SHORT ORDER COOK is singing over a salsafied version of "Need You Tonight" by INXS. Much to the delight of the crowd, and the chagrin of MAS FAMOSA, he's getting all the words wrong.)
SHORT ORDER COOK
(Singing, tunelessly if enthusiastically.) Yeah, slide over here and give me a mickey...
MAS FAMOSA
A mickey?!? What the fuck is that?
SHORT ORDER COOK
Your nose is so ripe, I got to let you know!
MAS FAMOSA
You suck!
SHORT ORDER COOK
(Playing to the crowd, who're getting into it.) I got-ta let you know! (Pointing at GENERICA, who blushes and smiles.) You're my ki-hind!
MAS FAMOSA
Get off the stage. And, you're out of tune. (Turning to the assembled.) Don't you guys wanna real singer? Don't you wanna real singer?
(Various shouts: "No", and "Siddown, asshole!", and "You ain't one!")
SHORT ORDER COOK
(Singing to the "tune".) Shut up, ya fuckin drunk
Get back in re-hab
(Roars of approval.)
SHORT ORDER COOK
Slide over here and give me a blow-blow
Your knees look so raw
I wonder why-hy they do
MAS FAMOSA
Now you're just makin a mockery.
(As Andrew enters, it's difficult to make out any familar faces in the swarm of drunken revelers. GILLIGAN attempts to carve his way to the deli counter, but he keeps running into big thugs with pitchers of beer. All are loud and obnoxious, but two crewcutted maniacs in collegiate sweatshirts stand out. Their unctuous, inebriated voices can be heard over the crowd.)
RUG
So, yeah, I run into her, for the first times in months, since she hooked up with that organ grinder.
SPONGE
How wuzzat?
RUG
Oh, it was fine.
SPONGE
'S not what I heard. I heard you hit her in the face.
RUG
And that was fine.
SPONGE
Hear she put on a few.
RUG
She ballooned up nicely.
SPONGE
Wide, huh?
RUG
Wider than your field of vision.
(LUXOTTICA and PHINEAS stand together at the bar. PHINEAS has been trying to order a gimlet, but nobody knows how to mix one. LUXOTTICA's pretty irritated -- it's her money that PHINEAS is spending.)
PHINEAS
Oh, dear. Can't anybody in this vile scene of debauchery help me?
LUXOTTICA
Relax, willya?
PHINEAS
This is just so uncivilized, everybody packed together like this. I wasn't meant to live in such an uncivilized, I mean, really.
LUXOTTICA
Well, I'll tell you what. You get us the money, and we'll move to the Riviera.
PHINEAS
(Pointing.) Oh, look at him!
LUXOTTICA
Who?
PHINEAS
Now, he looks classy.
(PHINEAS is indicating a young man, clearly out of place in this scene of mind-numbing debauchery, serving pastries to the customers from a platter which he carries with his right hand. Well-attired, he comports himself with absurd poise. It is, of course, Guy de Mauppasant RABINOWITZ.)
LUXOTTICA
Yeah, he's the new pastry chef. Generica told me he was a friend of Andrew's
PHINEAS
That makes sense, I mean, because Andrew's classy, and French.
LUXOTTICA
You fell for that one too?
PHINEAS
Fell, what do you mean?
LUXOTTICA
Andrew's not French. He's Jewish, for God's sake. Anybody could tell that.
PHINEAS
Liar! I knew it!
(RABINOWITZ, seemingly impervious to the press of the crowd, glides over to PHINEAS and LUXOTTICA with a tray of pastries and assorted appetizers.)
RABINOWITZ
Hors d'oevres are served.
PHINEAS
Oh god, give me some. (To LUXOTTICA, while rabidly scooping food onto his plate with his fingers.) I cannot get enough of this French cuisine.
RABINOWITZ
Eeet eez because you have class, and a deescerning palate.
PHINEAS
(Stuffing his face, and talking while eating.) Look at all these, beer-sodden animals around us, not even appreciating this great food.
RABINOWITZ
They do not have the deescerning taste.
LUXOTTICA
(Pointing to the tray, while PHINEAS eats.) How come I can't, discern, one of those things from the next, they all look like mush.
RABINOWITZ
Mush you say? You should be ashamed, eet ees pate... pate de foie gras, pate de poulet, pate de canard.
