Snow Falling on Cedars

Screenplay by Ron Bass and Scott Hicks

Based on the novel by David Guterson

May 4, 1998

     NOTE: THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS
     AND SOME "OMITTED" SLUGS. THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR THIS
     SOFT COPY.

     EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - NIGHT

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

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

     We watch CARL HEINE, high on the cross spar of his mast.  He
     has pulled a SHUTTLE of TWINE from his rubber overalls, and
     is LASHING a LANTERN in the cloud of mist.

     INT/EXT THE SUSAN MARIE'S CABIN - NIGHT

     A match is struck.  CARL lights the wick of a second lantern.
     The cabin is meticulously neat.  A tin COFFEE CUP on the
     counter's edge.  The floor clear of any clutter.  Carl
     glances at his watch.  It's 1:07.  Then he hears...

     ...the puttering SOUND of an approaching boat...

     EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - NIGHT

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

     ...his eyes.  They are Asian.

                                           VISUAL FX TRANSITION TO:

     EXT. SHIP CHANNEL BANK - MORNING

     An island landscape.  Tilt to find our boat bobbing
     peacefully on placid water.

     EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE - MORNING

     Silhouetted against the morning sun, two figures slowly reel
     in the massive net onto the rotating drum.  A few salmon
     slide across the gunnel.  Hands methodically pick them out of
     the net and drop them into the hold.

     ANGLE ON the cedar floats stretched across the water.  A dark
     heavy shape in the net draws towards the surface.

     One figure leans over to take a closer look.  SHERIFF ART
     MORAN is thin, unimposing, methodical.  Only the eyes reflect
     his disquiet.

     Suddenly, a HAND looms from the tangled netting, stiff and
     grotesque.

     MORAN lurches back in shock as the raveling net LIFTS from
     the water's surface...

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

     Moran reels away as his young deputy, ABEL MARTINSON, turns
     to throw up over the gunnel behind him.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. CORONER'S LAB - DAY

     The face of HORACE WHALEY, coroner, gazing down.  A shading
     of regret behind the professional mask.  Carl's face is
     reflected in his glasses.  A series of QUICK CUTS...

     ...Whaley cuts through Carl's weatherproof overalls with
     large scissors...

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

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

     ...the right palm is turned to reveal a long cut along the
     mound of the thumb...

     ...Carl's wrist, its WATCH stopped at 1:47...Whaley removes
     it, notes the time, and drops it into a manila envelope...

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

     ...Whaley sees something startling.  He beckons Moran over.

                          WHALEY
                You want to play Sherlock Holmes, Art?

     Reluctantly Moran takes a look.  A sharp intake of breath.

                          MORAN
                What the hell would have caused that?

                          WHALEY
                I'll tell you what a head wound like this
                puts me in the mind of...

     Whaley reaches for the instrument tray, and selects a sharp
     cut-throat razor.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. CORONER'S LAB - DAY

     CLOSE ON a DROP of BLOOD as it lands in SLOW MOTION on a
     white porcelain tray.

                                           VISUAL FX TRANSITION TO:

     EXT. SAN PIEDRO ISLAND - DAY

     Snow falling on cedars.

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

                                                     TRANSITION TO:

     EXT/INT ISHMAEL'S APARTMENT - DAY

     Through a snow covered window we see a pensive, sombre young
     man in his mid-20's.  This is ISHMAEL CHAMBERS, lost in
     thought as he pulls on his coat.  We see its left sleeve
     pinned up at the elbow of his amputated arm.  He tucks his
     slim satchel under it.

                                                     TRANSITION TO:

     EXT. STRAWBERRY FIELDS - DAY

     ...undulating strawberry fields of pure white, untouched and
     flawless...beyond the fields, against a backdrop of cedar
     forest, an old PICKUP TRUCK drives carefully through the
     snow.

     Wipers swish slowly to reveal a slender woman of refined
     beauty.  HATSUE MIYAMOTO stares ahead at the snow-clad road,
     her father HISAO at the wheel beside her.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. AMITY HARBOR/SAN PIEDRO ISLAND FERRY - DAY

     ...a view through another windscreen.  This time of moving
     WATER.  In the rear-view mirror, a dapper man in his 40's
     grooms himself carefully.  ALVIN HOOKS glances out ahead
     at...

     EXT. AMITY HARBOR - DAY

     ...the wharves and boats shrouded in snow.

     EXT. AMITY HARBOR - DAY

     The SAN PIEDRO ISLAND ferry approaches the docks, blanketed
     as if by volcanic ash.  Behind HOOKS' late model Chevy, the
     deck is crowded with people, a number of other cars, and even
     a bus.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. NELS' HOUSE - DAY

     A door opens to reveal a pair of dress shoes.  Old-style
     galoshes are pulled over them.

     An OLD CAT curls around the feet as a HAND that tells of its
     owner's age offers it a small treat.

     The TIP of an UMBRELLA taps to dislodge some snow and ice
     from a PLANT POT.  The pot CRACKS, scattering earth on the
     porch.  Impatiently, the feet shuffle aside the debris, and
     start down the steps.

     The umbrella UNFURLS to reveal NELS GUDMUNDSSON.  He is 79,
     tall and lean.  A little shaky.  His body is winding down.

     EXT. STREET - DAY

     NELS walks carefully down the street, overtaken by kids on
     sleds, as WHALEY heads past in the other direction.

                          NELS
                'Morning, Horace,  Reminds you of 1930,
                doesn't it?

                          WHALEY
                1929 actually, Nels.  I believe you're
                thinking of 1929.

                          NELS
                Of course it was, Horace.  You're right.
                1929.

     EXT. STREET/COURTHOUSE - MORNING

     A bank of powder snow.  A boy falls backwards into frame.
     Nearby a girl does the same.  They swirl their arms and legs.
     Laughing.  Making angels...

     Ishmael walks past, over the rise, the town behind him.

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

     ISHMAEL, seemingly oblivious to the crowd which jostles him,
     as he...

     ...disappears.  Into the courthouse.  Titles finish.

     INT. COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR - DAY

     Ishmael heads up the stairs, to the press balcony, away from
     the throng.  He catches a glimpse of a woman sitting alone,
     out of sight of the crowd.

     It's HATSUE, on a wooden bench.  Her stare impassive, empty.

     PULL BACK to see Ishmael standing alone, in shadow.  He
     stares with fixed intensity at Hatsue, as she gathers her
     thoughts.  A moment of decision.  He approaches.

                          ISHMAEL
                Hatsue?

     She turns her head only slightly.

                          ISHMAEL
                Are you all right?

                          HATSUE
                Go away, Ishmael.

     Her voice is quiet and firm.  There is no anger.

                          ISHMAEL
                I just wanted to say...

                          HATSUE
                    (softer)
                Go away.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. BASEMENT - DAY

     CLOSE on a large SHOVEL as it scoops up a load of COALS.

     The coals fly off the shovel into the fierce flames of the
     boiler-room FURNACE.  The DOOR clangs shut.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. COURTROOM - MORNING (TRIAL DAY ONE)

     A frosty WINDOW above an ancient steam RADIATOR.  A HISS of
     steam escaping as we pull back to see...

     A pair of Asian eyes.  We have seen them before.  KAZUO
     MIYAMOTO sits, ramrod straight, motionless, expressionless,
     as Abel unlocks his handcuffs.  The eye of a storm of
     movement in...

     ...the assembling COURTROOM.  A floor-level packed gallery of
     buzzing locals, the scent of anticipation.

     NELS approaches the defense table, greeting his client Kazuo.
     He reaches over to shake hands with HOOKS at the prosecution
     bench.

     The JURY BOX.  Truck farmers, grocers, fishermen assemble, in
     sober neckties.  A waitress, a secretary, fisher wives in
     Sunday dresses.  PAN UP now to...

     ...a BALCONY with its bank of wooden pews, and gathering in
     its front row...

     ...REPORTERS, cosmopolitan in attire, bearing themselves as
     jaded dignitaries from the civilized world.  Behind them,
     Ishmael makes his way to a seat.  As we PAN their ranks...

     Snatches of conversation...

                          REPORTER #1
                How 'bout that jury?  What a bunch of
                yokels.  Must make a good ten grand a
                year.  Between 'em.

     He laughs.

     Ishmael, jots on a pad balanced precariously on his knee,
     until...

     ...it falls with a CLATTER of pages.  He reaches with his
     right hand, replaces the pad on his thigh.  Ishmael looks
     down through the balustrades to see...

     ...Hatsue, entering the courtroom.

     The Reporters lean forward to ogle at her.  A frisson of
     interest runs through the assembled crowd.

     Ishmael watches HATSUE take her place in the first row of the
     floor-level gallery.  And sensing her presence, Kazuo turns.
     Their eyes meet.  Husband and wife.

     Back in the balcony...

                          REPORTER #1
                Have you seen this rag?  The guy writes
                like this trial is the biggest thing that
                ever happened.  You tell me why this is
                news down in Seattle.

     Shows the next guy his newspaper.  It's the SAN PIEDRO ISLAND
     REVIEW.  Our ANGLE includes Ishmael, listening.

                          REPORTER #2
                Because he's a Jap.  Simple as that.

     On this, Ishmael gets up, and moves away.

                          BAILIFF (O.S.)
                All rise...

     People rise.  Ishmael stands, looking down from the balcony.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT/EXT WAREHOUSE/DOCKS - DAY

     ANGLE FROM ANOTHER BALCONY:

     Ishmael walking through a net warehouse towards the wharf.
     Purpose in his stride.  Up ahead, the Susan Marie is at dock.
     Moran stands with half a dozen FISHERMEN.

     As he arrives, Moran smiles a thin greeting.  Not happy to
     see him.  Nor is anyone else.

     WILLIAM GJOVAAG, a sunburned gill-netter, grunts to Moran.

                          GJOVAAG
                You go fishing, it happens.

                          MORAN
                    (to Ishmael)
                Figure you'da heard by now.

                          MARTY JOHANSSON
                    (to Sorenson, approaching)
                Sheriff's been askin' who saw Carl out at
                Ship Channel Bank last night.

                          MORAN
                Only to see if somebody talked to him.

                          JAN SORENSEN
                Fishing went sour on me when the fog
                rolled in.  I got the hell outta there.

                          GJOVAAG
                No sense in hanging 'round the shipping
                lane in that fog.

                          MARTY JOHANSSON
                    (heavy Danish)
                Okay we've got Ferry, Hardwell, Moulton,
                Miyamoto...

                          GJOVAAG
                    (spits)
                Japs.

                          MORAN
                Anyone else?

     There is a pause.

                          MORAN
                All right, if you see any of those
                guys...

                          GJOVAAG
                    (to the others)
                Sheriff's sounding like a real hard-ass!
                Ain't this just an accident, Art?

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

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

     EXT. WAREHOUSE/DOCKS - DAY

     Ishmael and Moran, walking alone.

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

                          ISHMAEL
                    (quietly)
                You want me to lie?

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

     No answer.  They keep walking.

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

     Ishmael stops.

                          ISHMAEL
                So this is a murder investigation?

                          MORAN
                I didn't say that...

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Our courtroom silent now, respectful.  Court is in session.
     PAN the back of the courtroom.  Twenty-four citizens of
     Japanese ancestry fill the last row, dressed in their most
     formal clothes.  As one, the Japanese-Americans watch...

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

                          HOOKS
                Would you tell us please, Sheriff. What
                was your first impression as you and your
                deputy inspected the Susan Marie that
                fateful September morning?

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

     The witness is Sheriff Moran.

                          MORAN
                Mainly that it was so quiet out there.
                Things just didn't...add up.

     Ishmael watching.  Thinking on that.

                          HOOKS
                Add up?  What do you mean?

                          MORAN
                Well, a fisherman drowning - that happens
                sometimes.  But Carl Heine?  I got to
                thinking.  He was so...meticulous.  He
                did things by the book.

     EXT. LAUNCH, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - DAY

     Moran's hand on the throttle, powering his launch towards the
     'Susan Marie', becalmed in the channel.

                          ABEL
                Lights are on, Art.  Every last one,
                looks like.  And his net's out.

                          MORAN
                    (yells)
                Hey, Carl!

                          ABEL
                I got this bad feeling...

                          MORAN
                Don't say that, Abel.  Don't even think
                like that.

     EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE - DAY

     Moran stands on the gently swaying deck.  All is quiet except
     for a curious rolling SOUND.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - DAY

     Moran looks in the cabin door.  TILT DOWN to see, in our
     foreground, the enamel COFFEE CUP rolling on the floor with
     the boat's movement.

     Moran enters.  Sits on Carl's bunk.  He takes in the tidy
     cabin.  With one large battery sitting on the floor.

                          ABEL (O.S.)
                Nothing in the hold.  Apart from fish,
                that is.  Should we pull in the net?

     Moran's eye catches a photo of Carl's family.  His pretty
     blonde wife.  Two little boys.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

                          HOOKS
                So, looking at the evidence there, you
                determined that this was no accident,
                didn't you?

                          MORAN
                I didn't determine much of anything at
                first.  I kept wondering what I was going
                to say to his family.  After all, I knew
                the guy.  I knew his wife and children.

     EXT. CARL JR.'S HOME - DAY

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

                          MORAN
                Hey there, men.  Is your mother home?

     He spits his gum into a wrapper.  The older boy nods towards
     the house.

                          MORAN
                You go on and play, now.

     They don't move.  He goes to the front door.  Calls out.

                          MORAN
                Susan Marie?

     INT. CARL JR.'S HOME - DAY

     Pausing in the entrance, Moran calls again.

                          MORAN
                Are you there?

                          SUSAN MARIE (O.S.)
                Come on in.  I'll be right down.

     Moran takes in the room, neat and ordered, in a warm and
     comfortable fashion.  On the wall, a collection of family
     photographs:  earlier generations of blunt-faced Germans who
     never smiled for photographs.

     Susan Marie comes in, spittle-marked baby's diaper across her
     shoulder, a baby's bottle in her hand.

                          SUSAN MARIE
                What can I do for you, Art, Carl's not
                home yet.  Is everything okay?

                          MORAN
                That's...

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

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

     She looks at him, uncomprehending.

                          MORAN
                Carl died last night.  Out at Ship
                Channel Bank.

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

                          MORAN
                We found him, Susan Marie.  Tangled in
                his net.

     And with these words, a slack, blank look crosses her face,
     and she sits down HARD on a chair.  The baby's bottle slips
     from her grasp.

     Moran doesn't know what to do. She begins to rock, very
     slowly.  Her face is more terrible than tears.  It is
     frightened.  She murmurs to herself, so that we can barely
     hear...

                          SUSAN MARIE
                I knew this would happen.  I warned
                him...

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Moran fidgets on the stand.

                          NELS (O.S.)
                Now Sheriff, you've said there was no
                sign of a struggle?  Nothing out of the
                ordinary?

     SEE him now.  NELS stands beside his impassive client.

                          MORAN
                Well, as I said, with a fella as
                particular as Carl, there were a coupla
                things that struck me as odd.

     And Nels begins to walk toward him.

                          NELS
                Yes, you mentioned the coffee cup on the
                floor.  Was there anything else out of
                place?

                          MORAN
                Well, there was this dead battery just
                lying around.  And the cover to the
                battery well didn't fit right.

                          NELS
                A battery cover that didn't fit?  What
                did you make of that?

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

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

     A real.  Friendly smile.

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

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

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

                          JUDGE
                Proceed, gentlemen.

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

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

                          MORAN
                I looked under the lid and found one of
                the batteries was bigger than the other.

                          NELS
                Didn't that also strike you as odd that
                he would have a battery that didn't fit?
                A man as particular as Carl?

     INT/EXT SUSAN MARIE CABIN, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - DAY

     INTERCUT...Moran opens the battery well in the cabin...

                          MORAN (O.S.)
                Yeah, I wondered.  But he'd done some on-
                the-spot work, you see.  The flange was
                kind of banged away to make room for the
                one that was too big.

     We see the flange, and two distinguishably different
     batteries in place.  The third resting on the cabin floor
     beside the well.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     BACK TO the courtroom.  Moran still on the stand.

                          NELS
                Now tell me.  Would this "too big"
                battery have fit, say, in Kazuo
                Miyamoto's battery well?

                          MORAN
                It was the exact same type as Miyamoto's,
                that's for sure.  But he had both his
                batteries in when we searched his boat
                later.

                          NELS
                And no spare?

                          MORAN
                Like I said.  Carl was different than
                most.  I mean, no one ever carries a
                spare.

     INT/EXT SUSAN MARIE CABIN, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - DAY

     Moran on his knees.  Running his fingers along the flange of
     the well.  He looks up at Abel.

                          MORAN
                It's like you car.  Who carries a spare
                battery for their car?

     INT. COURTROOM - LATER

     Horace Whaley, the county coroner, folds his arms.  Searching
     for the appearance of ease in the witness box.

                          WHALEY
                ...prior to that, I served as a medical
                officer.  In the Pacific.

                          HOOKS
                So.  In your profession as medical
                officer and coroner.  I take it you
                would've had to deal with head injuries
                on many occasions?

                          WHALEY
                Countless.

                          HOOKS
                And does your experience allow you to
                determine the probable cause of a head
                wound?

                          WHALEY
                Absolutely.  You get hit with a crowbar.
                Or a hammer.  Or fall off a motorcycle.
                The injuries look different.  In this
                case, the injury had been inflicted by a
                long, narrow, flat object.

                          HOOKS
                Like a fishing gaff, for example?

                          WHALEY
                That's very possible.

                          HOOKS
                    (refers to Whaley's report)
                You say it was..."a laceration about two-
                and-a-half inches long above the left
                ear, the bone under it fractured over a
                four-inch area"...Tell me, have you seen
                this specific kind of wound before?

                          WHALEY
                Frequently.  As a result of hand-to-hand
                combat with Jap soldiers.

     He looks over at the Sheriff.

                          WHALEY
                I even told Art "If you want to play
                Sherlock Holmes, you ought to look for a
                Jap with a bloody gun butt."

