Riot (11 page)

He needs a doctor.

CUT TO:

MEDIUM SHOT: LIAM is on table, CLAIRE is getting water.

JOHN

No doctor will come out in this madness.

CLAIRE

He’ll die without a doctor.

MAEVE

He’s really an all-right sort. He is. Really. And strong. If we can bring him around, he’s strong enough to pull through. I know he’s strong enough to pull through!

ELLEN

John? John?

JOHN

I’ll go look for a doctor. Maybe Dr. Smith, if they haven’t hanged him or beaten him to death.

MAEVE

(to CLAIRE)

Do you think he’ll be all right?

CLAIRE

Yes, I’m sure.

MAEVE watches as JOHN goes to the door. It has started to rain.

MAEVE

(looking anxiously about)

We weren’t meaning what we said before.

About coloreds and that sort of thing. It was just…a bit of a lark.

(voice trailing as she realizes the position she is in)

Not a very good lark. We didn’t mean any harm.

(begins to pray for LIAM)

Oh, God, he’s not a bad sort. He’s not a bad sort. He likes people. Oh, won’t you people say something. Please, he’s not a bad sort. Really.

CLAIRE puts her hand on MAEVE’s and bows her head.

MAEVE

(continues praying)

Oh, God, please don’t let him go.

Everything he’s ever done wrong, he’s sorry for, and everything he’s done right, he meant to do well.

We hear MAEVE still praying for LIAM.

We see LIAM absolutely still.

We see LIAM move slightly, make a very feeble sign of the cross, then lift one arm as if he is reaching for something high above him. We see the arm come down slowly. We see LIAM’s face blanch and then his head turn slowly to one side.

MAEVE

Liam? Oh, Liam.

We hear the sound of music rising in pitch until it is indistinguishable from the high wailing of a scream.

DISSOLVE

EXT. WASHINGTON SQUARE—JULY 15, 1863—MORNING

MEDIUM SHOT: A NEWSBOY is selling papers. Two GENTLEMEN take papers, and one tosses a coin toward the boy.

FIRST GENTLEMAN

Well, it’s over at last. None the worse for the city, if you ask me. Gives us an air of neutrality.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

I heard the federal government is going to pay for all the damages.

FIRST GENTLEMAN

I wasn’t damaged. And with the government handing out money, there won’t be too many hurting.

EXT. A CATHOLIC CHURCH—SAME DAY

A solemn procession of MOURNERS leaves the church. They carry two caskets. The first is full size, the second, in the arms of a beefy IRISHMAN, much smaller.

EXT. A CEMETERY—SAME DAY

Small GROUPS OF PEOPLE are gathered around several grave sites.

CUT TO:

The craggy face of a black UNDERTAKER wearing a top hat. He looks straight ahead as we hear the voice of a black MINISTER.

MINISTER

(voice-over)

For I have laid me down on holy ground,
and in the darkest hour I have lifted mine eyes unto the hills and there I have seen salvation….

EXT. A BLACK BAPTIST CHURCH—SAME DAY

A sad CONGREGATION files out of the church, carrying a casket.

CUT TO:

Two small BOYS, one white and one black, standing on a corner watching the funeral processions.

EXT. A TENEMENT BUILDING—SAME DAY

A group of roughly dressed YOUNG WHITE MEN is carrying a casket down a flight of wooden steps. A PRIEST walks in front and past a group of sad-faced WOMEN. One of them turns abruptly away.

CUT TO:

CLOSE-UP of her profile; we recognize MAEVE.

FADE OUT

FADE IN

INT. THE PEACOCK INN—SAME DAY

JOHN, ELLEN, and CLAIRE are gathered around a table. There is bowl of fruit on the table illuminated by the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. JOHN is cleaning the bottom of a copper pot. ELLEN and CLAIRE sit as if they are tired.

CLAIRE

At least things are calmer now.

JOHN

They still haven’t brought the children back from Blackwell’s Island.

CLAIRE

Where are they going to bring them with the orphanage burned down?

JOHN

They took some to Weeksville, in Brooklyn. Brooklyn’s a good city.

ELLEN

The police are rounding up the last of the hooligans. Did you hear—?

(nervously as she wonders how all that has happened will affect her family)

Have you eaten anything?

JOHN

I’m not hungry.

ELLEN

(a beat)

Did you hear they were going house to house on Worth Street looking for stolen goods? And once the police get the goods, they’ll just end up in a different house. I don’t trust the police any more than I did the toughs in the street. But they’ll not be rioting in the streets of New York for a while. Leastways those who know the difference between a duck and a spade.

JOHN

And life goes on.

CLAIRE

Priscilla was mixed about leaving today. She was sad going to Connecticut, even for the while, but relieved not to be afraid of walking down a street. It’s sad to think of how we were just dancing down these same streets on the Fourth of July.

Do you think that you can have another talk
with Mr. Valentine, now that things are quiet?

JOHN

He was clear when he spoke to me the first time, and clearer yesterday when I asked him if I could add more fish to the dinner menu. He looked me in the eye…. He looked me in the eye and said that I would have to consult the new owners.

I asked him if he didn’t mean the new white owners, even though they made an offer that was less than ours? He said he had an obligation to the community. Then he looked away. Just looked away.

SLOW DISSOLVE

INT. NASSAU HALL LIBRARY, PRINCETON

ROBERT VAN VORST sits at a desk, talking to two older STUDENTS who stand near him. After a brief conversation, the two leave and ROBERT picks up his pen and begins writing.