LUXOTTICA
Bullshit, that's just mush that's been lying around the kitchen.
RABINOWITZ
So it is an old canard.
LUXOTTICA
And you're an old re-tard.
RABINOWITZ
(Infuriated, he grabs the baguette strapped to his side like a rapier.) You dare to insult me?
LUXOTTICA
Uh, yes? And now... if you'll excuse me, it's my turn.
(LUXOTTICA pushes through the crowd toward the salsa band. Meanwhile, PHINEAS is glomming up the hors d'oevres.)
PHINEAS
Oh, God, it's so good, it's like cheez doodles, I can't stop eating it. Can I ask you a question?
RABINOWITZ
(Still miffed.) But of course.
PHINEAS
What is a sophisticated, cultured person like you doing in Jersey City, which, as far as I can tell, is like the scumbag capital of the world?
RABINOWITZ
(Confidentially.) I weel tell you ze secret? I am not really a pastry chef.
PHINEAS
I knew it!
RABINOWITZ
I am a feelm maker. I make ze feelms. Do you know about zees French Feelm?
PHINEAS
Oh, God, I love French film.
RABINOWITZ
Ah, yes, Ees ze greatest feelm in all ze world.
PHINEAS
I loved Dangerous Liaisons.
RABINOWITZ
(Even more confidentially.) Yes, yes! I am making my homage. A homage to fromage.
PHINEAS
Wow. What, what will it --
RABINOWITZ
It will be: a montage!
PHINEAS
I would just die to go to film school.
(Meanwhile, GILLIGAN has been pushing toward the back of the cafe, where he suspects he'll locate a certain woman that, try though he might to think about turtles, he can't seem to forget. GENERICA is sitting on a stool near the restrooms, watching the salsa band and its rotating frontpeople. Right now, the band, led by a triumphant MAS FAMOSA, is barreling thorugh a hyperactive rhumba. An impromptu dance floor has been cleared away, and dancing limbs obstruct Andrew's view of GENERICA.)
GILLIGAN
(Calling to her.) Generica!
GENERICA
Andrew? You're going to get smacked in the face.
GILLIGAN
(Romantic.) I don't care! I don't --
(He gets smacked in the face. Andrew falls to the floor. The "dancer" who dealt the blow boogies on obliviously.)
GILLIGAN
Ow! Will you, stop, let me up? (Getting back up.) Generica, I need to see you!
GENERICA
Well, ostensibly, you can see me.
(GILLIGAN fights hard through the dancers.)
GILLIGAN
C'mon, cut it out, that's not what I mean. (As he gets shoved toward the wall.) Doesn't anybody care about what I'm, I'm going through?
SPONGE
(Dancing aggressively.) Hey, people are trying to party, dude.
RUG
(Dancing obstreperously.) You gotta let people party if they wanna party. Otherwise, you get your ass kicked.
(Meanwhile, LUXOTTICA has mounted the "stage". MAS FAMOSA respectfully defers to her. What's going on here? She grabs the microphone, and begins singing over the salsa, in flawless Spanish. Her articulation and tone are perfect. Hey, she's a really great singer! The band steps it up, and the crowd continues to dance wildly. LUXOTTICA sings to GENERICA a bit, and GENERICA gives her a rose. LUXOTTICA puts it between her teeth, and, framed by RUG and SPONGE, begins to dance a spirited rhumba, to the delight of the crowd.)
GILLIGAN
(Attempting to should over the crowd, and across the press of bodies.) Please, we have to talk!
GENERICA
Andrew, stop ruining everybody's time!
PHINEAS
(Who has noticed Andrew, and is now shoving over to him.) Hey, phony, fake Frenchman, there's a real Frenchman here tonight.
GILLIGAN
Go away!
PHINEAS
You can put on fancy clothes and shoes, and even, grow a fancy moustache, but you can't hide what's inside. You'll always be a no-class scumbag, inside.
GILLIGAN
(Swatting him away with his flailing arms.) Get off of me!
PHINEAS
Why did you hit me?
GILLIGAN
I didn't hit you! (Turning.) Generica!
(She ignores him, watching LUXOTTICA.)
PHINEAS
You're afraid of me.
GILLIGAN
Afraid, what?