                          HOOKS
                What led you to that conclusion?

                          WHALEY
                I'd seen those kendo wounds many times.
                Exactly like this one.

     Whaley looks smugly at Kazuo.

                          HOOKS
                Could you tell us what kendo is?

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

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

                          HOOKS (O.S.)
                No further questions.

     EXT. FIELDS - DAWN

     Mist of early light.  Two dark figures, little more than
     silhouettes, measuring their distance from each other with
     their lethal shinai staffs.  One is a full-grown man.  The
     other, eight years old.  Dialogue plays in JAPANESE,
     subtitled in English...

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

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

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

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

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

                          ZENICHI
                Kazuo!  Never show your pain.  Don't ever
                show your feelings.  On your face.  Or
                anywhere.

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

                          ZENICHI
                Elbow soft.  A little better.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Whaley stares with the air of disdain of a man playing chess
     with an unworthy opponent.

                          NELS (O.S.)
                But your report states it was death by
                drowning, not a kendo wound.  How did you
                determine this?

                          WHALEY
                As I testified, I found foam in the
                deceased's lungs.

                          NELS
                Yes, this foam...I'm not sure I
                understand about that, Horace.  What
                would cause that again?

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

                          NELS
                    (slightly confused)
                But you can see why I'm confused, because
                a drowned person doesn't breathe.  So
                how...?

                          WHALEY
                Of course now.  The foam means that he
                went in breathing.

     Ah.  Nels holds the pause.

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

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

                          WHALEY
                Well you can always...

                          NELS
                    (quickly)
                Thank you Horace.  That's important.
                That's good.  But there's something else
                I'd like to ask you about now.  Something
                in your evidence...

     He picks up Whaley's report from the clerk's desk.  Smiles at
     her.

                          WHALEY
                Go ahead and ask.

                          NELS
                About the wound to the deceased's head.
                You say it was made by a "long, narrow,
                flat" object.  Is that what you saw?  Or
                is that your inference?

                          WHALEY
                    (really pissed)
                It's my job to infer.  That's what
                coroners do.  They infer.  That's my area
                of expertise.  Inference.

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

                          NELS
                Of course it is, Horace.  Now can you
                infer whether an object was propelled
                against the head of the deceased, or his
                head moved against an object?  Or would
                both look the same?

                          WHALEY
                The same.

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

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

                          NELS
                Nonetheless, is it possible?

                          WHALEY
                Sure, anything's poss...

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

                          WHALEY
                Didn't I just say that?  I already said
                that, but...

                          NELS
                But you are certain that he died by
                drowning.

                          WHALEY
                For the third time, yes.

     Nels nods.  Whaley is beyond frustrated.

                          WHALEY
                Can I say something, here?

                          NELS
                No thank you, Horace.  You've been more
                than helpful.  No further questions.

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

                          JUDGE
                We'll take our lunch recess.  Reconvene
                at...one-thirty sharp.

     The gavel CRACKS onto the block.  Judge Fielding stands to
     leave, and the BAILIFF begins to usher the jury from its box.

     Abel Martinson, the deputy, puts his hand gently on Kazuo's
     arm, as the defendant turns...

     ...to face his wife.  Standing at the rail.  Nels gestures to
     Abel to give them some space.  Hesitantly, the deputy steps
     away a few feet.  And beneath the courtroom buzz...

                          KAZUO
                How are the kids?

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

                          HATSUE
                They're excited.  They love the snow.

                          KAZUO
                    (softly)
                Well, that's great.

     Abel looks uneasily around.

                          KAZUO
                Anyway.  Just a few more days.

     And for the first time, KAZUO smiles at her.  She stares
     back, her heart in her eyes.

                          KAZUO
                You look beautiful.

                          ABEL
                Look, Art's gonna want me to...

                          KAZUO
                I'm not going until you smile.

                          HATSUE
                    (hurriedly, in Japanese)
                Don't sit so straight like Tojo's
                soldier.  I think it's dangerous with
                this jury.

     That does it for Abel.  He grasps Kazuo's arm and tugs, but
     he can't budge the defendant.

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

     HOLD ON her.  Watching him go.

     Over her shoulder, up in the balcony, Ishmael stares at her.

     In his mind, the memory of her voice begins...

     EXT. SOUTH BEACH - DAY

     Muddy legs splash through the shallows.  Two thirteen-year
     olds have the beach to themselves.  Hatsue carries a leaky
     bucket full of clams.

                          HATSUE
                Oceans don't mix--the Atlantic, the
                Pacific, Indian, Arctic...they're
                different.

                          ISHMAEL
                How are they different?

                          HATSUE
                Just because.  It's not one ocean.

                          ISHMAEL
                They are too one ocean.  They're really
                just part of the same one.  They mix
                underneath.

                          HATSUE
                No, they don't mix.  They're different
                temperatures.

                          ISHMAEL
                How do you know?

                          HATSUE
                I just do.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. SOUTH BEACH - DAY

     LATER.  Digging in the sand.  Ishmael reaches his arm deep
     into a muddy hole, almost to his shoulder.

                          HATSUE
                Take it easy!  Slow is best.

     She reaches into the hole beside him.  Her fingers explore
     the shell of the dug-in geoduck clam.  Ishmael studies her
     closely, her muddy knee just inches from his face, as she
     focuses on her task.

                          HATSUE
                He's too deep.  We need to keep digging.

     They are digging now, together.  Carefully.

                          ISHMAEL
                Here he comes.  We've got him now.

     Gently, Hatsue begins to dislodge the clam from its lair.
     She lifts it clear.  She admires its size and roughness with
     her fingertips.  Washes it in the shallows.  He watches her
     movements intently.

                          ISHMAEL
                    (quietly)
                I like you.  Do you know what I mean,
                Hatsue?  I've always liked you.

     The words make her turn.  Not startled, exactly.  Alerted.

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

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

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

     His face is unsmiling, but he is helpless with happiness.
     Contemplating the kiss.

     INT. SCHOOL BUS - MORNING

     Ishmael boarding a crowded school bus.  Kids are chattering,
     arguing.  Racial separation is fairly evident.  Up the aisle,
     he sees...

     ...Hatsue sitting with her Japanese friends.  He walks slowly
     past, trying not to look at her.  He can't help himself.

     He sits.  She never looks back.

     EXT. IMADA HOME - DUSK

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

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

     He watches, rapt, as she unpins and folds the clothes,
     clenching the clothespins in her teeth.  Then reeling the
     line again, elegant hand over elegant hand.  She corrals the
     long sweep of her hair, knotting it deftly, before heading
     inside.  HOLD ON Ishmael watching, and...

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. IMADA HOME - NIGHT

     last light.  Insects thrum in the stillness.  Ishmael is
     walking away from the house when he hears the sound of a
     FLUTE.  He looks back to see...

     Hatsue's face appears through a lighted window, a FLUTE to
     her lips.  She plays.

     Ishmael scarcely breathing.  Transfixed for a moment.  Then
     continues on his way.

     EXT. STRAWBERRY FIELDS - DAY

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

     Three rows away.  Ishmael watches.  The fear not far beneath
     the surface of his quiet features.  He sees Hatsue slip a
     berry into her mouth and watches her eat it.

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

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. STRAWBERRY FIELDS - LATE AFTERNOON

     LATER...end of day.  The young pickers turning in their flats
     as a gentle rain begins.  Hatsue slips her money into her
     pocket without counting it, and...

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

     EXT. CEDAR FOREST - DAY

     Ishmael runs through the cedar forest in the rain.  Ahead of
     him, we see a glimpse of Hatsue disappearing through the
     trees.  Ishmael pursues her at a distance.  Suddenly he
     stops, looking intently ahead.

     Through the rain, we see an ancient cedar, a large hollow in
     its base.  A fallen tree and the thick, ferny underbrush
     obscure it and add to its sense of secrecy.

     Ishmael approaches tentatively.  He stops again.

     Hatsue's face appears in the entrance to the hollow.

                          HATSUE
                You followed me, huh?

     Rain pelts off Ishmael's soaked form.

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

     She pulls her hair behind her ears.

                          HATSUE
                You're getting wet...

     She starts refastening her hair now, looking away.  He comes
     inside...

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. CEDAR HOLLOW - DAY

     ...and crouches as respectfully far from her as he can.
     Which is close.  He watches her, watches her, and...

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

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

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

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

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

                          ISHMAEL
                Me neither.

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

                          HATSUE
                Do you think this is wrong?

     He swallows.  Staring at her lying there so comfortably.

                          ISHMAEL
                Your friends would.  Your dad would kill
                me.

                          HATSUE
                He'd chop you up with a Samurai sword.

     Ah.  Better.  They are both grinning now.

                          HATSUE
                My mom is the problem.

                          ISHMAEL
                Why?  We're only talking.

     They look at each other for a lingering moment of silence.

     INT. IMADA BEDROOM - DAY

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

                          FUJIKO
                    (in Japanese)
                No, you must never look at a man
                directly.  This is part of grace.

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

                          HATSUE
                Boys on this island don't care about
                grace.

     Her mother studies her with some irritation.  She sighs.

                          FUJIKO
                    (in Japanese)
                The boys on this island are hakujin.
                They don't see grace, and they are full
                of lust.  They will seek to destroy your
                virginity.

     Hatsue's eyes widen slightly.

                          FUJIKO
                    (in English)
                Stay away from white boys.  Marry one of
                your own kind whose heart is strong and
                gentle.

     Hatsue sighs as she works on her hair.  The older woman reads
     the young face in the mirror.

                          FUJIKO
                The pin.  Could be better placed.

     INT/EXT HOLLOW CEDAR - DAY

     The teenagers are sprawled on the ground, sheltered in the
     hollowed-out base.

                          HATSUE
                She teaches me.  To be Japanese.

     He laughs.

                          ISHMAEL
                What does that mean...

                          HATSUE
                Dances, calligraphy.  How to do my hair.

     He is enthralled.  Lost in being with her.

                          HATSUE
                How to sit without moving.

                          ISHMAEL
                What's the point of that?

                          HATSUE
                It's a part of grace.  You boys don't
                understand.

                          ISHMAEL
                Try me...

                          HATSUE
                She doesn't let me get away with
                anything.

                          ISHMAEL
                It's the same for me.  Except it's my
                Dad.

     INT. ISLAND REVIEW PRINTING PRESS ROOM - DAY

     A horrific CLANGING noise, the clash of metal on metal.

     See ARTHUR CHAMBERS now, at the printing press, an enormous
     cast iron contraption, shrieking like an ancient locomotive.

     Thirteen-year-old Ishmael is assisting him, feeding paper
     into the press.  His shirtsleeves are rolled up, but one is
     loose, its cuff dangling.

     Arthur is a strong featured, intelligent man, with round gun-
     metal rimmed spectacles and garters on his shirtsleeves.  He
     gracefully ducks in and out of the machine, inspecting plates
     and printing cylinders.

     Arthur pauses to take off his spectacles.  Polishes them on
     the fabric of his shirt.  Carefully, puts them back on.  It's
     a characteristic gesture of his.

     Ishmael reaches over the machine to feed it, his loose sleeve
     precariously close to the meshing gears.

     Suddenly, Arthur's hand...

     ...STABS OUT in a LIGHTNING move to GRASP the boy's arm.

                          ARTHUR
                You know what would happen to an operator
                who got his sleeve caught in the press?

     The boy's eyes widen.  What?  Arthur smiles.

                          ARTHUR
                He'd be popped open in one instant.  Like
                a balloon.  And splattered across the
                walls.

     Ishmael flicks a look to the machinery.  Gently, Arthur turns
     the boy's face to look him in the eye.

                          ARTHUR
                    (dramatically)
                Even his bones would disappear.  To be
                discovered later on the floor.  Like
                strips of white confetti.

     Ishmael tries to look unimpressed.  Arthur smiles.

     INT/EXT HOLLOW CEDAR - DAY

     The teenagers safe in their haven.  Ishmael lies close to
     Hatsue.  Staring at her with absorption.  She nestles her
     head in the crook of his arm.

     They kiss.  Ignoring the drips of water that find their way
     in.

     Outside, the rain POUNDING down.  A wall of water sealing
     them from the world.

     INT. COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR - DAY

     Feet hurry up the stairs.  People jostle past Hatsue who sets
     her own pace, unhurried.  As she reaches the landing she
     notices...

     ...Ishmael looking down the stairwell at her.

     Her gaze flicks away from him as she passes into the
     courtroom.  No acknowledgement.

     HOLD on Ishmael as we HEAR A BRASS BAND...

                                               MUSIC ADVANCED FROM:

     EXT. MAIN STREET, AMITY HARBOR - DAY

     A modest parade of floats is passing.  On the sidewalk, a
     genial crowd of farmers, fishermen, families of both races.

     In the Island Review office, Ishmael (now 17) reloads
     Arthur's camera.  Outside, an elderly Japanese farmer,
     NAGAISHI, approaches Helen and Arthur with a basket of
     strawberries.  A gift.  Ishmael dashes out to join them.

                          NAGAISHI
                Five sons.  That's my secret, Mr.
                Chambers.  That's important!

                          ARTHUR
                Well we've tried, Mr. Nagaishi.  We've
                tried hard!
                    (puts an arm around Ishmael)
                But my Ishmael here, he's a match easily
                for two lads.  Three!  We have high hopes
                for him.

                          NAGAISHI
                Oh yes, your son is a very good boy.  A
                strong heart like his father.  We wish
                him good fortune.

     Nagaishi bows and takes his leave.

     The STRAWBERRY PRINCESS float approaches, bearing a gigantic
     papier-mâché STRAWBERRY at one end and the Strawberry
     Princess and her attendants at the other.

                          ARTHUR
                Did you ever wonder why the Strawberry
                Princess is always a Japanese girl?

                          ISHMAEL
                Not really.

                          HELEN
                I'm sure your father will explain it to
                you anyway.

     The Strawberry Princess turns in Ishmael's direction.  It's
     Hatsue, tiara on her head, scepter in her hand...

                          ARTHUR
                She's sort of an unwitting virgin
                sacrifice.  To the concept of racial
                harmony.  And you know what?  For a
                moment, it seems to work.

     Ishmael watches Hatsue closely.  Looking radiant, she
     demurely acknowledges the cheers of the crowd.  Nearby,
     FUJIKO looks on approvingly as she watches with Hatsue's
     sisters.

                          ARTHUR
                That's the Fujita girl, isn't it?

                          ISHMAEL
                No, Dad.  It's Hatsue Imada.

                          ARTHUR
                Oh, yes.  She's lovely.

     Helen glances at Ishmael, noticing his interest.

     Arthur raises his camera and takes a shot of the Strawberry
     Princess.

     CLOSE ON Ishmael, eager to catch Hatsue's eye.  Helen watches
     him discreetly.

     Hatsue's head turns toward him, and although she sees him,
     she gives him no acknowledgement.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     CLOSE ON Ishmael, once more in the row of reporters.  He's
     looking at Hatsue down below, though he can only see the side
     of her face and her hair, bound up securely at the back of
     her head.

                          HOOKS (O.S.)
                Mrs. Heine, you were acquainted with the
                defendant and his family, were you not?

     ETTA HEINE is in her early fifties.  Her voice bears traces
     of her German accent.  She warily pulls her hem down tight
     below her knees.

                          ETTA
                Him and his folks worked our land.  Lived
                in one of the cabins at first.

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

                          ETTA
                They fished together.  Went to school.
                My boy Carl treated him like a white
                person.  Like any friend.

     Said not with pride, but regret.

                          HOOKS
                So where did things go wrong?

                          ETTA
                My husband went and sold his father
                    (points at Kazuo)
                seven acres of our land.  That's where
                all this trouble started.

     INT/EXT CARL SR. FARMHOUSE - DAY

     Etta fifteen years younger, watches stoically from the parlor
     window, as her husband CARL SENIOR strolls the strawberry
     fields with young Kazuo and his father, Zenichi.  Carl is a
     well-weathered man, and puffs a pipe as Zenichi stops, sweeps
     his arms this way and that.  The boy looks from the men to
     the vistas of the land itself, as if trying to piece together
     what all this means for him.

     The two men clasp hands in a firm shake of agreement.  Etta
     knows trouble when she sees it.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Hooks pacing, slow and calm.

                          HOOKS
                But how can this be, since we all know
                it's against the law for Japanese-born to
                own land?

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

                          HOOKS
                But, even leasing is illegal.  And as
                Japanese-born, they could never legally
                take title.

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

     She folds her hands.  Looks Kazuo squarely in the eye.

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

                          HOOKS
                Missed their last two payments.  After
                years of not missing one?

                          ETTA
                It was the war.  They were gone.  Sent
                off to the camps.  With all the other
                Japs.

     INT. CARL SR. FARMHOUSE KITCHEN - DAY

     Carl Sr. and Zenichi sit at the table.  Carl smooths out a
     poster which Zenichi has brought.  We read:  EVACUATION
     INSTRUCTIONS TO ALL PERSONS OF JAPANESE ANCESTRY.

     Carl lights his pipe.  Compassion in the broad weathered
     face.  Etta watches by the stove.

                          ZENICHI
                ...if you like, you can work our fields,
                sell berries, keep the money.  Otherwise,
                they just rot.

     Zenichi produces a neat stack of bills.  Puts them on the
     table.

                          ZENICHI
                Today, I have half money toward next
                paym...

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

     Zenichi spreads the bills out.  On the table.

                          ZENICHI
                Please, you take.  One hundred and twenty-
                five dollars.  Then, I send more from
                where I'm going.  If not enough, you sell
                my seven acre berries, and keep the
                money.

                          ETTA
                Thought you was givin' us those.

     And everything.  Stops.

                          ETTA
                Didn't you come in here givin' them away?
                Now you want to make up the other half in
                berries you expect us to tend and pick.
                Is that what you come here hopin' on?

     Zenichi keeps his anger within.  His face is set.

                          ETTA
                You want more coffee?