ROBERT

(voice-over)

Dear Claire,

Well, I’m firmly ensconced (a new word) at Princeton now. I haven’t made any real friends, and it’s quite strange to be only in the company of boys all the time. We are not supposed to talk about the war, but that is really all that we talk about when someone is not arguing about religion, which is also a less than temperate topic here. Some of the Southern boys have actually brought their Negroes with them as servants. Living in New Jersey, they have to be free, of course, but I sense a kind of understanding that makes them somewhat less than completely free.

Oh, how I miss our running down to the docks and watching the ships come in. We study geography and learn of many of the places from where the ships sail, but I believe it more fun to imagine the places than to be burdened with actual knowledge.

I also miss your laughing. It always seemed that you laughed a lot, and that made me feel good even on the gloomiest of days.

Father writes me dutifully once every two weeks, giving me parental advice.
Sometimes the other boys compare their letters from home, and it is amazing how similar they all are. He tells me that the best guess is that the South will lose the war and that will make an end to slavery. I hope that is true because the words of the founding fathers—did you know they sometimes met at Princeton?—did promote freedom for all peoples.

I wrote to Priscilla in Connecticut but have received no reply. It has never occurred to me before to ask if she can read. Some of the Southern men say that Negroes (they never actually use that term unless we are in class) are gifted storytellers and only pretend to be reading.

If she visits New York and you see her, you will have to give her my regards and let me know how she is doing.

Love to your family,
Robert Van Vorst

EXT. A HOUSE IN MIDDLETOWN, CONNECTICUT

Two middle-aged WHITE WOMEN are talking by a
white picket fence. A YOUNG BLACK WOMAN walks down the path, smiles, and nods toward the WHITE WOMEN before entering the house.

FIRST WHITE WOMAN

They are such lovely people.

SECOND WHITE WOMAN

You would hardly know they were Negroes. Of course, you can see them. I mean, they don’t act like Negroes, do they?

INT. A SMALL ROOM IN THE HOUSE—SAME DAY (CONTINUOUS)

We see a figure sitting at a small table in front of the window. From her POV we see the WHITE WOMEN still talking at the picket fence. The camera moves so that we see the face of PRISCILLA as she picks up a pen and begins to write. The camera is focused sometimes on the paper before her and sometimes on the view from the window.

PRISCILLA

(voice-over)

Dear Claire,

We are settled now here in Middletown. Mother is still very much upset in a noisy sort of way but I fear most for Father. He is
so quiet. At night he often sits by himself in the parlor. There’s no talking to him, for he only answers in grunts. I think I know what he is feeling. The business that we worked so hard to build in New York was torn down so quickly during the riots.

Claire, I miss you so much. I want to run all the way to New York and throw my arms around you the way we used to do. Did you read in the papers about how our colored soldiers are doing? I knew that after the wonderful showing of the 54th Massachusetts in South Carolina, they would all do well. A woman down the street knew the family of Colonel Shaw, who was killed with the 54th. All the papers speak of how brave our soldiers have been and what a difference they are making in this terrible war. Father says they should have been the ones sent to New York to calm the streets.

We do sometimes get the papers from New York, but they arrive a week late, if at all. That’s great fun because the local papers report the same news and you can compare the accounts.

I wonder if you will ever visit me here. The house we have rented is quite large, and our neighbors seem to be of a decent sort. There aren’t that many black people here. I never thought that sort of thing would matter, but now I actually count them.

I have received two letters from Robert, which I have not answered. It’s is almost as if I have forgotten how to speak to him, which I think is crazy. I know I will answer him, but I want to say something happy and wonderful and it seems that all the happy and wonderful things ended in the summer.

I think it will be hard to maintain our friendship through letters, but in my heart I will always be your friend. I cannot wait until we are together again and sharing a laugh and a hug.

The Lord bless you and keep you, sweet Claire. The Lord make His face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. And give you peace. And give you peace.

Your best friend (until you find a husband),
Priscilla

EXT. THE STREETS OF NEW YORK

The camera pans the same streets at the opening of the film, but this time it stops now and again on boarded-up buildings, a few charred remains of tenements and, now and again, on doorways upon which there is placed a black wreath.

CUT TO:

LONG SHOT of the Peacock Inn. The camera zooms in slowly, pauses for a moment on the window, and then moves up to another window on the second floor.

INT. CLAIRE’S ROOM—SAME DAY (CONTINUOUS)

CLAIRE sits on the bed with a portable writing desk propped up on pillows. We hear her voice-over as she writes.

CLAIRE

        (voice-over)

Dear Priscilla,

Father’s changed again because of Mother’s condition. She’s developed a cough, which we both think needs watching and so we’ll stay in New York for a while. Robert has written me two letters which express his excitement at school. I think he’s equally excited to be away from his dreadfully stuffy parents.

We see more and more freed slaves from the South. The poor dears come into the city and they are so lost and uneasy. They are also badly treated, I’m afraid. Priscilla, I am convinced that once this war is over there will be no more people held in chains. But I wonder if there will be a new bondage. Will we be trapped in our skins, forever held to be different because we are not white? And what wars will free us from that distinction? Before the riots, Mr. Valentine looked upon us as the caretakers of his property and was pleased with us. Now he looks at us as if we started the trouble, as if our very presence as Negroes was the difference.