PHINEAS
I have it on very good advice that you're a coward, Andrew Gilligan.
GILLIGAN
What, from, from Luxottica? Listen, listen, Luxottica doesn't know a thing about me, all she's interested in --
PHINEAS
(Gesturing to the stage area.) All she's interested in is dancing to this stupid jungle music, no, not Luxottica. From the man at the bar.
(Oh, shit.)
GILLIGAN
What, what man at the bar.
(But he's already looked; over at the familiar, unique haircut and the toothpick. Sitting high on a barstool is BROCCOLI ROB. He gestures to GILLIGAN menacingly. When Andrew doesn't move, BROCCOLI ROB crosses his arms, hops off, and walks over toward him.)
(Andrew weighs his options. Behind him is a writhing mass of dancing drunkenness, before him a mysterious chess challenger whose presence he is not prepared for. To his right stands PHINEAS and the unpleasant associations he carries, to his left is the bar. Andrew chooses indecision. Never taking his eyes off BROCCOLI ROB, he leans against the bar and watches the young black man fight his way through the crowd toward him.)
BROCCOLI ROB
(Upon reaching GILLIGAN.) You coulda come over to me.
GILLIGAN
Huh, wha?
BROCCOLI ROB
Simple propriety, states that you coulda come over to me. If you know I'm looking for you.
GILLIGAN
I, sorry, I was, I came to talk to that woman over there.
BROCCOLI ROB
Don't look like she got much to say to you.
GILLIGAN
Well, no, she's, it's a long story, see --
BROCCOLI ROB
Don't usually hang in shitholes like this. Let's get to the point, okay?
GILLIGAN
I, what's the point.
BROCCOLI ROB
You the type of guy who makes the other person do all the work. Okay, whatever, man. There gonna be a chess match tonight?
GILLIGAN
Oh, not tonight, I, I couldn't, my head's a total mess, I --
LUXOTTICA
(Who has finished her performance, and who has walked over to the bar.) God, what a coward you are.
GILLIGAN
I am not!
BROCCOLI ROB
Tomorrow?
GILLIGAN
Well, maybe, but --
PHINEAS
(To LUXOTTICA.) Isn't he supposed to be the champion?
LUXOTTICA
I'm ashamed to even know him.
GILLIGAN
(Pushed back against the bar until he involuntarily bumps his ass into a barstool.) Listen, I have, everybody, I have lots of things I'm working out in my, I'm, my life is more that just chess.
BROCCOLI ROB
Oh. I guess I'm just one of them chessplaying motherfuckers with no life.
GILLIGAN
No, that's not what I meant, I, there's problems I'm trying to work out.
GENERICA
(Who has joined them.) Everybody has problems, Andrew.
BROCCOLI ROB
No. Not me. I'm a wealthy motherfucker with nothing to do but play games all day.
LUXOTTICA
C'mon, Andrew.
GENERICA
Won't you deign to play a game with this poor boy?
GILLIGAN
A game?!? It would be for, it'd be for...
GENERICA
For what?
BROCCOLI ROB
Who are you calling a poor boy?
GILLIGAN
Okay. Okay.
LUXOTTICA
A tower of strength, he is.
BROCCOLI ROB
Who are you calling a poor boy?
GILLIGAN
(To BROCCOLI ROB.) Okay, we'll play tomorrow. Okay?
BROCCOLI ROB
(To GENERICA.) What, you don't think this is important?
GENERICA
Oh, certainly I do. I do.
GILLIGAN
Leave her alone.
BROCCOLI ROB
You ever been to the Churchyard?
GILLIGAN
Where?
BROCCOLI ROB
(Dipping a straw in ketchup, he writes an address down on the back of a receipt.) You meet me here, tomorrow, at four o' clock.
GILLIGAN
This, what, this is on Monitor Street.
BROCCOLI ROB
Yeah.
GILLIGAN
But, but there's nothing on Monitor Street.
BROCCOLI ROB
That's a way of looking at it.
GILLIGAN
There's another way to look at it?
BROCCOLI ROB
Man, you must not be much of a chessplayer.
GILLIGAN
Whaat? What do you mean by that?
(But BROCCOLI ROB is already receding back into the crowd.)
BROCCOLI ROB
Check you there tomorrow at four.