                          ZENICHI
                No, thank you.  Take money, please.

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

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

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

                          ETTA
                Road ended when my husband passed away.
                I couldn't run the farm by myself, so...
                I sold all thirty acres to Ole Jurgensen.
                Got a fair price, this time.  And...

     Straightens her spine.  To deliver the clincher...

                          ETTA
                Sent their equity back to those Japs,
                down to that camp in California.  Which I
                didn't have to do.

     Hooks pauses.  As if drinking this in.  But Nels' attention
     is drawn to Kazuo as he stares at Etta.

                          HOOKS
                So they got all their money back?  And
                that was that.  Or did you hear from the
                defendant's family again?

                          ETTA
                Oh yes, I heard from them alright.  That
                one there.  Sitting over there.

     She points to Kazuo who stares back at her with eyes as hard
     as her own.

                          ETTA
                He just showed up at my door.

     EXT/INT ETTA'S APARTMENT, AMITY HARBOR - DAY

     Kazuo stands at the open door, in his army uniform.  No one
     is inviting him inside.

                          ETTA
                Carl's overseas, fighting the Japs.  What
                is it you want?

                          KAZUO
                    (quietly)
                I came to get our land back.

     He looks her squarely in the eye, fearlessly.  Etta is a
     little unnerved.

                          ETTA
                It isn't yours.  It's Ole Jurgensen's
                now.  Got talk to him about it.

     She goes to shut the door.  Kazuo stops it with his foot.

                          KAZUO
                I just did.  He didn't know it was our
                land.  You didn't tell him Mr. Heine
                promised my fath...

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

     Kazuo stands.  Calm, unblinking.

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

                          ETTA
                Get out of here.

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

     SLAM.  The door has closed in his face.  And Kazuo stands
     there.  As if deciding.

     Whether to break it down.

     EXT. AMITY HARBOR STREET - DAY

     Kazuo heads down the steep, wooden steps from the house.  He
     stops, momentarily unsteady.  He holds the handrail as if to
     brace himself.

     EXT. WOODED HILLSIDE - DAY

     A wooded European hillside.  A summer's afternoon.  The
     droning of bees...CLOSE ON a SOLDIER, in U.S. Army uniform.
     It's Kazuo, his eyes searching ahead.  A burst of machine gun
     fire rips the air.  Then stops.  Just as suddenly.

     Kazuo signals a fellow soldier, also Japanese.  A flurry of
     action.  Half a dozen men run from cover to cover up a hill.
     All are Japanese-Americans.  Across the valley more bursts of
     firing.  Some explosions.  Two soldiers fall.  Others drag
     them to cover.

     Now alone, Kazuo inches around a tree.  He continues
     cautiously up the slope.  Now we see his objective: a crude
     bunker-like construction near the ridge top.

     Carefully, Kazuo approaches the machine-gun nest.  Taking out
     a grenade, he draws the pin.  He holds it briefly, then
     suddenly stands and tosses it into the opening.

     He throws himself down behind a fallen tree.  A muffled
     EXPLOSION.  Clods of earth rain down on Kazuo.

     CLOSE ON the entrance.  Legs visible inside, lying on the
     ground.  Not a hint of movement.

     Cautiously, Kazuo maneuvers for a better sightline.  He
     carefully works his way into the SMOKING wreckage.  Now he
     can see three German soldiers inside, clearly dead.  The
     fourth is just a boy, barely sixteen, and already badly
     wounded.  He sees Kazuo, and his hand reaches with difficulty
     behind some rubble.  Swiftly, Kazuo steps on the boy's wrist
     to stop him.  Then sees the boy's left arm moving in the
     darkness near the booted feet of one of his dead companions.

     In a reflex action, Kazuo smashes his rifle butt to the side
     of the boy's head.  A lightning quick coup de grace.  Kendo
     style.  From the boy's hand drops: a water canteen.

     EXT. AMITY HARBOR STREET - DAY

     Kazuo resumes walking down the street away from Etta's house.

     WIDE SHOT...we see him angrily pull his army cap from his
     head.

     INT. COURTROOM - LATE AFTERNOON

     Hooks swivels, pointing his forefinger at Nels.

                          HOOKS
                Your witness.

     Remaining seated, Nels slouches back a little in his chair.
     Gazing benignly into Etta's hostile glare.

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

                          ETTA
                Tried to.  Defaulted on their payments.

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

                          ETTA
                A thousand.

                          NELS
                I guess that makes $4500 into $7000,
                doesn't it?  If you sent the equity back,
                you had a profit of $2500.

                          ETTA
                Is that your third question?

                          NELS
                It is.

                          ETTA
                You done your math right.

     The old man wears a thin, cold smile.

                          NELS
                You, too.  Mrs. Heine.  No further
                questions.

     THE JUDGE glances at Hooks.  Then:

                          JUDGE
                You may step down, Mrs. Heine.

     ANGLE ON Kazuo.  As he watches Etta rise from the box.

     Judge Lew Fielding leans his frame toward the jurors...

                          JUDGE
                It's a shame to keep you folks from your
                families in a storm like this.  I do hope
                you'll be reasonably comfortable in the
                hotel tonight.  And one more thing...

     He smiles softly.  And turns directly to the press balcony.

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

     Slight pause.  To make sure they are listening.

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

     Gavel CRACKS down.

                          JUDGE
                Nine-thirty tomorrow morning.  Stay warm.

     EXT. COURTHOUSE - DUSK

     It's already dark, as Ishmael emerges into the snow.  People
     hurry across the street.  Cars pull away from the curb.

     Through the lamplight, Ishmael sees Nels, shoulders hunched
     against the cold.  Walking away from the courthouse.  Alone.

     EXT. TORGERSON SERVICE STATION - EVENING

     A set of SNOW CHAINS are wrapped around a tire.

     DAVE TORGERSON is pumping gas for Ishmael while his teenage
     son hooks up his chains.  It's busy around the gas pumps.

                          DAVE
                Let it snow, let it snow!

     He laughs heartily.

                          ISHMAEL
                Biggest snowstorm I can remember.

                          DAVE
                Where were you in '29?  Now that was a
                snowstorm.  A real blizzard.

     Ishmael shrugs noncommittally.  Island gossip.

                          DAVE
                Don't believe me!  Go check the
                coastguard weather records if you want
                proof.

                          ISHMAEL
                I suppose there might be a story in it.

                          DAVE
                Scribble, scribble, scribble!  While the
                rest of us have to work for a living!

     Ishmael smiles, tolerating the usual jibe.

     INT. NELS' APARTMENT - NIGHT

     Nels in shirtsleeves at his table.  Brooding over the
     remnants of his meal.  He looks out the window, assessing the
     weather.  Coming to a decision, he reaches for his coat.

     By the door, he hesitates a moment.  Then steps to the table
     and picks up a CIGAR BOX and CHESSBOARD.  He goes out.

     EXT. COAST GUARD LIGHTHOUSE, POINT WHITE - NIGHT

     ...the LIGHTHOUSE, slicing its shaft of light through the
     snow, across the shore, across the water.  A foghorn SOUNDS.

     The Chrysler pulls up.  Ishmael gets out and trudges towards
     the concrete tower...

     INT. LIGHTHOUSE RECORDS ROOM - NIGHT

     A filing drawer opens.  Weather reports, month by month.

                          LEVANT
                Everything's dated.  That's how we do
                things - by dates mainly.  Radio
                transmissions, shipping logs, weather
                reports, the whole nine yards.

     The young Coast Guard radioman indicates the crates and boxes
     stacked floor to ceiling in the cramped room.

                          LEVANT
                Those boxes go clear back to Noah.  Not
                that anyone ever pays them any mind.

     Ishmael nods, contemplating the mountain of information.  A
     thought occurs to him.

                          ISHMAEL
                You monitor all radio activity?
                Fishermen, that sort of thing?

                          LEVANT
                Pretty much.  Anything significant that
                is.  Some of those guys don't know when
                to shut up.

     He heads for the door.

                          LEVANT
                Just yell if you need me.

     Ishmael considers the drawer open at "December."  He pulls
     open another one, and hunts out the file marked "September."

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. JAIL - NIGHT

     Kazuo lies on his cot.  The sound of a key in the lock.  He
     sits up, as Abel Martinson steps in, followed by Nels.

     Abel leaves, locking the door.  Nels opens the cigar box,
     takes out a cigar.  Offers one to Kazuo.

                          NELS
                I should've thought of this weeks ago.
                I've been looking for someone with the
                free time to play chess for fifty years.
                My guess is you play a mean game.

     He sets up the board.

                          NELS
                White or black?

                          KAZUO
                Advantages to both.  You choose.

                          NELS
                Most players prefer to open.  Why is that
                anyway?

                          KAZUO
                Must believe in taking the offensive.

                          NELS
                And you don't?

     Kazuo takes a pawn in each hand.  Offers them.

                          KAZUO
                This is the best way.

                          NELS
                If we're going to leave it to chance,
                left is as good as right.

     Kazuo looks at him.  Which will it be?

     Nels taps one hand.  Kazuo opens it, black.

                          NELS
                Your move.

     INT. LIGHTHOUSE RECORDS ROOM - NIGHT

     Ishmael stares at the folder.  Open on the table.

     CLOSE ON the report he's reading.

     "SEPTEMBER 16TH.
     1:41 A.M.  FOG HEAVY.  FREIGHTER S.S. WEST CORONA OFF COURSE.
     REQUESTED SIGNAL.

     1:42 S.S. WEST CORONA CORRECTING COURSE VIA SHIP CHANNEL
     BANK."

     Ishmael pulls his courtroom notepad from his pocket.  Thumbs
     through it.  Finds what he's looking for.  He puts the
     notebook next to the open report on file.

     His finger compares two details.

     "1:42 A.M." and "1:47 A.M. CARL HEINE'S WATCH STOPS."

     Ishmael considers this.  Puts away the notebook.
     Contemplates the report.

                          ISHMAEL
                    (calls out)
                Hey.  Levant!

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. LIGHTHOUSE RECORDS ROOM - NIGHT - LATER

     ANGLE ON a chart table.

     Ishmael and Levant lean over a map.  Levant explains.

                          LEVANT
                There's the shipping channel.  Any
                freighter off-course can dogleg back
                through here.

     His finger bisects "SHIP CHANNEL BANK."

                          LEVANT
                But that only happens if we're really
                socked in.

                          ISHMAEL
                Don't the gillnetters work off the bank?

                          LEVANT
                Not even those guys're crazy enough to
                hang around in a bad fog!  They get the
                hell out of there.

     He looks up at Ishmael.

                          LEVANT
                What's it got to do with your snowstorm
                story?

                          ISHMAEL
                Nothing.  Just curious that's all.

     Levant goes to return the file to its drawer.

                          ISHMAEL
                Here, I'll do it.

     As he returns the file to the drawer, he deftly removes the
     radio report and pockets it.

     INT. JAIL - NIGHT - LATER

     The chess game has progressed.  More black pieces than white.
     Kazuo studies the board silently.  A small smile.  He gently
     topples his king on its side.  Conceding defeat.

     A match STRIKES.  Nels puts it to his cigar.  Kazuo puts his
     aside.

                          NELS
                Jury sees what I see more often than not.

                          KAZUO
                And what do you see?

                          NELS
                What do I see?  I see a guilty man.

                          KAZUO
                Maybe.  Ask the men I killed in the war.

                          NELS
                But that was war.

                          KAZUO
                You don't understand.

     Nels takes a puff.  Considers Kazuo's face.

                          NELS
                But...that jury's asking themselves what
                was your reason?  To kill Carl Heine.
                Well, first there's the land itself.

     Kazuo says not a word.

                          NELS
                Then there's prejudice.  Your people
                locked in a concentration camp.  Your
                father never returns.  You go off to
                fight the Nazis.  Come back to this.

     Nels leans back against the wall.  Weary.

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

                          KAZUO
                She's not alone.

                          NELS
                You're right there.

     Nels shakes his head.

                          NELS
                But I'll tell you something.  Hooks has
                missed the one reason.  One reason.  You
                coulda done it.

     A flicker.  Behind the defendant's eyes.

                          NELS
                I watched you while Etta Heine was
                testifying.  And you weren't thinking
                about her.  Or about land.  Or about you.
                No, it wasn't you she dishonored.

     He sighs.

                          NELS
                Your father was a man of honor.  He chose
                his own death rather than...

                          KAZUO
                    (abruptly)
                What's your point?

     There is a silence.  And then...

                          NELS
                My point is, you're on trial, Kazuo.  For
                murder.  In the first degree.  And unless
                you want to hang...

     The word sits between them.  Kazuo's face shows nothing.

                          NELS
                Now tomorrow.  Just like today.  That
                jury will be looking at the evidence with
                one eye.  And at you with the other.
                You'd better show them an innocent man.

     A pause.  Kazuo considers this.

                          KAZUO
                You know what I learned from my father?
                "Fate favors the courageous."  That's
                what he used to tell me.

                          NELS
                Your father.  Would have wanted you to
                return to your family.  There's no shame
                or dishonor in that.

     Kazuo draws himself up.  Back straight.  His face returning
     to its neutral mask.  Nels sighs.  He gets up to leave.

                          NELS
                The courageous can also be fools.

     INT. IMADA HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

     Carrying two cups of tea, Sumiko joins her parents at the
     table.

                          SUMIKO
                She's asleep.

     INT. IMADA HOUSE BEDROOM - NIGHT

     CLOSE ON Hatsue.  Her head on a pillow.  Eyes open.

     PULL AWAY to reveal her two children in bed beside her.  All
     asleep.  Hatsue lies there.  Wide awake.  Through the gauze
     curtains, snow falls softly outside.

     A candle flickers at the bedside.  CLOSE ON the flame to find
     WE ARE IN...

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. BUDDHIST CHAPEL - NIGHT

     ...a makeshift sanctuary.  Candles, offerings of fruit.  A
     young COUPLE together before a BUDDHIST PRIEST.  Kazuo, now
     in U.S. Army uniform, and Hatsue, her best dress.  Becoming
     one.

     EXT. MANZANAR INTERNMENT CAMP/EXT. BUDDHIST CHAPEL - NIGHT

     A searchlight sweeps barbed wire, rows of dark barracks
     blurred by swirling dust.

     Our young couple and their wedding party tumble out into the
     windy night, laughing.  Running to escape the dust.

     INT. IMADA BARRACKS - LATER

     A cramped, ramshackle room.  Dust blowing through gaps in the
     flimsy walls.  FUJIKO IMADA hangs the last of the woolen army
     blankets to divide the room in half, as on the other side, we
     see...

     Kazuo, on a box, unscrewing the lightbulb to turn it off.

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

                          HATSUE
                They'll hear everything.

     And her young husband turns.  Speaks to the curtain.

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

     And in a moment.  The MUSIC begins.  A wind-up 78 gramophone.

     He takes her hand, places it on his top button.  Encourages
     her to undo his shirt.

                          HATSUE
                Why do you have to volunteer...

                          KAZUO
                I have to.  Don't you see?
                    (turning to curtain)
                Can the music be louder, please?  We
                can't hear so good in here!

     The girl laughs soundlessly.  And as the music BLARES, he
     brushes a strand of hair off her cheek.  He kisses her face
     and unclasps her dress.

     On the other side of the curtain, Sumiko lies in bed.  Below
     the curtain she glimpses Hatsue's dress fall to the floor.

     INT. IMADA BARRACKS - NIGHT

     LATER...the newlyweds on their cot now.  Close together.
     Naked and hungry for each other.

                          KAZUO
                Have you ever done this before?

                          HATSUE
                Never.  You're my only.

     As he enters her.  She holds him close with all her strength.
     And with whispered intensity...

                          KAZUO
                    (in Japanese)
                Now I understand the deepest beauty.

     INT. IMADA HOUSE BEDROOM - NIGHT

     Hatsue turns on her side and cuddles up to her daughter.  Her
     eye catches a newspaper beside the bed.

     It's a copy of the ISLAND REVIEW.  Its headline: "First
     Island Murder Trial in 31 Years Begins."

     INT. SCHOOL BUS - DAY

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

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

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

                          DRIVER
                ...arresting Jap traitors, spies and
                everything.  There'll be a blackout
                tonight, so make sure you paper up your
                windows.  So the Japs can't find us.  You
                get the message?

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

                          ISHMAEL (O.S.)
                Hey, Mr. Lamberson.

     The driver's eyes snap around.

                          ISHMAEL
                We get the message.

     Hatsue and most of the others have turned to look at him.
     For a brief, rare moment their eyes lock.  In public.

     INT. ISHMAEL'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

     The door opens.  Ishmael comes into his apartment.  He shrugs
     off his coat.  Hangs it up.

     He takes the lighthouse report notes out of his pocket.
     Spreads them on the desk in the window.

     Outside the snow falls in endless cascades on main street.
     Ishmael considers the information he's found.  Turning it
     over in his mind.  His hand idly tapping his antiquated
     typewriter.

     SOUND OF a sudden flurry of rapid typing, AND WE ARE IN...

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. ISLAND REVIEW FRONT OFFICE - LATE AFTERNOON, RAIN

     ...as Ishmael types furiously.  Arthur paces around him,
     shirtsleeves rolled.  Suspenders, no tie.  Composing the
     day's editorial aloud to his son.

                          ARTHUR
                These people are our neighbors, they have
                sent their sons to the United States
                Army...they are no more an enemy than our
                fellow islanders of German descent...

     Hesitates briefly.  Then...

                          ARTHUR
                ...of German or Italian descent.  Let us
                live that, when it is over, we can look
                each other in the eye.  And know we have
                acted honorably.

     He leans across and RIPS the page out.  Reads it swiftly,
     then hands it to Ishmael.

                          ARTHUR
                Set that for me, would you?

     He leaves the office, polishing his spectacles.

     INT. ISLAND REVIEW PRINTING PRESS ROOM - NIGHT

     Ishmael works at typesetting the editorial.  The SOUND of the
     press CLATTERS from next door.  Ishmael reads the copy aloud,
     dramatically.  A politician on his soapbox.

                          ISHMAEL
                Let us LIVE that, when it is OVER, we can
                look each other in the eye.  And KNOW we
                have acted HONORABLY!

     He looks up to see Arthur watching him from the doorway.  One
     eyebrow raised.

                          ARTHUR
                    (dryly)
                Finished?

     His deadpan look doesn't fool Ishmael.  He grins.

                          ISHMAEL
                Just about!

     Arthur's face doesn't change.  Just a wrinkle of humor gives
     the game away.

     INT. IMADA HOUSE - DUSK

     A bustle of activity.  Fujiko hangs a blanket to blackout the
     windows.  Hisao takes down a shotgun, placing it on the table
     next to a box of shells.

     EXT. CEDAR FOREST - TWILIGHT

     Hatsue is out of breath, panting from running through the
     forest.  Ishmael tries to calm her.

                          HATSUE
                They've arrested Mr. Shirasaki, and his
                family can't leave their house.  They say
                he planted his strawberry rows like an
                arrow to guide bombers to some navy base.

     She is outraged.

                          HATSUE
                Those rows have been there since before
                we were born.

     He wants to lighten her.  Leans in and kisses her.

                          ISHMAEL
                Diabolical.  See, that's what makes you
                people so cunning.

     She pushes him away.  Agitated.

                          HATSUE
                Look at my face.  It's the face of the
                people who bombed Pearl Harbor.  We're in
                bad trouble, you have to see that.

     He puts a finger on her lips.  Brushes aside a strand of her
     hair.

                          ISHMAEL
                Everything's going to be fine.

     She reaches out and touches his face gently.

     EXT. IMADA HOUSE - NIGHT

     HATSUE nearing her house, some berries gathered in her apron.
     She looks up.  A black car approaches the house.  Headlights
     covered.  Hatsue freezes, watching.  Two men in suits get
     out.  Chatting, oblivious to Hatsue.  They put on their hats
     and go to the front door.

     INT. IMADA HOUSE - NIGHT

     CLOSE ON Hatsue, staring with silent anger greater than her
     fear.

                          HISAO (O.S.)
                    (shaky)
                We are loyal.  It is for our defense.

     PULL BACK to see the room.  Hatsue and her sisters side by
     side, staring at the table.  On it rests the shotgun, four
     boxes of shells, a ceremonial sword.  FBI AGENT CRAWFORD, is
     tagging each item.  He wears an insincere smile.

                          FUJIKO
                Everyone on the island has these things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

     And lays it on another table, next to a stack of Japanese
     sheet music, and a bamboo FLUTE.  The flute Ishmael had once
     watched Hatsue play through the window.

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

     He LIFTS the flute now, toward his lips, as if he intends to
     play it.  Then, his eyes cut playfully to Hatsue.  Only a
     joke.  Hatsue won't give him the satisfaction of reacting.

                          SUMIKO
                You have to take her flute?

     Fujiko is outraged.  Hisao's face masks fear and anger...

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

     And sees on the sofa, an open album.  Strolls over.  Picks it
     up.  Doesn't see Hatsue stiffen with revulsion, as he
     wanders, thumbing through it, toward the doorway...

                          AGENT CRAWFORD
                    (calling out)
                Wilson?  Stop pawing through the
                underwear!

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

                          AGENT CRAWFORD
                Strawberry Princess, huh?  You musta been
                flattered by that.

     A screen door slams.  FBI AGENT WILSON enters with a crate.

                          AGENT WILSON
                    (quiet triumph)
                Dynamite.  Twenty-four sticks.

     And the crate BANGS onto the table.  Just beside the kimono.

                          HISAO
                This for tree stumps.  For clearing land.

     The agent's smile fades now.

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

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

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

     Slight shrug.

                          AGENT CRAWFORD
                Now we gotta arrest you.  Have to take
                you to Seattle.

     Fujiko's breath catches.  One of the daughters whimpers.
     Wilson unhooks a pair of handcuffs from his belt, but...

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

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

                          HATSUE
                You can't do this.  He's done nothing
                wrong.

     Fujiko gestures to Hatsue for silence.

                          AGENT CRAWFORD
                Best for an honest man to clear his name
                for good and all.  He'll be back soon.

     They gather up the confiscated goods and escort Hisao to the
     door.

                          HISAO
                    (to Fujiko)
                Call Kenji Yamamoto.  Tell him I am
                arrested.

                          AGENT CRAWFORD
                I wouldn't bother.  We've got him too.

     EXT. IMADA HOUSE - NIGHT

     Hisao between them, the two agents cross the porch.  Wilson's
     hat bumps into the wind chimes.  A sudden jangling.  He
     glances at them, then reaches up and takes them down.

     The family watches from the doorway.  The younger girls
     sobbing.

     The oddly soothing tinkle of the chimes accompanies the men
     out to the waiting black car.

     EXT. WOODS - NIGHT

     Lantern light.  A pile of dirt.  Zenichi jabs a shovel into
     it.  Kazuo watches as he kneels down, removing objects from a
     burlap sack.  Places them into an open strongbox...

     ...wooden swords, hakama pants, a shinai, scrolls written
     with care.  Dialogue plays in Japanese, subtitled in
     ENGLISH...

                          ZENICHI
                Your great-grandfather was a samurai, a
                good soldier.

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

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

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

                          ZENICHI
                He went to battle with a sword.  Against
                guns.  Knowing what honor required.

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

                          ZENICHI
                He was angry.  Crazy.  But he knew what
                what honor required.

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

                          ZENICHI
                Honor can require loyalty.  Revenge.
                Death.

     It goes into the ground.  With the others.

                          ZENICHI
                Honor is the only scale.  In which our
                worth.  Is weighed.  Every life ends.
                And if it ends dishonored.  It is as
                if...

                          KAZUO
                ...as if we have never lived.

     INT. CHAMBERS' HOUSE, ARTHUR'S STUDY - LATE AFTERNOON

     The phone rings.  Arthur reaches over and picks it up.  A
     shrill squawking voice penetrates the room.  Expressionless,
     Arthur hangs up.

     Now we see: Helen, at Arthur's huge, cherrywood desk,
     recording advertising receipts in a ledger.  Opposite her,
     Ishmael reads their paper.  Its headline: ISLAND JAPANESE
     ACCEPT ARMY ORDER TO EVACUATE.

                          HELEN
                It's unbelievable to me...

                          ISHMAEL
                    (refers to paper)
                I don't know, Mom.  Here's twenty-three
                ladies honored by the PTA and Dad singles
                out three names.  And they're all
                Japanese.  That's not journalism.

     Helen glances at her husband.  He smiles.  A familiar debate.

                          ARTHUR
                Because?

                          ISHMAEL
                Because journalism.  Is just the facts.

                          ARTHUR
                Which facts?  You can't print them all.
                Journalism is making choices.  Culling
                out what's important.

     The phone rings again.  This time Arthur holds the receiver
     toward them:

                          PHONE VOICE
                "You know what happens to Jap lovers?
                Jap lovers get their balls cut off and
                stuffed down their..."

     Arthur hangs up again.

                          HELEN
                This is dangerous, Arthur.

                          ARTHUR
                It'll blow over.

                          HELEN
                Did you see the letters?

     She hands him one.  Arthur leans back.  He reads aloud.

                          ARTHUR
                "Seems like you're favoring the Japs,
                Art....Your newspaper is an insult to all
                white Americans.  Please cancel my
                subscription..."

                          ISHMAEL
                What are you going to do?

                          ARTHUR
                Send him a refund.

     Ishmael flicks through the paper.

                          ISHMAEL
                Where's the Petersen's ad I put together?

                          ARTHUR
                He pulled out.

                          HELEN
                So did Lottie Opsvig, and Larson.  And
                the Cafe.

     A pause.

                          ISHMAEL
                Now what?

     Arthur thinks for a moment.  Helen continues working.

                          ARTHUR
                Print four pages instead of eight?

     INT. MONTANA SCHOOL GYMNSAIUM - WORK CAMP DORM - NIGHT

     CLOSE ON HISAO.  Writing a letter.  Cross-legged on a bunk
     bed.

                          HISAO (O.S.)
                    (subtitled Japanese)
                "...we are digging trenches for a water
                system.  I am folding and ironing
                clothing in the laundry..."

     PULL BACK and UP to see that he is in a cavernous GYMNASIUM,
     hundreds of bunks, each with its Japanese male occupant.  The
     effect is soulless and demeaning.

                          HISAO (O.S.)
                    (subtitled Japanese)
                "...thank you for sending the
                photographs..."

     INT. IMADA HOUSE LIVING ROOM - AFTERNOON

     Eight pages of his letter, carefully written in Kanji
     characters.  Some lines have been blacked out by the censors.
     Fujiko reading aloud in English...

                          FUJIKO
                "...Do not forget to spread the weevil
                bait and cut the runners on the yearling
                plants..."

     Fujiko is momentarily overcome.  She stops reading.

     PULL BACK to see mother and three daughters around the table.
     Sumiko goes to comfort her mother.

                          SUMIKO
                The hakujin...They're no better than
                animals.

                          HATSUE
                    (blurts)
                Not all of them.

                          SUMIKO
                How would you know?

     A moment of eye contact between the sisters.

                          HATSUE
                Because I live here.  Among them.

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

                          FUJIKO
                You speak with great assurance, Hatsue.
                The words fly from your mouth.

                          HATSUE
                I don't care what you say!  Do you hear
                me?  I don't want to be Japanese!

     She rushes from the room.  The room is still as the grave.

                          FUJIKO
                    (quietly, slowly)
                These are difficult times.  Nobody knows
                who they are.  She does not mean what she
                says.

     The mother's eyes burn silently.

     INT. HATSUE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

     Hatsue lies on her bed, face to the wall.  Fujiko puts away
     some clothing, trying to hide her agitation.

                          FUJIKO
                You are grown now, Hatsue.  Your life is
                yours.  I hope you will carry your purity
                with you always.  And remember the truth
                of who you are.

     Hatsue remains silent.  Unresponsive.

     EXT. CEDAR HOLLOW - DUSK

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

                          ISHMAEL
                Now look.  What you do is write to my
                house, with Kenny Yamashita's name on the
                return address.  No one will suspect a
                thing.

                          HATSUE
                You're like me.  We're both liars.  It's
                one lie after another.

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

                          ISHMAEL
                It's not lying.  It's what we have to do.

     He unties her hair.  Removes a HAIRPIN.  So gently.  He slips
     the hairpin into a crevice in the cedar.  Tries to keep his
     smile calm, steady...

     He brings his face to her hair.  Kisses it.

                          ISHMAEL
                You smell like cedar.

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

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

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

                          ISHMAEL
                Marry me, Hatsue.  We'll leave here.

     Her eyes brim.

                          ISHMAEL
                I want to marry you.

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

                          HATSUE
                    (softly)
                Are you crazy?

                          ISHMAEL
                    (a whisper)
                Please say yes.

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

     ...she arches off the moss to make room for his hands.  He
     unclasps her bra...

     ...as they breathe into each other, he undoes all eleven
     buttons on the front of her dress...

     ...she feels his hardness with her hand.  His breathing
     stops.  She unclasps his pants...

     He peels her panties down her thighs...

     Suddenly, he is OVER her, drawing her legs up around him.
     Her head tilts back, her eyes squeeze closed.  And as he
     enters her...

                          HATSUE
                Ishmael...

                          ISHMAEL
                    (whispers)
                Please...

     Her face registers a sudden certainty.

     Her hands GRASP his upper arms.  And push away gently.

                          HATSUE
                    (softly)
                No, Ishmael

     And he blinks.  As if waking from a dream.  Everything has
     stopped. Her face is strong and yet overflowing with regret.
     She scrambles away.  Starts to dress herself, tearfully.

     Ishmael draws away, buttoning his pants.  Stunned,
     uncomprehending.

                          ISHMAEL
                I'm sorry.

     In a sudden burst of rage...

                          HATSUE
                I don't know anything anymore.

     She scrambles out of the hollow and...

     EXT. CEDAR HOLLOW - DUSK

     ...BOLTS away, through the forest.  And is gone.

     Ishmael watches her disappear.

     Devastated.

     INT. IMADA BEDROOM - DAWN

     An open SUITCASE is flung onto a bed.  Items of clothing are
     hastily packed.

     Hatsue closes the lid and shuts the clasps.

     EXT. IMADA HOUSE - DAWN

     Fujiko locks the front door.  Together with her three
     daughters, each with a suitcase, she walks over to an ARMY
     TRUCK on the dirt road outside their house.  In the distance,
     the FERRY WHISTLE sounds.

     Two SOLDIERS assist them into the truck.  It drives off.

     EXT. AMITY HARBOR STREET - EARLY MORNING

     A small convoy of three trucks passes through the main
     street.  Silent onlookers watch from the sidewalk.  A tiny
     hand waves a miniature flag from the back of a truck.

     A line of JAPANESE EVACUEES, file down towards the docks.
     All are carrying bundles of luggage.

     Hatsue watches them as her truck bumps towards the harbor.

     EXT. AMITY HARBOR FERRY DOCK - MORNING

     The army trucks pull up.  Hesitantly, Fujiko, Hatsue, and her
     two sisters climb from the truck, to see...

     ...a ferry, the KEHLOKEN, stands waiting.  Soldiers are
     patrolling, organizing, watching.  The evacuees, mostly
     women, children, and elderly men stand or sit in the cold,
     waiting with a poignant blend of dignity and uncertainty...

     ...Those who have registered at the official table wear large
     TAGS on their coats, as if they themselves were baggage.
     Others patiently stand in line.

     ...a FATHER unstraps huge parcels of belongings tied to the
     family car.  His CHILDREN watch...

     ...nearby, on top of an enormous pile of bundles and
     suitcases, sits a glum THREE-YEAR OLD GIRL, clutching her
     little purse, as if she is herself a parcel...

     Arthur's car pulls up.  Arthur and Helen get out.  Ishmael
     watches from the back.

     And against the dockside building...

     ...a cluster of white islanders, including Helen & Arthur
     Chambers, silently watching as their Japanese neighbors file
     toward the ferry.  Arthur busies himself with camera and
     notebook as...

     ...there's a sudden flurry of noisy protest from an irate OLD
     JAPANESE MAN, in full U.S. Army dress uniform complete with
     World War I campaign medals, as he's escorted from a vehicle
     by two young soldiers...

     ...another solider takes a mewling kitten away from a little
     girl.  His reassuring words to her are in vain.  She's
     heartbroken.

     ...A middle-aged woman waves to Fujiko, who casts her eyes
     down, refusing to acknowledge the greeting.  And just as they
     reach the gangway...

     ...Hatsue sees Ishmael, who stands at an unobtrusive
     distance, among a group of students.  She pauses.

     Their eyes meet, and HOLD for a heartbeat...

     And she is gone.

     ...the ferry whistle blows again...the ropes are cast off...

     ...a CREWMAN hurries onto the bridge as the FERRY MASTER sets
     the engines in reverse.  Silent tears run down his face...

     As the ferry pulls away from the dock, individual cries of
     farewell go up from the crowd.  Some onlookers weep...

     ...Ishmael waves, and from a distance we see Helen has been
     watching him, her suspicions confirmed...

     ...while small children on board wave little paper Stars and
     Stripes...

     ...and from up on the dock pilings, a NATIVE AMERICAN hurls a
     bouquet of red roses into the water...where they are churned
     in the boiling wake...

     EXT. ON THE AMITY HARBOR FERRY - DAY

     ...Amid a throng of people and piles of belongings on board,
     Hatsue sits withdrawn, in a world of her own, oblivious to
     the hubbub surrounding her.

     INT. CEDAR TREE - DAY

     The silent forest.

     Ishmael sits alone in the tree in troubled contemplation, his
     profile silhouetted against a crack of light.

     EXT. IMADA HOUSE - DUSK

     ...Ishmael passes a homemade sign on the fence: EVACUATION
     SALE - FURNITURE, ALL BELONGINGS.  He looks at the familiar
     Imada home: windows now broken, vandalized with racist
     graffiti: "DON'T LET THE SUN RISE ON YOU HERE, JAPS."

     INT/EXT BUS - DAY

     Ishmael sits in his usual place as the school bus bumps along
     the road out of town.  He looks at one side of the bus where
     Hatsue and her friends used to sit.  Almost all the seats are
     empty.

     INT. BUS - DAWN

     On another bus, far away, the Imada women huddle together for
     comfort.  The bus is crammed full of people and belongings.
     Everyone looks desperately uncomfortable, after an endless
     journey, though a number of people are asleep.  All the
     window blinds are pulled down even though it is light
     outside.

     Hatsue is awake, enveloped in her brooding.  DUST swirls
     around her.

     A few rows back across the aisle from Hatsue, a YOUNG MAN is
     also awake.  It's KAZUO.

     The Bus slows down to make a turn.  Kazuo glances back to
     check the SOLDIER on the rear seat is still asleep.  Then he
     raises his window blind a few inches to look outside.

     EXT. MANZANAR INTERNMENT CAMP - DAWN (KAZUO'S POV)

     The bus enters the gate of a fenced COMPOUND.  Military
     vehicles sweep past.

     A sign etched in timber: MANZANAR WAR RELOCATION CENTER - FOR
     ALIENS AND NON-ALIENS.  Barbed wire, barracks, dust.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. MANZANAR INTERNMENT CAMP - DAWN

     The convoy of BUSES pulls up by the ADMINISTRATION BLOCK.
     Nearby, some SOLDIERS are raising the flag.

     Befuddled groups of Japanese-Americans alight from the buses
     with their belongings, into the unpleasant bite of wind and
     dust.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. MANZANAR INTERNMENT CAMP - DAWN

     HIGH ANGLE ON...The flag unfurling at the top of the pole.
     As it flaps, it drops like a curtain to reveal...