(The music has changed. The group is now playing "The Conga" by Miani Sound Machine. MAS FAMOSA, now completely blotto, slurs his way though a semi-obscene lead vocal. It hardly matters, though, because the rhythm section has locked into a dynamite groove.)
MAS FAMOSA
(Unintelligibly.)
Come on, you homos, shake those asses
You can't hold it in any longa
Feel your asses
Feel your ding dongs getting longa
Come on, assholes!
(Insane.)
Dance, you cocksuckers!!
PHINEAS
(Tisking.) I hate music like this.
LUXOTTICA
(Grabbing GENERICA by the hand, ans dragging her out on the dance floor.) Come on, let's dance.
PHINEAS
It is so unintelligent.
GILLIGAN
(Remote, from his barstool.) Hey, Generica! Generica!
(But GENERICA, halfway onto the dance floor and getting dragged further out by a bopping LUXOTTICA, only shrugs at Andrew, with a smile.)
(GILLIGAN, left alone at the bar, buries his face in his hands. When he opens his eyes, a familiar face stares at him from the other side of the bar.)
RABINOWITZ
(With a curious expression on his face.) I see you have been joshing wiz me, Geeleegahn.
GILLIGAN
Joshing, what, hey, I'm not really in the mood, why --
RABINOWITZ
Eez certainly no competeetion to be worried about, eh? Eef you know what I say?
GILLIGAN
What, who, Broccoli Rob? No, he's, I've seen his transcriptions, his game is brilliant, unique --
RABINOWITZ
Surely you do not mean to suggest zat zees... ruffian ees any match for a Frenchman. (Pause.) Do you, Geeleegahn?
GILLIGAN
(Getting up.) I, I don't like the way this is going.
RABINOWITZ
Surely you weel not allow zees... how you Americans say?, zees...
GILLIGAN
(Grabbing his Comme de Garcons, and pushing toward the door.) Please. Don't make this night, I think, please.
RABINOWITZ
(Getting insane.) Surely zere eez no chance zat you weel allow ze name of France, zat you weel be beaten, humeeleeated, by zees...
GILLIGAN
This what?
RABINOWITZ
Do not deesappoint me! Gee-lee-gahn!
RUG
(As Andrew struggles toward the door, thoroughly defeated.) Hey, everybody! This dweeb, his name is Gilligan!
(Uproar, predictable comments.)
SPONGE
(Clapping a drunken hand on GILLIGAN's shoulder.) Hey, little buddy!
(Andrew violently throws SPONGE's hand off of his shoulder. SPONGE reacts by puching Andrew in the jaw. RABINOWITZ, ever prepared, jumps over the bar and clobbers RUG over the head with his baguette. Soon, the cafe is a swirling mass of fists, arms, cutlery, beer, cheeseburgers, and aggressive salsa.)
PHINEAS
(Imploringly, to the SHORT ORDER COOK.) Oh, my God. Do something! Do something!
(Obligingly, the SHORT ORDER COOK picks up PHINEAS, and pitches him headfirst into the crowd.)
(The interior of the Grove Street Chess Club. It's pretty late, and nobody's there but GILLIGAN and BHOPAL. GILLIGAN's beret is crumpled, he's got a bruised cheek, his Comme de Garcons looks trampled upon, his shirt is torn, his neatly coiffed hair has been mussed up, and he stinks of cigarettes and beer.)(BHOPAL plays the white pieces, GILLIGAN the black. It's pretty quiet inside, besides the meticulous drip of water, and the club television set, tuned into a local history program. The host speaks in dry, dulcet tones.)
HOST
...and so we celebrate, not only the anniversary of the foundation of the Paulus Hoek settlement, but also we commemorate the renewal of the original social pact between residents of Jersey City, or Bergen, as it was then called, and the land itself.
(A blast of Revolutionary War-sounding fife 'n' drum.)
HOST
Regretfulyy, no living remnant remains of the indigenous native culture of the land now called Jersey City. Initial covenants, drafted by the first Dutch governors, were either voided by their British successors, or disregarded completely in the press for comprehensive land cultivation.
(Native American kettle drums.)
INDIAN WARRIORS
Oi oi oi oi. Oi oi oi oi.
HOST
Surprisingly, however, many of the place-names remain. Weehawken: "the casting-off place", so named because of the high palisade. Hoboken: "land of the smoking pipe". Secaucus: "the large rock in the swamp". So a heritage is absorbed, and assimilated, and creates resonances, even when the original residents are no longer present to reinforce and reaffirm the literal meanings.
AN AGED, LIBRARIANISH SPEAKER
The tale might be apocryphal, nonetheless, it's symbolic, and I hope you'll enjoy it. Indian settlements, you must remember, were filthy places by any standards -- saturated with smoke, lice, dirt, what have you. Tomas Haarhuis, the first Dutch governor, headquartered himself on what is present-day Montgomery Street, right in the heart of the City Hall area. By the library, our library. Anyway, or so the story goes, when the Indians left their longhouses for the festival of the Bear-Running moon, Haarhuis ordered a complete scouring of their longhouses. Everything was cleaned, from top to bottom. Well, when the Indians returned, they were horrified. They burned the longhouses, and erected newer ones which were just as filthy dirty as the ones before. So, you see, a mutual distrust developed.
HOST
(Over the sound of distant cannons.) Negotiations turned on the development of the apple grove which gave its name to present day Grove Street. Natives wished to cultivate the grove as they always had. The Europeans insisted on a strict, regimented process of husbandry. Unwilling to compromise, the Dutch of Paulus Hoek chose instead to level the grove, and in so doing, ended the first attempt at a communal cultivation cycle shared with the indigenous population. Others would follow.
BHOPAL
(Looking at Andrew with a mixture of pity and disbelief.) Would you care for a gobstopper?
GILLIGAN
Oh, no, no. I've got cavities. (He advances a pawn, and then blurts out.) Sometimes I think you're the only friend I have.
BHOPAL
Don't say that, Andrew. Why, you are admired wherever chess is played.
GILLIGAN
Well, that's nice, but it doesn't, apparently that's not true in Greenville.
BHOPAL
Broccoli Rob? I believe that most of his bluster is merely pre-fight hype. The game has changed, Andrew. It is not the way it was when I was young; there has been a noxious infiltration of boasting and bragging, distasteful showboating.
GILLIGAN
It's really wearing me down.
BHOPAL
Do not fret. I'll be there with you tomorrow.
GILLIGAN
You will?
BHOPAL
Of course. It is Saturday, and besides, Mr. Wizard's World is being pre-empted. Some absurd sporting event.
GILLIGAN
(After a pause.) Bhopal?
BHOPAL
Yes?
GILLIGAN
You, you never told me what happened with Yavlinsky.
BHOPAL
(A beat.) Oh. Yes. Well, he's, he isn't going to take me yet.
GILLIGAN
I'm, I'm sorry to hear that.
BHOPAL
He told me I had to work on my middle game.
GILLIGAN
Well, I can't say, I mean I'm sorry, but it'll be nice to have you here, some more.
BHOPAL
Yes, I am in no hurry to go to Budapest. The true seat of chess is in Uttar Pradesh.
GILLIGAN
What?
BHOPAL
Chess is fundamentally an Indian game, Andrew.
GILLIGAN
Wha, how, what about the universal language of intellect which knows no national boundaries, transcends politics, what about --
BHOPAL
(Impatiently.) Yes, yes, of course, of course. Yet the fact remains that chess is of Indian origin, and is fundamental to the Indian cultural character.
GILLIGAN
You're, you're as bad as Klozov, what, Indian national character?
BHOPAL
Caste, regal heirarchy, rigid roles and specific, unchanging functions, ceaseless warfare between Indo-Aryans and darker-skinned Dravidian peoples, Andrew, are you blind? Why do you think white always wins?
GILLIGAN
White does not always win! (Andrew begins animatedly rearranging the pieces.) Look.
(Castling queen side, he moves both knights to bishop three. He moves both the king and queen pawns to king and queen four. The bishops swing to king and queen three. King rook moves to king one, queen moves to queen two.)
GILLIGAN
Ha! The ultimante defensive position. Gilligan's Invincible Fortress. I was up all night developing it, refining it. How, the ultimate defensive position! Gilligan's Invincible Fortress!
BHOPAL
I can dismantle it in four moves.
Return to Fit #6.
Onward to Fit #8.
Take it from the top.