     ROW UPON ROW of BARRACKS as far as the eye can see...the vast
     compound of MANZANAR.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. KAZUO'S CELL - LATE NIGHT

     A LIGHT flickers on.  A hand screws in the lightbulb.  It's
     Kazuo, standing on his cot.

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

     Kazuo stares at the pieces.

     INT. MIYAMOTO LIVING AREA - NIGHT

     A heavy, muddy STRONGBOX is dumped on the kitchen floor.

     It's 2:00 A.M.  Kazuo is soaked to the bone.  Mud-spattered.
     He struggles with the strongbox lid.  He picks out some
     objects, placing them on the table.

     Then, with reverence, he takes up the ceremonial sword.

     Hatsue appears, dimly lit in the doorway.

                          HATSUE
                Kazuo?

     Kazuo examines the sword.  Remembering.

                          KAZUO
                This belonged to my great grandfather.

                          HATSUE
                What do you want to go digging all that
                up for?  You should leave that stuff in
                the ground.

     Kazuo places the sword on the table.  Takes a towel.  Wipes
     his face and hair.

                          HATSUE
                Kazuo?  Let it go.

     Still nothing.  Kazuo turns, continues to unwrap the precious
     objects.  Some have suffered with time.

     Hatsue tries to catch his eye.  And then.

                          KAZUO
                My father buried these things on our
                land.

                          HATSUE
                It's not our land.

     Kazuo turns.  Face contorted with passion.  Even madness.

                          KAZUO
                It is our land.  Don't you understand?
                They locked us up.  And stole it from us.

     Hatsue embraces him.  His face moves toward tears.

     INT. COURTROOM - MORNING (TRIAL DAY TWO)

     Delicate frost patterns on a window pane.  Beneath it, wet
     mittens steam, drying on the radiator.

     On the wooden floor little puddles form, dripping from snow
     covered boots and shoes of the watching islanders.

     In the witness box, OLE JURGENSEN wobbles slightly, hands
     resting on the cane planted between his frail legs.

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

                          OLE
                Oh, yeah.  He was eager to.  But this is
                five years ago, before my stroke.  I had
                my health, I wasn't wantin' to sell.

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

                          OLE
                Carl Heine came.

     Hooks pauses.  Lets that sink in.

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

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

     The old man's head bobs.  Recalling.

                          OLE
                Liesel and me.  Was happy for him.

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

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

     EXT. CARL SR. FARMHOUSE PORCH - DAY (NOW OLE'S)

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

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

     Kazuo is thunderstruck.

                          KAZUO
                But your sign...

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

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

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

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

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

                          KAZUO
                You're right.  I'll go see Carl.

     EXT. CARL SR. BARN - DAY

     WIDE SHOT...Kazuo stares at the "FOR SALE" sign on the barn
     near the gate.  He tears it down.

     EXT. FIELDS - NIGHT

     CLOSE ON Kazuo alone, sheened with sweat, his movements a
     blur, as the kendo staff CUTS the air.  Angrily.

     INT. COURTROOM - MORNING

     Sheriff Moran sits in the witness box, in his hands is a
     piece of ROPE.

     Outside, the wind whistles.  RATTLING the windows as snow
     LASHES the glass.

                          MORAN
                It's a mooring line from Carl Heine's
                boat.

                          HOOKS
                And what's so special about it?

                          MORAN
                Well, the strange thing is it's got a
                bowline in it.

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

                          MORAN
                And all the other lines on Carl's boat
                were braided together in loops.

                          HOOKS
                What do you make of that?

                          MORAN
                Well.  This one here is identical to all
                the lines we found on the defendant's
                boat.  And it's worn just the same, too.

     Ah.  Hooks nods.  Significant.

                          HOOKS
                But didn't you just tell us you found
                that on the deceased's boat?

                          MORAN
                Sure.  But if Miyamoto, there, had been
                tied up to Carl's boat and cast off in a
                hurry, he coulda left it there.

     Nels looks up, almost perfunctory.

                          NELS
                Objection.  The witness is speculating.

     Judge Fielding turns to Moran.

                          JUDGE
                Sustained.  He's right.  Watch yourself.

                          MORAN
                Well, all I know is.  I found his rope on
                Carl's boat.  Why don't you ask him to
                explain that.

                                                            CUT TO:

     Kazuo's face.  Totally impassive.  He looks away.

     EXT. THE ISLANDER/DOCK - LATE DAY

     From his cabin on THE ISLANDER, Kazuo looks along the dock.
     In the distance, Moran and his deputy approach.

     Kazuo quickly returns to his task.  Replaces the battery in
     his well.  Closes the cover.

     He checks how close Moran and Abel are.  He notices an empty
     cleat.  Then...picks up a fresh line and secures it to the
     empty cleat.

     Moran and Abel are closer now.  Kazuo jumps onto the dock.
     Goes to meet them.

     FROM THE BOAT, we see them meet thirty feet away.  The lap of
     water, gulls shriek.

     Moran hands a warrant to Kazuo.  Kazuo glances at it.  Hands
     it right back.

     Art prods Abel down the dock.  Abel heads for the boat, as
     Art continues to talk to Kazuo.

     IN OUR FOREGROUND, Abel steps onboard.  Sweeps a look right
     around the boat.  His eyes settle.  He reaches down and picks
     up...

     ...the FISHING GAFF...

     ...BLOOD on the handle.

     INT. COURTROOM - LATE MORNING

     The gaff is now in Nels' hand.  In the witness box...

     ...DR. STERLING WHITMAN, hematologist.

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

                          DR. WHITMAN
                Carl Heine's type.

     Nels nodding.  Seemingly unconcerned by this fact.

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

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

     Nels sighs.  A bad moment.

                          NELS
                Yes, sir.  You told us.  No one is
                contesting that.  You also told us that
                you scraped the dried blood from the
                handle of the gaff.
                    (pointing)
                And what did you see under your
                microscope, besides the B positive blood
                blood and the wood scrapings...?

                          DR. WHITMAN
                What else would there be?

                          NELS
                But Doctor.  Were there no splinters of
                bone, no particles of scalp, no strands
                of hair?

                          DR. WHITMAN
                None.

                          NELS
                Doesn't this seem odd to you?  If this
                gaff were in fact used to inflict a head
                wound...?

                          DR. WHITMAN
                I was asked only to perform two blood
                tests.  I determined that...

                          NELS
                    (gently persistent)
                Yes, yes.  As you have testified.  But
                what I want to know is would that seem
                logical?

                          DR. WHITMAN
                I don't know.

                          NELS
                You don't.

     Pause.

                          NELS
                Now.  Our good friend the coroner
                testified that Carl Heine had a cut.  A
                fresh cut.  Probably one or two hours
                old.  On the palm.  Of his right hand.

     Walks toward the box.  Holding the butt of the gaff toward
     him...

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

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

                          NELS
                Which is more probable?

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

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

     Nels looks him over.  Looks at the jury.

                          NELS
                You're right there Doctor.  Thank you.
                For braving the thrilling ferry ride all
                the way from the mainland through the
                snowstorm to help us out.

     And walks away.  Hands the gaff to the clerk.

                          NELS
                You can put that away now, Maggie.  We're
                done with that.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Hooks sits against the prosecution table.  His demeanor
     gentle, respectful.  His voice soft.

     In the box, the widow sits in lovely dignity.  Blonde and
     alabaster and modest, in her black dress and veil of
     mourning.

     In the press row, all eyes are attentive.  An angle they know
     they can sell.  Ishmael among them, watching, neutral.

     Susan Marie listens.  Poised.

                          HOOKS
                Can you think back for me to the morning
                of September 8th?

     There's a tremor of recollection in her eyes.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. CARL JR'S BATHROOM - DAY

     A bright bathroom.  Filled with STEAM.

     A hand clears condensation off the mirror.  Susan Marie peers
     at herself in the glass.  She has just woken up.

     Behind her, the huge outline of Carl behind the shower
     curtain.  Scrubbing away a night's fishing.

                          HOOKS (O.S.)
                ...the morning after your husband
                purchased the Jurgensen's farm...

     Now in the shower, Susan Marie's face is pressed against the
     wall.

     Wet strands of hair fall across her eyes.  Carl behind her,
     his beard raking her shoulders.  Her body arches with his
     movement.  He turns her face to kiss her.  Quite tenderly.

                          HOOKS (O.S.)
                ...one week before his death...

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     CLOSE ON Susan Marie.  Momentarily chokes with emotion.
     Hooks moves toward her slowly.  Solicitous.

                          HOOKS
                I'm sorry Mrs. Heine.  To have to ask
                you.  Can you recall that morning?

                          SUSAN MARIE
                I can.

     INT. CARL JR.'S BACK DOOR/SHED - MORNING

     Susan Marie is by the door, looking out through the shed full
     of nets and fishing gear...

                          HOOKS (V.O.)
                Did the defendant come visiting that day?
                To speak to your husband?

     ...across the yard.  Her towering husband walks beside a
     smaller man.  Carl is doing the talking.  Kazuo's face is
     stone.

     INT. CARL JR.'S KITCHEN - LATER

     Carl paces the room, the baby at his shoulder.

                          CARL JR.
                It's no big deal.  It's a long story.  He
                wants to buy seven of Ole's acres.  The
                ones his family had.  That thing my
                mother talks about.

                          SUSAN MARIE
                Oh that...I had a feeling it was that.
                What did you tell him?

                          CARL
                What could I tell him?  There's my mother
                to think about.  You know her.

     Susan Marie knows what Etta would say.

                          CARL
                I said I'd think it over, have a talk
                with you.

                          SUSAN MARIE
                Did he go away angry?

                          CARL
                I couldn't...tell...

     Pause.

                          CARL
                Look.  Kazuo's a Jap.  You can't read
                Japs.

                          SUSAN MARIE
                Don't say that.  You don't mean that.
                You and he used to fish together.  You
                were friends.

     And Carl turns.  Looks at her.  A full beat.

                          CARL
                We were kids then.

     He hands her the baby and leaves the room.  HOLD on her.

     INT. CARL JR.'S SHED - DAY

     LATER.  Carl in his shed, alone.

     He fingers a beautifully made bamboo fishing rod.  Turns the
     handle to the light to see a name etched on it:  "Kazuo
     Miyamoto."

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Susan Marie's eyes are set.  Wary.

                          NELS (O.S.)
                So your husband said he'd think it over.
                Encouraged Mr. Miyamoto to believe he
                might sell to h...

                          SUSAN MARIE
                I wouldn't say encouraged.

                          NELS
                Well, he didn't say "no", did he?  Didn't
                say no hope existed?

                          SUSAN MARIE
                Not in those words.

                          NELS
                So the defendant was encouraged to hope.

     She thinks about this.

                          SUSAN MARIE
                How would anyone know what he hopes for,
                or anything else he's thinking?

     A murmur from the gallery.  Kazuo sits unflinching.  Nels
     stops in his tracks.  Turns to look at her.

                          NELS
                Mrs. Heine.  Do you really think that's
                fair?

                          HOOKS
                Objection, Your Honor.  Completely
                irrelevant.

                          NELS
                There's nothing more relevant in this
                courtroom, Alvin.  You know that as well
                as anybody.

     The gavel CRACKS down.

                          JUDGE
                Gentlemen, gentlemen.  Back to your
                corners, please!

                          NELS
                I'm sorry for this little interruption,
                Mrs. Heine.  I have no further questions.

                          JUDGE
                Thank you, Mrs. Heine.  You may step
                down.

     Susan Marie leaves the box.  As we follow her path back to
     her seat...

                          HOOKS (O.S.)
                The State rests, Your Honor.

     ...Susan Marie passes within touching distance of Hatsue in
     the gallery.  Hatsue looks at her.  Strong.  Direct...

                          JUDGE (O.S.)
                Very well, Mr. Gudmundsson.  The defense
                may call its first witness.

     ...Susan Marie stares resolutely ahead, refusing to return
     the look.  Only a nervous adjustment to her hair betrays her
     uncertainty as she sits...

                          NELS (O.S.)
                The defense calls Mrs. Hatsue Miyamoto.

     Hatsue now gets up, and heads to the stand along the same
     path just taken by Susan Marie.  She passes Kazuo, who looks
     straight ahead.  Not a flicker between them.

     The jurors watch her as one.

     In the balcony, Ishmael tenses involuntarily.  He takes out
     the lighthouse notes.  Looks at them again.  Then back to the
     witness box.  In front of him, a soft chuckle as Reporter #2
     ogles the new witness.

                          REPORTER #1
                Take it easy, why don't you!  Her
                husband's not hung yet!

     They laugh quietly.

     Ishmael stuffs the papers away again.  His features creased
     with indecision.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     HIGH WIDE SHOT of the court.  Nels stands near the box,
     facing Hatsue.

                          HATSUE
                He woke me with the news.  He was very
                excited about the land.  We started
                making plans right away.

     CLOSE ON Hatsue.  Eager to cooperate, but on edge
     nonetheless.

                          NELS
                And when did you first learn.  That Carl
                had drowned?

     The slightest pause.  As if hesitant to confess...

                          HATSUE
                One o'clock, that afternoon, from a clerk
                at Petersen's.

     INT. MIYAMOTO BEDROOM - DAY

     Hatsue shakes Kazuo awake.

                          HATSUE
                Carl Heine is dead.  It's all over the
                island.

                          KAZUO
                What do you mean?

                          HATSUE
                He drowned.  They've found him in his
                net.

                          KAZUO
                I can't believe it.  Carl?

                          HATSUE
                It's true.  Poor Susan Marie.  And those
                kids.

     Kazuo leaps out of bed.  Suddenly agitated.

                          KAZUO
                I'd better get down to the boat.  Replace
                that battery.

                          HATSUE
                What are you talking about?

                          KAZUO
                I was on his boat last night, remember?

                          HATSUE
                So?  You were helping him.  Tell the
                Sheriff.

                          KAZUO
                Are you kidding?  You think they're going
                to believe me?

                          HATSUE
                It was an accident, wasn't it?

                          KAZUO
                That's right.  Let's just leave it at
                that.

     He hurries out.  HOLD ON Hatsue.  Wondering.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

                          NELS
                    (turning to Hooks)
                Your witness.

     And Alvin Hooks rises.  Perches on the edge of the 
     prosecutor's table.  And looks at the witness.

                          HOOKS
                So.  Your husband came home agitated,
                after his encounter at sea with the
                deceased?

     Only earnestness across her perfect features.

                          HATSUE
                I said "excited."  Not agitated.  He was
                excited in the sense of being overjoyed.

                          HOOKS
                You were...overjoyed yourself, to hear
                the news?

                          HATSUE
                Happy for him.  And relieved.

                          HOOKS
                So, then, you...and your husband...must
                have called friends, relatives, to tell
                them the happy news.  Yes?

                          HATSUE
                    (calm, respectful)
                No.

                          HOOKS
                Really?  Didn't call your mother, your
                sisters, about starting a new life?  Your
                husband never tells his family that the
                family honor is vindicated?

     Hatsue shifts in her chair.

                          HATSUE
                No, we decided not to tell anyone.  Until
                we signed papers.  In case something went
                wrong.

                          HOOKS
                And then, something did.  Carl Heine was
                found dead.  With his head crushed.

     She weathers that last part.  As if taking no notice.

                          HATSUE
                Yes, and then, what was there to call
                about?  Everything was up in the air.

                          HOOKS
                Up in the air?  Was that your reaction?

     And he rises.  Tastefully indignant.

                          HOOKS
                I would suggest that more happened than a
                land sale evaporating.  A man died, Mrs.
                Miyamoto.  A husband and father of small
                children had his skull bashed in!

                          HATSUE
                    (quiet dignity)
                If you mean to imply that we didn't care
                about Carl's death, that is wrong and
                insulting.

                           HOOKS
                I see.  Well, did it occur to you to come
                forward to tell Sheriff Moran what you
                knew?  The encounter in the fog,
                the...dead battery, was it?

     Silence.

                          HATSUE
                We discussed that.  And decided not to.

     The row of reporters, scribbling diligently.  Ishmael among
     them, notepad balanced on his right thigh.

                          HOOKS (O.S.)
                Why not?

     On Hatsue.  She looks at him with her customary directness.

                          HATSUE
                Because things looked bad.  Very bad.
                Kazuo and I knew that.  We thought he
                could end up here, on trial for murder.
                And that's exactly what has happened.

     A momentary flickering of the lights.  Hooks stops.  Looks
     upward.  The lights flick again.  And stay on.  A murmur of
     relief from the gallery.

                          HOOKS
                But if truth was on your side, whatever
                were you worried about?

                          HATSUE
                Trials aren't only about truth, Mr.
                Hooks.  Even though they should be.
                They're about what people believe is
                true.

     Once more, the reporters.  But now, as Ishmael writes, he
     alone keeps looking up.  At the witness.

                          HOOKS (O.S)
                So you hid the truth.  Deliberately.  You
                lied.

                          HATSUE
                We were afraid.  To come forward seemed
                like a mistake.

                          HOOKS
                Doesn't it seem to you, Mrs. Miyamoto,
                that your mistake was in being deceitful?

     And on this word.  Ishmael stops writing.  Alone among the
     bank of reporters, he is frozen, watching her.

                          HOOKS (O.S.)
                Concealing information during the course
                of a sheriff's investigation.

     On Hatsue.  Her dignity and composure.

                          HATSUE
                It seems human.  To me.

     Oh.  Hooks raises his brows.

                          HOOKS
                I suppose that you mean this somehow
                excuses your lies?  I don't know, Mrs.
                Miyamoto.  I just don't understand this
                at all.  I'm completely at a loss.  I
                mean to say, how on earth can you expect
                any of us to believe you now?

     Silence.  Hooks settles into his chair.

                          HOOKS
                No more questions, Your Honor.

                          HATSUE
                Wait a minute, I haven't had a chance...

                          HOOKS
                I said.  No further questions.

     Anger flashes across her eyes.  She draws a breath...

                          JUDGE
                That's enough, Mrs. Miyamoto.

     Hatsue goes to speak.

                          JUDGE
                Not another word!  The fact that you wish
                to speak, that you might like to give Mr.
                Hooks over there a piece of your mind --
                this just isn't allowed, Mrs. Miyamoto.

     All in the reporter's row are scribbling furiously.

     All but one.

     At which moment the lights FLICKER once.  There is something
     of a GASP, at the near-miss.  And then...

     A HUGE GUST OF WIND shakes the windows.

     DARKNESS.  The lights go OUT for good.  A collective groan.
     Fielding's gavel coming DOWN for silence.

                          JUDGE
                Bailiff?

     From somewhere...

                          BAILIFF (O.S.)
                I'll see if I can scare up some candles,
                Your Honor.

     More noise.  The gavel again.

                          JUDGE
                Very well.  Lights or no lights, Mr.
                Gudmundsson, will you redirect?

                          NELS
                Nothing further, Your Honor.  The
                interruption is as well timed as it could
                be.

                          JUDGE
                You may step down, Mrs. Miyamoto.  Now,
                in the circumstances...

     Squints around in the near-blackness.

                          JUDGE
                ...I think we might resume tomorrow, in
                the hope of better things.

     He turns to the Jury.

                          JUDGE
                But snow or no snow, let us not forget
                that this is a murder trial.  We have got
                to keep that foremost in our hearts and
                minds.

     And to the watching attorneys.

                          JUDGE
                The thought of a retrial makes me weary.
                I think that with a little effort we can
                avoid one, can't we?

     Gavel RAPS once.

     INT/EXT ISHMAEL'S CHRYSLER, CENTER VALLEY - AFTERNOON

     Ishmael driving past the blanketed strawberry fields.  On the
     seat next to him a bag of GROCERIES.

     Here and there, cars, abandoned to the drifts.  Spikes of
     green branches poke out of the snow where they've fallen.  An
     abandoned wreck on its roof.  Light-hearted radio music makes
     a counterpoint to the desolation.

     Ishmael has to work at keeping the car on the road, but he
     enjoys it.  He turns the wheel using a specially mounted
     cherrywood knob.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. CENTER VALLEY ROAD - AFTERNOON

     BY THE ROADSIDE...With his father's old camera, Ishmael
     photographs a logging truck that's skidded and lost its load.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. CENTER VALLEY ROAD - DITCH - AFTERNOON

     BACK ON the road, the Chrysler follows the curve.  Fields are
     pure white to the horizon.  Up ahead, an old station wagon
     has run into a ditch.  A middle aged Japanese man is working
     at a rear wheel with a shovel.

     Ishmael pulls over.  Gets out to lend a hand.

     As he approaches the car, a woman appears from behind it.
     It's Hatsue - shovel in one hand.  Pulling snowflaked hair
     out of her eyes with the other.  Ishmael stops.  A BEAT.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. CHRYSLER, SOUTH BEACH DRIVE - LATE AFTERNOON

     Ishmael drives with Hisao beside him, Hatsue behind.

                          HISAO
                This is a very fine car.  Much better
                than the new ones.

     Ishmael smiles, at the old man's desire to be complimentary.

                          ISHMAEL
                It was my father's.

                          HISAO
                He was a good man...

     He looks out the window.  Ishmael's eyes flick to Hatsue in
     the rearview mirror.

                          ISHMAEL
                I know it's caused you trouble, but the
                snow is beautiful, isn't it?

     Hatsue shares the seat with the groceries, staring out the 
     side window, strands of wet hair pasted against her cheek.

                          HISAO
                Yes, very beautiful.

     Suddenly, her eyes SNAP to meet Ishmael's in the mirror.  His 
     dart away.  Hers hold.

                          HATSUE
                This trial is unfair.  Your father would
                have written about that in his paper.

     He keeps driving.  And he keeps his eyes on the road.

                          ISHMAEL
                    (calmly)
                What would he have said?

                          HATSUE
                How this trial is wrong.  How it's just
                about prejudice.  The whole thing is
                unfair.

                          ISHMAEL
                I sometimes think that unfairness is just
                a part of things.

                          HATSUE
                I'm not talking about the whole universe,
                I'm talking about people.  The coroner.
                That prosecutor.  You.

     Hisao Imada looks out the window.  Silent.

                          ISHMAEL
                Is that what you think?

     She studies his face.

                          ISHMAEL
                Maybe I should write a column.  Yes.
                About unfairness.  About the unfair
                things people do to each other.

     And his eyes come up.  Meet hers in the mirror.

     INT. PETERSEN'S GROCERIES - DAY

     Ishmael home from the war, still in uniform, carrying milk
     and crackers, in line at the checkout.  The empty sleeve of
     his Marine tunic pinned up at the elbow.

     At the head of the queue Hatsue unloads groceries.  An infant
     at her shoulder.

     In front of him, SVEN RONSTON, carefully glances back at
     Ishmael's pinned sleeve.  The CHECKER glances his way, then
     looks awkwardly down.

                          ISHMAEL
                    (defiantly)
                You can look.  That's okay.  We can talk
                about it.

     Everyone looks at him.  And away.  Confusion.

                          ISHMAEL
                It's a missing arm.  Okay?  It was blown
                off just like that.  By the Japs.

     No one knows where to look.  Down, away, anything.  Hatsue
     fumbles with her groceries.  Ishmael puts his milk and
     crackers down.  Heads for the door.  Then, without stopping
     or looking back:

                          ISHMAEL
                I'm sorry.

     EXT. BEACH - EVENING

     Ishmael alone on the familiar beach from his childhood.

     CLOSE...we see he is wracked with grief.  In his hand, a
     Purple Heart medal.

     Pacing in rage and grief, he suddenly hurls the medal as far
     as he can.  Into the water.  Gulls wheel and screech.

     Ishmael walks away.

     EXT. SOUTH BEACH BAY - MORNING

     Ishmael, crouched among trees.  Above a sunlit stretch of
     beach.  CLOSE ON his face.  Eyes gazing down.  At something.

     See Hatsue down on the beach.  Alone, raking for steamer
     clams.  Her baby beside her on a blanket, beneath an
     umbrella.

     Ishmael walks down to the sand.  Crosses to where she works.
     And squats down.  At a respectful distance.

                          ISHMAEL
                Can I talk to you?

     She must have seen who was coming.  Because the words do not
     startle her.  Or slow her work.

                          ISHMAEL
                I'm sorry.  I should never had said that
                word.

     Silence.  Hatsue works on.

                          ISHMAEL
                Talk to me.  Please?

                          HATSUE
                I'm married, Ishmael.  It isn't right for
                us to be alone.  People will t...

                          ISHMAEL
                I'm like a dying person.  I don't sleep.
                I don't eat.  I tell myself this can't go
                on this way.  But I can't shake it.

     Pause.  He tries to move into her field of view.

                          ISHMAEL
                I know you'll think this is crazy, but
                all I want is to hold you.  Just for five
                seconds.  And smell your hair.  I think
                if you hold me, just this once, I can
                walk away and never speak to you again.
                I need to be in your arms, Hatsue, just
                for five seconds.

     He tries to touch her hair.  To smell it.  She rejects his
     advance.

                          HATSUE
                I did a terrible thing, Ishmael.  I knew
                what you felt.  And what I didn't.

     Sadness in her voice.  But strength as well.

                          HATSUE
                And I never found the courage to tell
                you.

     His eyes swim with tears.  He chokes them back, he has to.

                          HATSUE
                You have to hear this, I can never
                touch you.  Not even for five seconds.
                Not ever.  You have to let go.

     She rises slowly.  Brushes the sand from her skirt.

                          HATSUE
                To hold you would be wrong and deceitful.
                You're going to have to live without
                holding me, that's the way things are.

     She takes one step back.

                          HATSUE
                Things end, Ishmael.  They do.

     And turns away.  She gathers her baby in her arms.  Takes her
     blanket, her umbrella, her rake and her pail.  He watches, 
     never moving, as she gathers her things.  Gathers them as if 
     he wasn't there.  And as she leaves...

                          HATSUE
                Get on with your life.

     EXT. IMADA HOUSE - DUSK

     The Chrysler pulls up to the farmhouse we have seen before.
     Nearly at the spot where Ishmael watched Hatsue so long ago.

     Hisao gets out.  Nods his head with a grateful smile.
     Ishmael turns to Hatsue as she gets out.

                          ISHMAEL
                Hatsue?

     Reaching in his pocket for the lighthouse report.

                          ISHMAEL
                I need to talk to you...

                          HATSUE
                I appreciate your help, Ishmael.  Don't
                spoil it please.

                          ISHMAEL
                You don't understand.  I think it's
                important.

     Hatsue pauses.  Waiting.  Ishmael goes to speak.  Then looks
     away.

                          HATSUE
                Maybe another time.

     She trudges to the house in her father's footsteps.  Her
     children appear on the porch with her mother.  Angry with
     himself, Ishmael stuffs the notes away and drives off.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT/INT CHAMBERS' HOME - NIGHT

     Ishmael heads up a path away from his parked car towards a
     fogged kitchen window.  As he approaches, a hand wipes the
     glass clean on the inside, and a face bends to look through
     the cleared circle of the window pane.  Ishmael looks in.
     Finds himself almost face to face with his mother in the 
     lamplight.

     INT. CHAMBERS' KITCHEN - NIGHT

     CLOSE ON a steaming soup kettle, resting on a woodstove.
     PULL BACK to see Helen is bundled up in coat and scarf,
     despite the heat from the kitchen stove.

                          HELEN
                It's a travesty of justice.  This island
                ought to be ashamed.

     She fills to bowls with a wooden ladle.

                          HELEN
                They only arrested him because he's
                Japanese.

                          ISHMAEL
                He's not doing much to help himself on
                that score.  Sitting there so defiant.
                Just like a face from one of our
                propaganda films.

                          HELEN
                I know who he is.  He's a striking man.
                His face is powerful.  That doesn't make
                him guilty.

                          ISHMAEL
                Of course not.  But it's not as simple as
                that.  The evidence sounds very solid.
                That prosecutor's sure got his facts
                lined-up.

     Helen puts a bowl in front of Ishmael.

                          HELEN
                You haven't even heard the defense case,
                yet from the sound of it you're ready to
                hang him!

     HOLD ON Ishmael as Helen sits opposite him.

                          HELEN
                Besides.  There's more to life than
                facts.

                          ISHMAEL
                What else is there?  Everything else is
                emotions.  At least you can cling to the
                facts.  Emotions just float away.

                          HELEN
                Float away with them.  If you can
                remember how, Ishmael.  If you can find
                them again.

     They start to eat.  Then, suddenly...

                          ISHMAEL
                I'm so unhappy.

     INT. CHAMBERS' HOME, STUDY - NIGHT

     Ishmael is seated at his father's desk.  His candle throws a
     pool of light onto the bound volume of the ISLAND REVIEW that
     he's leafing through.  He stops at a particular page...

     ...the STRAWBERRY FESTIVAL.  Hatsue the Princess.

     He looks up from the desk.  A glint catches his eye.

     On another shelf.  Nearly obscured by books, clutter.  A
     slender, curved piece of metal.  He moves his head, to see
     more, and into view comes...

     ...a venerable pair of SPECTACLES.  The ones we watched
     Arthur polish on his shirt.  And Ishmael...

     ...goes to the shelf.  Takes up the spectacles with care.  He
     polishes them on his shirt.  Brings them up momentarily to
     his eyes.  Then looks at them in the light, briefly glimpsing
     his own double reflection.

     EXT. VETERAN'S CEMETERY - DAY

     Ishmael, the left sleeve of his dark suit of mourning pinned
     at the elbow.  He is by his mother's side.  The diggers are 
     filling a grave in the distance.  Mourners mingle, some 
     casting glances back at Ishmael.  Keeping their distance out 
     of awkwardness rationalized as respect.

     A small group pay their respects to Helen.  One man speaks to 
     her.  MASATO NAGAISHI is frail.  But his voice is clear...

                          NAGAISHI
                The Japanese people of the island are
                saddened by this loss.  Your husband was
                a man of great fairness and compassion
                for others...

     He stands at a respectful distance.  Helen nods, thank you.  

                          NAGAISHI
                A friend to us.  And to all people.

     Silence.  They are a tableau of stone.  Finally Nagaishi
     turns to Ishmael.

                          NAGAISHI
                We know you will follow in his footsteps.
                And honor his legacy.

     Ishmael's face registers the challenge.

     INT. CHAMBERS' HOME - STUDY - NIGHT

     Ishmael turns to see Helen watching him in the doorway, still
     wearing her coat and scarf.

                          HELEN
                You should stay the night.  Don't drive
                back through this.

                          ISHMAEL
                I've got an early start.

     A pause.  Ishmael goes to shut the bound newspaper volume,
     but not before Helen's eye takes in the picture of Hatsue.

     A moment.  Then...

                          HELEN
                This room is full of ghosts, isn't it?

     No response.  Ishmael turns away to replace the book in its
     vacant slot.

                          HELEN
                I hate to see you this way...

     Ishmael's back remains resolutely turned.

                          ISHMAEL
                I don't know what you're talking about.

                          HELEN
                I'm right, aren't I?  About your feelings
                for her?

     Ishmael's silence speaks volumes.

                          HELEN
                She's married, Ishmael.

     No response.

                          HELEN
                Look, it's awfully cold in here.  Let's
                talk in the kitchen.

                          ISHMAEL
                I don't want to talk about anything.

                          HELEN
                You're just like your father.  He
                never...

     Ishmael spins around, his face seething with emotion.

                          ISHMAEL
                I'm not just like my father.  I know
                everyone wishes I was.  Everytime they
                look at me I can see them thinking, "He's
                only half the man his father was".  And
                they're right.

     Helen looks him in the eye.  And, gently...

                          HELEN
                I was only going to say he didn't mind
                the cold.

     Ishmael looks away.  She moves closer.  She hugs him quickly.

                          HELEN
                It's not such a terrible thing.  To be
                your father's son.

     She adjusts Ishmael's scarf.  Gives him a little smile.  And
     leaves him, alone in the room.

     On the desk, the eyeglasses reflect a snapshot of Arthur and
     his young son under the glass of the desktop.

     INT. ISHMAEL'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

     ECU: AN OLD TYPEWRITER CARRIAGE

     The words: "THE FACE OF PREJUDICE" are typed.  Then... The
     page is RIPPED out.  SCRUNCHED up.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. ISHMAEL'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

     WIDE SHOT AS THE BALL OF PAPER HITS THE FLOOR...

     ...alongside several others.  Ishmael feeds a fresh sheet in
     expertly, paper held in mouth.  Incessant snow blows hard
     against the window.

     CLOSER as he types afresh..."FAIRNESS AND JUSTICE"...

     ...and stops again.  On the desk, the lighthouse report
     flickers in the lamplight.

     CLOSE ON the notes as Ishmael puts a corner of the paper to
     the flame.  It ignites, blackens, crumples into dust.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. ISHMAEL'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

     A closet door opens.  An accumulation of junk is revealed,
     including a prosthetic arm tucked away.  TILT to see a
     cardboard box pulled out.  The lid is removed to expose...

     ...a mess of photographs, clippings and books.  A careless
     archive of memorabilia.  An old high school yearbook is
     opened to reveal a small bunch of letters.

     Ishmael leafs through the letters.  He picks out one
     envelope.  On the back, WE SEE...

     ...the return addressee is "KENNY YAMASHITA."

     Ishmael looks at the envelope in his hand.  Turns it over.

     The envelope is turning.  The front is blank.  A hand start
     to write "Ishmael Chambers"...

                                                         WE ARE IN:

     INT. IMADA BARRACKS - LATE AFTERNOON

     The cramped barrack hut, that houses the Imada family.  The
     constant dust blows through cracks in the thin walls.

     Hatsue is alone.  Addressing the envelope.

     The door opens.  Dust and wind boil in.  Hatsue's sisters
     hurry inside, laughing.  Hatsue glares at them.

                          SUMIKO
                    (to Hatsue)
                Well, pardon us Your Royal Highness.

     Sumiko playfully grabs the letter.

                          SUMIKO
                Who's your loverboy, then?

                          HATSUE
                Give me that!

                          SUMIKO
                    (reads)
                Ishmael Chambers!  From Kenny Yamashita?

     Fujiko enters, catching this.  The laughter stops.  Sumiko is
     frozen with the letter.  In the paralyzed pause, Hatsue...

     SNATCHES it back.  Glances flitter between the sisters.
     Fujiko's eyes demand an explanation.

     Fujiko nods to the other girls to leave.  They obey.  The
     mother steps aside to let them pass.  Stares at her eldest
     daughter.  Hatsue sits on her bunk, the letter in her lap.

                          FUJIKO
                Does this explain your eagerness to walk
                in the woods everyday?  Gathering
                berries?

     In the silence, noises of other families intrude.

                          FUJIKO
                    (quietly)
                Does it?  Answer me.

     In response, Hatsue removes the letter.  She looks directly,
     almost defiantly at her mother.  And starts to read.

                          HATSUE
                    (reads)
                "Dear Ishmael, I can't think of anything
                more painful than writing this letter to
                you.  I feel I have to tell you the
                truth.  When we met that last time in the
                cedar tree and I felt your body move
                against mine..."

     Hatsue looks her mother in the eye.  Fujiko sits suddenly in
     a chair.  She pulls her dusty coat around her.

                          HATSUE
                    (reads)
                "...I knew with certainty that everything
                was wrong..."

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. ISHMAEL'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

     ...CAMERA MOVES from the torn, stained letter to find...

     Ishmael's face as he reads by the open closet.

     HATSUE'S VOICE continues:

                          HATSUE (O.S.)
                "...I knew we could never be right
                together, and that soon I would have to
                tell you so..."

     INT. MANZANAR IMADA BARRACKS - SUNSET

     Hatsue reads on.  Her defiance has crumbled already.

                          HATSUE
                "...And now, with this letter, I am
                telling you.  This is the last time I
                will write to you.  I am not yours
                anymore."

     She is oblivious to her mother's presence now, caught up in
     the expression of her own grief.

     CLOSE ON the letter.

                                                         WE ARE IN:

     INT. SHIP BUNKROOM - NIGHT

     A ship's bunkroom.  PUSH IN on Ishmael, reading the letter.

                          HATSUE (O.S.)
                "...I don't love you, Ishmael.  I can
                think of no more honest way to say it.
                When I heard your heart beating, as we
                lay together, I felt closer to you than I
                had ever been to anyone.  And I knew it
                could not last forever."

     We HEAR the raucous sounds of his bunkmates.  See them in
     soft foreground...cleaning weapons...one marine shaves
     another's head.

                          HATSUE (O.S.)
                "Whenever we were together, I knew it..."

     Closer, closer.  On Ishmael.

                                                      SMASH CUT TO:

     EXT. UNDERWATER, TARAWA ATOLL - NIGHT

     UNDERWATER.  Tendrils of seaweed.  PAN TO...

     Above us, on the surface, bodies drift almost ethereally
     against brilliant flashes of red and yellow light in the
     night sky beyond.  Like Aurora Borealis.  The underneath of a
     boat hull.  The surface broken by bodies jumping in.

     Now CLOSE ON Ishmael's face underwater.

     He's in full battledress and helmet.  He looks about to
     drown.  His heavy pack threatens to sink him.  Other bodies
     land around him.  In the melee, Ishmael loses his gun.

     ALL SOUND is muffled, apart from his own HEARTBEAT, and
     HATSUE'S VOICE reading the letter...

                          HATSUE (O.S.)
                "...I loved you and I didn't love you at
                the same moment..."

     ON ISHMAEL to see BUBBLES escape from his MOUTH as he
     struggles out of his pack.  Below him, a dead MARINE, trapped
     in a tangle of barbed wire.

                          HATSUE (O.S.)
                "...I'm going to move on with my life as
                best I can, and I hope that you will too.
                You must live, Ishmael..."

     AS IF IN RESPONSE, Ishmael struggles upwards to BREAK the
     surface, gasping for breath in violent gulps AMID A BEDLAM OF
     GUNFIRE AND EXPLODING ORDNANCE.

     EXT. OCEAN'S SURFACE - TARAWA ATOLL - NIGHT

     WITHERING BURSTS of fire and explosives whip the water, as
     Ishmael struggles to survive in this version of hell.

     Fractured, fragmented glimpses through choppy water of...

     ...marines, jumping into the water from a LANDING CRAFT...

     ...one man submerges, drowning.  Another is SHOT in the
     HEAD...

     ...men struggle and plunge desperately towards the shore, a
     distant, smoke enveloped SILHOUETTE OF PALMS glimpsed briefly
     in the strobing, lightning flashes of explosions.

                          HATSUE (O.S.)
                "I'll always be wishing the very best for
                you..."

     BLACK.

     EXT. TARAWA BEACH/PIER - NIGHT

     A split-second glimpse of a shelled, burned out hull,
     WREATHED IN BILLOWING SMOKE.

     A HAND grabs desperately on the jagged edge.  Ishmael hauls
     himself up.  Lungs gasping.

     Now waist-deep, he drags himself underneath the wooden
     structure of a pier.  Other men struggle past.  The water
     surface ERUPTS with mortar shells.

     Under the slatted timbers Ishmael sees...

     ...a JAPANESE SOLDIER rises from underwater amid the wreathes
     of smoke and lightning flashes of red and yellow brightness.
     HIS BALD HEAD AND NAKED TORSO give him an unearthly warrior
     quality.  His face bears a fleeting resemblance to KAZUO.

                          HATSUE (O.S.)
                "...But now I must say goodbye to you..."

     WHIP PAN to ECU of Ishmael as...

     ...a HUGE JARRING EXPLOSION WHITES OUT THE FRAME.

     EXT. SEAWALL - DAY

     LONG FADE IN FROM WHITE.

     Blinding sunlight.  Ishmael wakes to water lapping over him.
     A body floats alongside him, inches away.  Photographs of
     smiling loved ones leak out of the dead marine's pack,
     drifting in the tide.

     Above the waterline, a ghastly litter of death and damage.
     Bodies half submerged in sand, like incomplete stone
     sculpture.  Some look as though they're sleeping, strangely
     peaceful amid the destruction.

                          HATSUE (O.S.)
                "I know you will do great things in this
                world..."

     Behind Ishmael, a partial view of the smoke enveloped beach.
     From the little we can see, it's like a twister hit it.

     Shattered palm trees, a burnt-out tank, and a stranded
     landing craft.  Some re-outfitters crawl along the seawall,
     distributing weapons to survivors.

     The shattering THUNDER OF EXPLOSIONS continues.  The ripping
     crackle of machine-gun fire, the thump of mortars CONTINUES
     OVER...

     INT. ISHMAEL'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

     ...ISHMAEL on his bed, Hatsue's letter still in his hand.  As
     he turns, his amputated stump is for the first time quite
     visible, naked and terribly vulnerable...

     EXT. SEAWALL - DAY

     ...a squad leader goes OVER THE WALL.  Firing ERUPTS, and the
     make-shift unit SCRAMBLES into the teeth of it, mortar and
     machine-gun BARRAGES and FLAME THROWERS pierce the shroud of
     SMOKE.

     CAMERA FOLLOWS Ishmael SPRINTING through battered palm trees
     and silhouetted wreckage.

                          HATSUE (O.S.)
                "...You have a gentle heart.  A good
                heart, Ishmael..."

     All SOUND disappears.  Only Ishmael's panicked breathing can
     be heard.  The man next to him goes DOWN silently, Ishmael
     TURNS instinctively, and an unheard shot...

     ...RIPS into his left elbow.  He stares down, more in
     surprise than anything else.  Still just his breathing
     audible.

                                                            CUT TO:

     ISHMAEL'S POV...his left forearm - a trickle of blood rolls
     from under his sleeve, down his upturned palm...

     TWO HANDS take the ARM away...

                                                         WE ARE IN:

     INT. SHIPBOARD OPERATING ROOM - NIGHT

     ...a hell of men and blood and doctors and limbs and shouted
     curses.  Most of the surgeons CORPSMEN, obviously
     learning as they go.

                          HATSUE (O.S.)
                "...I will never forget you, and the time
                we spent together."

     CAMERA finds Ishmael.  Feverish, in a morphine-glaze,
     unconscious of the straps that hold him to a table.  Lying
     across his chest, a bloody HANDSAW.  Ishmael blinks,
     disbelieving.  Turns to see...

     ...there, being carried away by a corpsman...

     ...his left arm.

                          ISHMAEL
                    (an opiated rasp)
                ...fucking goddam Jap bitch!

     BLACK.

     INT. COURTROOM - MORNING (TRIAL DAY THREE)

     A match is struck.  A large candle lit.

                                                            CUT TO:

     WIDE SHOT...the empty courtroom, all in readiness for the
     days proceedings.  Lit by a dozen candles.  Like a chapel.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     CLOSE ON Kazuo.

                          BAILIFF (O.S.)
                Do you swear to tell the truth.  The
                whole truth.  And nothing but the truth?
                So help you God?

                          KAZUO
                I do.

     ANGLE ON Kazuo in the stand.  Nels paces before him, poised
     to ask a question.

                                                            CUT TO:

     CLOSE ON Kazuo's eyes.  Tendrils of mist spiral past.

                                                         WE ARE IN:

     EXT. SHIP CHANNEL BANK, THE SUSAN MARIE - NIGHT

     Fog.  The sound of water.  Lapping at the hull of a boat.
     The mist drifts, revealing...

     Eyes.  They are blue.  The heavy brows above them dark gold,
     matted and damp.

                          CARL
                My batteries are drawed down, both of
                'em.  Generator belts were loose.

     PULL BACK to see him.  With his kerosene lantern and his air
     horn.

                          KAZUO
                No sweat.  We'll pull one a mine, get ya
                started.

     PULL BACK to see him now, leaning on his gaff.  Squinting up.
     At the top of Carl's mast.  We follow his gaze to see...

                          KAZUO
                You lashed up a lantern?  'Gainst a fog
                like this?

     See it now.  SWAYING as the helpless boat bobs in the night.
     Carl holds up the lantern in his hand.

                          CARL
                Lantern and air horn.  That's all I got.
                I'm dead here.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. SHIP CHANNEL BANK, THE SUSAN MARIE - NIGHT

     ANGLE ON a large battery as it's swung from one boat to the
     other.  Carl looks at it.

                          CARL
                That thing's big.  But it'll fit if I
                bang the flange out the way.

     Kazuo reaches down and picks up his GAFF.

                          KAZUO
                We can use this to hammer with.

     INT/EXT THE SUSAN MARIE'S CABIN, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - NIGHT

     CLOSE ON a battery well.  One battery sits in place, one spot
     is empty.  And...

     ...CRASH!  The butt end of a fishing gaff BANGS against the
     metal flange.  Again.  AGAIN.  And as the next blow is
     STRUCK, the huge hand...

     ...slips, and the soft metal SLICES Carl's palm.  A pause as
     he glances at the bleeding cut, and resumes his work.

     Then, satisfied he's made room for it.  He lifts Kazuo's
     battery into place and secures it.  He replaces the lid to
     the battery well, but it juts above the floor, resting on the
     bigger battery.

                          CARL
                It'll take me a while to get charged up.

                          KAZUO
                Keep it tonight.  I'll catch up with you
                on the dock.

     Kazuo takes up his gaff.  He goes to step over to his boat.

                          CARL (O.S.)
                Seven acres...

     Kazuo stops.

                          CARL
                I'm wonderin' what you'd pay for 'em.
                Just curious, is all.

                          KAZUO
                What are you sellin' 'em for?  Why don't
                we start there.

                          CARL
                Did I say I was selling?  But if I was,
                I'd have to figure you want 'em real bad.
                Oughta charge a small fortune, maybe...

     A slight shrug.  A smile.

                          CARL
                Then again.  Maybe you'd want your
                battery back.

     Kazuo doesn't grin back.  His face shows nothing at all.

                          KAZUO
                The battery's in, that's done.  Besides,
                you'd do the same for m...

                          CARL
                ...might do the same.  I have to warn you
                'bout that, chief.  I'm not screwed
                together like I used to be.

     Kazuo's face remains impassive.  And the big man squints up
     into it.  He puts his cut palm briefly to his mouth.

                          CARL
                Hell, I'm sorry, okay?  About the whole
                damn mess.  If I'd a been around, my
                mother wouldn't a pulled it off that way.

     He is sorry.  And with that, Kazuo's face eases.

                          CARL
                    (grins)
                I was out there.  Fightin' you Jap sons-a-
                bitches.

                          KAZUO
                    (no grin)
                I'm an American.  Did I call you a Nazi,
                you big Nazi bastard?

                          CARL
                    (softly)
                Not that I recall.

                          KAZUO
                I killed men like you, pig-fed German
                bastards.  So don't talk to me about
                Japs, you big Nazi son of a bitch.

     Carl laughs.

                          CARL
                I am a son-of-a-bitch.  I'm a great big
                pig-fed Nazi German bastard.

     Pause.  And Kazuo's poker face breaks into a smile.  The two
     men consider each other, then...

                          CARL
                $1200 an acre, that's what I paid Ole.
                You got no choice on that.

                          KAZUO
                If I was buying, what'd you want down?
                Just out of curiosity?

                          CARL
                A thousand down.  We can sign off
                tomorrow.

     Just hands grip.  A firm shake.

                          KAZUO
                Eight hundred.  And it's a deal.

     Kazuo steps back onto his boat.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     Kazuo.  In the witness box.  Ramrod straight.  Face composed,
     in the flickering candlelight.

                          HOOKS (O.S.)
                For the life of me, sir, I cannot imagine
                why you kept this story from the Sheriff.

                          KAZUO
                    (quietly)
                I was thinking about it.  Every minute.

                          HOOKS
                Except when Sheriff Moran arrested you.
                You said nothing about seeing the
                deceased.

     Turns to the jury.  Openly bewildered.

                          HOOKS
                Why?

     No reaction from the defendant.  Nothing anyone can see.

                          KAZUO
                I didn't have a lawyer...

                          HOOKS
                But even after you had an attorney.  You
                still claimed to know nothing.  Claimed
                not to have seen Carl.  Am I correct?

     A beat.

                          KAZUO
                Yes.  Initially.

                          HOOKS
                Well, "initially" is an interesting word,
                sir.  You'd been arrested, you had a
                lawyer, and you still claimed ignorance!

     Silence.

                          KAZUO
                I should've told everything right away.
                I wouldn't be here if I had.

                          HOOKS
                Should have told "everything".  Meaning,
                you should have told the truth.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. JAIL - NIGHT

     Nels is interviewing Kazuo on their first meeting.

                          NELS
                Is that the truth?  The whole truth?  Is
                it?

                          KAZUO
                You don't want to hear the whole truth.

                          NELS
                Why don't you try me...

                          KAZUO
                The whole truth is...I wanted to kill
                him.

                          NELS
                But did you?

     SILENCE.

                          NELS
                Did you?  Tell me.

                          KAZUO
                No.  I didn't.

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY (CONTINUED)

     We can just discern the anger.  At the edge of Kazuo's steady
     gaze.  Silence.

                          HOOKS
                Nothing to say?

                          KAZUO
                    (quietly)
                I didn't know that was a question.

     And Hooks smiles.  Loving it.  Walks toward the witness.
     Stalking him.

                          HOOKS
                My apologies.  Do you regret not telling
                the truth?

                          KAZUO
                I have told the truth.

                          HOOKS
                You mean, this morning.  The new story,
                the battery story.  That one is the
                truth?  That's a question, sir.

                          KAZUO
                    (even quieter)
                Yes.  And I told it long before this
                morning.

     Pause.  Hooks resumes pacing.

                          HOOKS
                So tell us.  This good deed.  This
                charitable act of yours, helping Carl.
                Why?

                          KAZUO
                Well.  It's a kind of code among
                fishermen.  Someone sounds a distress
                call, you go.  No questions asked.

                          HOOKS
                That's interesting.  Let's think about
                that.  Suppose it was you who sounded a
                distress call.  Are you with me?

                          KAZUO
                So far.

                          HOOKS
                Supposing it was you who sounded the
                distress.  Could you rely on another
                fisherman, say Carl Heine for example, to
                come?  And help you?

                          KAZUO
                Yes.

                          HOOKS
                I see.  Now you told us you ran out to
                Ship Channel Bank that night with "other
                boats."  Is that right?

                          KAZUO
                That's right.

                          HOOKS
                Was Carl Heine's boat among them?

                          KAZUO
                Yes.

                          HOOKS
                Did you see him running out there?

                          KAZUO
                Until the fog rolled in.  Then I lost
                sight of everyone.

                          HOOKS
                Okay, now let's see...

     A FLICKER, and the LIGHTS go on.  A murmur from the gallery.
     A man JUMPS UP, claps his hands and hurries out of the
     courtroom.  A couple of others follow suit.

     Judge Fielding raps the gavel for order, as the Bailiff
     starts to blow out the candles.

                          HOOKS
                Now, where were we...yes...

     Hooks flicks through his notes.

                          HOOKS
                    (reads)
                You said in your testimony "I slept til
                one-thirty, when my wife woke me up with
                the news.  We talked for a while.  I left
                at six and went straight to my boat."

     Pause.

                          HOOKS
                Didn't go anywhere else?  Just straight
                to the boat?  Is that the truth?

                          KAZUO
                Yes.

     Hooks leans over the box.  Ever so slightly invading Kazuo's
     space.

                          HOOKS
                Well, the Sheriff found two batteries in
                your well.  If, as you claim, you left
                one with Carl Heine, how is that
                possible?

                          KAZUO
                I had a spare battery in my shed.  I
                brought it down, and put it in just
                before the Sheriff showed up.

     Ah.  I see.

                          HOOKS
                Conveniently, in your shed.  Oh, this is
                new.  Why does this battery story change
                every time a new question is raised?

     Kazuo looks at him, evenly.

                          KAZUO
                You asked if I went straight to the boat.
                I did.  With the battery.

     Hooks steps back.  Looks the witness over.

                          HOOKS
                And the new line, too?  Was that in your
                shed?  You have a regular chandlery in
                there.

     Silence.

                          HOOKS
                You have no answer?  You sit there in
                silence, with no expression.  You're a
                hard man to trust, sir...

                          NELS (O.S.)
                Objection!

                          JUDGE
                You know better than that, Mr. Hooks.
                Either ask questions that count for
                something, or sit down and be done with
                it.

     Silence.  The judge staring hard.  Hooks never flinching.

                          JUDGE
                Shame on you.

     Hooks turns his eyes to Kazuo.  Stares him down, so the jury
     can watch Kazuo's implacable stare in return.  Turns away.

                          HOOKS
                No further questions.

     Judge Lew Fielding looks to Nels, who nods.

                          JUDGE
                You may step down, Mr. Miyamoto.

     As Kazuo steps down from the box.  We PAN...

     ...reporters' row.  The boys are writing as fast as their
     hands can move.  Only Ishmael is not writing at all.  He
     stares at the pad resting on his knee.  IN CLOSE we see...

     The words: "two lanterns."  Double underlined.

     INT. COURTROOM BASEMENT & HOLDING CELLS - DAY

     Ishmael and Moran face each other across the counter.  Behind
     Moran, the holding cell where Kazuo sits on a cot.
     Listening.

                          MORAN
                What do you want it for?

                          ISHMAEL
                It's public record, isn't it?  If the
                public cares to read it.

     Moran considers this a moment.  In the cell, Kazuo gets up
     and looks through the bars.  Ishmael avoids his gaze,
     uneasily.  Abel comes in, heading for the cell.

                          ABEL
                They're about to start up again.

                          MORAN
                Where's a copy of that inventory?  You
                know, the list of all the stuff on the
                boats.

     Abel points to a filing cabinet drawer.  As Moran retrieves a
     document, Abel leads Kazuo, handcuffed, out of the cell.

     Ishmael has to step back to let them pass.  Kazuo stops.

                          KAZUO
                Hey Chambers.

     Ishmael glances at him.  Nods uncomfortably.

     Abel leads him away.  Moran slaps a paper onto the counter.

                          MORAN
                One inventory...

     Ishmael skims down the list of contents for "The Susan
     Marie," Carl Heine's boat.  His finger stops.

                                                            CUT TO:

     CLOSE ON the words: "Lantern, Kerosene.  One."

     Ishmael contemplates this a moment, then hands the paper back
     to Moran.

                          ISHMAEL
                Thanks Art.  You've been a great help.

     INT. COURTROOM - LATER

     Alvin Hooks stalks the jury box now.  Prowls before them 
     along the rail.  As their eyes follow.

                          HOOKS
                ...believing that Etta Heine's son would
                never sell him the land.  Land that in
                his mind, filtered through ancient rules
                of behavior handed down from his
                ancestors' culture, belonged to his
                family by right...

     Stops.  To make sure they understand.

                          HOOKS
                His only choice to get the land would be
                to eliminate Carl Heine.  So that Ole
                Jurgensen would need a new buyer.

     Pacing again, hand trailing along the rail...

                          HOOKS
                In his mind.  Seen through codes of
                revenge difficult for us to fathom, this
                was also the only way to avenge what he
                felt to be the grievous dishonor brought
                to his father, his family...

     Raises his finger.  This must be heard...

                          HOOKS
                ...to a thousand years of ancestry, in a
                foreign land we still find an enigma.
                Despite our recent bitter experience with
                its ways.

     And stops once more.  Places his hands on the rail.

                          HOOKS
                Thus believing cold-blooded murder to be
                justified...he trailed Carl Heine...could
                hear his engine in the fog...and sounded
                his own horn, claiming distress.

     Straightens up.  Shakes his head, ever so slightly.

                          HOOKS
                As Carl pulled alongside: "Please, Carl,"
                the defendant must have said.  "I am
                sorry for what has come between us, but
                adrift here in the fog, I plead for your
                help!"

     Imagine.  Imagine that.

                          HOOKS
                And so this good man tied his boat fast,
                while his enemy leaps aboard, striking
                the treacherous blow he was trained to
                strike by his father's hand.

     Counting off the facts.  One finger at a time...

                          HOOKS
                The feud over these seven acres had
                festered for eight years.  He argued with
                Carl about buying the land one week
                before Carl was killed.  Then Carl is
                found.  In his own net.  His skull
                crushed.  His blood on a murder weapon
                found on the defendant's boat.

     Spreads his arms.  Wide.

                          HOOKS
                And after a series of lies.  The
                defendant at last admits he was there.
                Alone on the boat.  In the fog.  Carl
                Heine's blood on his fishing gaff.

     A hush.  A murmur...

     Hooks holds the pause.

     Looking into the eyes now.  Of each man.  Each woman.

                          HOOKS
                Look clearly at the defendant.  See the
                truth self-evident in him.  And in the
                facts of this case.

     And turns.  So that they will follow his eyes to Kazuo's 
     stone- hard gaze.

                          HOOKS
                Look into his eyes, ladies and gentlemen,
                consider his face.  And ask yourself,
                each one of you, "What is my duty?  As a
                citizen of this community.  Of this
                country.  As an American?"

     INT. COURTROOM - LATER

     PAN the jury, slowly, as they hear...

                          NELS (O.S.)
                There is no evidence of anger at Carl,
                much less rage, much less murderous rage.
                No reason for premeditation and no
                evidence of it.  Anywhere.

     Nels stands very still.  Hands resting on the rail.  As calm 
     and quiet as his adversary had been dramatic.

                          NELS
                He had asked his childhood friend Carl to
                sell him some land.  And Carl was
                considering it.

     Leans forward.  Just a little.

                          NELS
                Carl's own wife testified that her
                husband had not made up his mind!
                Strange moment to follow and kill a man,
                don't you think?

     He spreads his palms.

                          NELS
                And yet the state is required to prove
                these things.  Beyond.  A reasonable.
                Doubt.

     His eyes widen.

                          NELS
                There is more than reasonable doubt, but
                reasonable doubt is all that's needed.
                Why is Kazuo's D-6 battery in Carl's well, if
                Carl was helping him?

     Why?

                          NELS
                Isn't the blood on the gaff more
                consistent with Carl's hand wound than a
                skull fracture?  Given the absence of
                bone fragments or brain tissue.

     And now.  he begins to pace, limping slightly, eyes down.

                          NELS
                What Mr. Hooks asks you to believe is
                that no proof is needed.  Against a man
                who bombed Pearl Harbor.  Look at his
                face, the prosecutor said.  Presuming
                that you will see an enemy there.  He is
                counting on you to remember this war.
                And to see Kazuo Miyamoto as somehow
                connected with it.

     He stops.  Looks at them.

                          NELS
                And indeed he is.  Let us recall that
                First Lieutenant Kazuo Miyamoto is a much
                decorated hero of the United States Army.

     The feeling wells in the old man.  It bleeds through the very
     quietness of his voice.

     He leans his elbows on their rail, as if confiding in them.

                          NELS
                Now Kazuo Miyamoto did one thing wrong.
                He wasn't certain he could trust us.  He
                was afraid that he would be made a victim
                of prejudice.  As Mr. Hooks is urging you
                to do.

     Silence.

                          NELS
                And there's reason in his uncertainty.
                Why?  We sent him.  And his wife.  And
                thousands of Americans to concentration
                camps.  They lost homes, belongings,
                everything.  Can we now be unforgiving of
                his mistrust?

     Looking in their eyes.  As if waiting for an answer.  They 
     shift their weight, fidget beneath his gaze.

                          NELS
                Now our learned prosecutor would have you
                do your duty as Americans.  Proud
                Americans.  Of course you must.  And if
                you do, Kazuo Miyamoto has nothing to
                fear.  because this great country is
                supposed to be founded on a set of
                principles.  Of fairness.  Equality.
                Justice.  And if you are true to these
                principles, you will only convict a man
                for what he has done.  Not for who he is.

     He holds their gaze.

                          NELS
                I am an old man.  I do not walk so well
                anymore, and one of my eyes is close to
                useless.  My life is drawing to a close.
                Why do I say this?  I say this because it
                means I ponder matters in the light of
                death in a way that you do not.  I feel
                like a traveller descended from Mars,
                astonished at what passes here.  What I
                see is the same human frailty passed from
                generation to generation.  We hate one
                another.  We are the victims of
                irrational fears.

     He straightens his spine.  Winces slightly, with the pain of 
     it.

                          NELS
                You may think this is a small trial.  In
                a small place.  Well, it isn't.  Every
                once in awhile.  Somewhere in the world.
                Humanity goes on trial.  And integrity.
                And decency.  Every once in awhile,
                common folks get called on to give the
                report card for the human race.

     The eyes are watering.  But the voice gains strength.

                          NELS
                In the name of humanity.  Do your duty as
                jurors.  Return this man to his wife and
                children.  Set him free.  As you must.

     End on Ishmael.  As the words sear into him.

     INT. COURTROOM - LATER

     CLOSE ON handcuffs snapping into place.  Abel stands by to
     lead Kazuo away.  But he turns and reaches toward Hatsue.

     Her sisters move away to allow Hatsue a moment with Kazuo.

     They clasp hands across the railing.  Feelings beyond words.

     Nels is packing up.  Studiously avoiding any intrusion.

     Abel puts a hand on Kazuo's shoulder, breaking the moment.
     He leads Kazuo away.

     HOLD ON Hatsue.  She sits down.  Alone in the gallery.  Nels
     makes his way down the aisle.  He looks up at the balcony to
     see Ishmael staring at Hatsue.  Nels recognizes the power of
     the emotional connection between them.  He passes out of the
     courtroom without a pause.

     Ishmael looks down at the lone figure of Hatsue in the empty
     chamber.

     Sensing she's being watched, she turns suddenly and catches
     him.

     He gets up and leaves.

     EXT. CEDAR FOREST - AFTERNOON

     The familiar landscape of the cedar forest is now blanketed
     in snow.

     Ishmael appears, trudging relentlessly through the snow.  He
     pauses.  Looks around.  Everything looks different to him.
     He heads off in a fresh direction.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. CEDAR HOLLOW - AFTERNOON

     A hole is punched through the snow.

     With difficulty, Ishmael hoists himself through the entrance,
     and struggles into a cross-legged position inside.

     His back is to the entrance, as he contemplates the wall of
     cedar close in front of him.

     His eye takes in the surface of the wood, the moss, and
     suddenly lights on a particular crevice.  He reaches out and
     extracts...

     ...A HAIRPIN.  Hatsue's hairpin, now rusted with the years.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. SNOW BANK - DAY

     A bank of powdery snow.  A boy falls backward into the drift.
     It's young Ishmael.  Another figure flops beside him.  It's
     Hatsue.  They whirl their arms and legs, laughing.  Making
     angels.

     INT. CEDAR HOLLOW - AFTERNOON

     With a sense of decision, Ishmael replaces the hairpin in its
     hiding place.  Letting go.

     EXT/INT IMADA HOUSE - NIGHT

     Ishmael sits in his car.  He looks at the Imada house,
     gathering his resolve.  He takes the coastguard report out of
     his pocketbook.

     He trudges through the snow to the front door, and knocks.
     The door opens a crack.  It's Sumiko.  She looks at Ishmael.
     And shuts the door quickly.

     Uncertain, Ishmael hesitates.  Muffled voices inside.

     The door opens again.  This time it's Hisao.

     Ishmael unfolds the piece of paper in his hand.  Gives it to
     him, explaining.  Puzzled, Hisao looks at it.  Then steps
     aside, opening the door to usher Ishmael in.  He enters and
     the door closes behind him.

     Through the window, we see Hisao explain Ishmael's presence.
     They all sit at the dining table.  No sign of Hatsue.

     From the stairwell, Hatsue appears, in nightgown and her
     father's old bathrobe.  Ishmael stands.  Awkwardly, they face
     each other.  Fujiko urges them to sit.

     INT. IMADA HOUSE - NIGHT

     LATER...Steaming cups of green tea mask the undercurrents
     that radiate around this table.  Ishmael sits opposite
     Hatsue.  The pair of them observed by four more pairs of
     eyes.

                          ISHMAEL
                The report shows the freighter entered
                Ship Channel Bank at 1:42.  Carl Heine's
                watch stopped five minutes later when the
                seawater seeped in at 1:47.

                          HATSUE
                Remember that coffee cup the Sheriff
                talked about?  Just lying there.  That
                proves his boat was rocked by something.

                          FUJIKO
                Spilled coffee doesn't prove much.

     Hisao nods in agreement.

                          HISAO
                Kazuo needs more than a coffee cup to
                save him.

                          HATSUE
                But it's something.

                          ISHMAEL
                There's another thing.  In his testimony,
                Kazuo described a lantern lashed to
                Carl's mast.

                          HATSUE
                He told me it was all he could see in the
                fog.

                          ISHMAEL
                Well there's no mention of it in the
                Sheriff's report.  And yet it would
                suggest that it was Carl's battery that
                was dead, wouldn't it?

     INT. SOMMENSEN'S WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

     Blackness.  The sound water lapping at wood.  CLICK of a key, 
     springing a lock.  The SCRAPE of a large PADLOCK sliding
     away.  A door CREAKS open, and from the sound of it, a large 
     one.

     Gray light seeps in.

     Three SILHOUETTES framed in the open doorway.  Against the 
     night sky.

     A soft CLICK, and the LIGHTS go on.  A few bare bulbs strung 
     across the rafters of this towering old mildewed barn of 
     creosoted timbers.

     TWO BOATS are tied to wide-elbowed piers.  We've seen them 
     before.

     Moran points up to the cross spar, high on the mast of the
     first boat.

                          MORAN
                See, no lantern.

                          ABEL
                    (respectfully)
                Sheriff?  That's Miyamoto's boat.

     Oh.  Moran swings his gaze up to the second boat.

                          MORAN
                No lantern there, neither.

     Shining his flashlight.  Up the mast.

                          ISHMAEL
                What's that, up there?

     And they all look up.  Shining their lights together.

                          MORAN
                Nothin'.  Bits of string.  Look, we've
                been over these boats...

                          ISHMAEL
                Pieces of string aren't nothing.

     And he steps to the base of the mast.  Puts the flashlight in 
     his pocket.  With his one hand, he clutches the wire ladder,
     testing it.

                          ISHMAEL
                Abel?  Do me a favor.  Climb up there and
                take a look.

     Abel begins to climb.  Art calls up to him.

                          MORAN
                Don't go touching anything up there,
                Abel.  It's a crime scene, remember.  You
                don't ever touch something at a crime
                scene.

     He shines his flashlight up the mast.

                          MORAN
                    (to Ishmael)
                I don't know how I let you rope me into
                this.

     Abel reaches the crossbar.  And in the light, it's clear.

                          ABEL
                They're lashings, Art.  "Figure-eight"
                lashings.  All cut through.

     He leans closer with his own flashlight.

                          ABEL
                And you know something?  This stuff on
                the mast?  Could be blood.

                          ISHMAEL
                From his hand.  The cut on his hand.

     Art gets onto the opposite wire ladder.  They look at the
     blood stains together.  When they look down, Ishmael is at
     the gunnel, inspecting it.  Closely.

                          MORAN
                What the hell is it now?

     Ishmael look sup.

                          ISHMAEL
                You'd better come down here.

     He points to a spot on the gunnel.  Moran and Abel peer at
     it.  Between his fingertips, Moran extracts from a splinter
     of wood a human hair.

     INT. JURY ROOM - NIGHT

     The Bailiff backs his way through a swing door, carrying a
     tea tray.  Through the gap we catch a glimpse of the jurors
     around a walnut table.  And a snatch of raised voices...

                          VAN NESS
                I'm not saying you're wrong.  Just that I
                have my doubts.  What's the rush?

     The door flaps shut, muffling the debate.

                          JENSEN
                Been three hours.  You sayin' there's a
                way to go slower?

     The door opens again as the Bailiff emerges now without the
     tray.  Again a glimpse.  And a voice.

                          PORTER
                You can see what really happened, same as
                the rest of us.  My God.  Carl died,
                here.

                          JENSEN
                Alex, it's unreasonable to be so stubborn
                that you think you're smarter than all
                the rest of us put together.

     The door FLAPS shut.

     INT/EXT JUDGE FIELDING'S HOUSE - NIGHT

     JUDGE FIELDING opens his front door to a deputation: Nels,
     Ishmael, Moran and Hooks.

                          JUDGE
                This'd better be good.  I hope you're not
                wasting my time with these bits of twine
                and lanterns...

     He leads them into the parlor.  Closes the door.

     INT. JUDGE FIELDING'S PARLOR - NIGHT

                          JUDGE
                    (to Ishmael)
                Under the law, I can permit evidence at
                this stage only is required in the
                interests of justice.  Only if it changes
                everything.  Nels explain that to you?

     See Nels now sitting next to an immaculately-groomed Hooks.
     The prosecutor cool, watchful.

                          ISHMAEL
                He did.

                          JUDGE
                So tell me why that lantern would be so
                significant.

     The young man draws a breath...

                          ISHMAEL
                Well.  It was Carl's boat that was dead
                in the water.  Or he'd never have put up
                the lantern

     The judge thinks on that.

                          JUDGE
                So you believe there were two lanterns
                when the defendant arrived.  One in
                Carl's hand.  The second lashed to the
                mast.

                          ISHMAEL
                That's what Miyamoto reported, and he'd
                have no reason to lie.  He couldn't know
                it would help his case.

                          JUDGE
                And why does it?

                          ISHMAEL
                Because the second lantern, the one on
                the mast.  Was never found.  So we have
                to ask...

     A slight shrug.  Stating the obvious.

                          ISHMAEL
                ...where did it go?

     And then...

                          ISHMAEL
                Maybe it went.  Where Carl went.  Over
                the side.

                          HOOKS
                    (softly)
                Your Honor, that is the rankest
                speculation.

     The judge looks up.  First, to Nels.  Who looks straight
     back.  And shakes his head in amusement, just slightly.

                          JUDGE
                Really, Alvin.  Spare me.

                          HOOKS
                With all due respect...

                          JUDGE
                Now listen to me, we're gonna hear this
                theory out.  And if justice requires,
                we're gonna let the jury hear it, too.

     A beat.  His eyes never waver.

                          JUDGE
                Just in case it might be the truth.

     Silence.  The look holds.

                          JUDGE
                Which I know, as an elected official of
                this county, you are as interested in as
                any of the rest of us.  Are you not?

                          HOOKS
                    (crisp)
                Yessir, I surely am.

     Good.  Turns now...

                          JUDGE
                Now.  This second lantern...

                          ISHMAEL
                After Miyamoto left, and Carl's engine
                was up and running, he must've remembered
                the lantern.  So he climbs up to cut it
                down...

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - NIGHT

     Carl climbs the ladder.  He reaches for his knife, his feet
     precariously balanced on the ladder, his arms on the
     crossbar.

     Carl's knife SLASHES at the twine...We HEAR the freighter,
     the boat ROCKS.

     With terrifying suddenness, through the wall of fog, the vast
     BOW of the FREIGHTER appears.

     The FREIGHTER'S WAKE HITS.

     The Susan Marie pitches violently.  Carl is dislodged.  Falls
     backwards.  The LANTERN falls.  The KNIFE falls.

     The boat continues to rock as a curtain of fog draws around
     the stern of the disappearing freighter.

                                                            CUT TO:

     UNDERWATER...

     Carl's WATCH drifts through frame.  It's 1:47.

     Carl's body drifts into his net.  The bubbles of his last
     breath escaping...

     INT. SUSAN MARIE'S CABIN, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - NIGHT

     ...the cabin.  Silent, as...

     ...the coffee cup rolls on the floor.

     INT. JUDGE FIELDING'S PARLOR - NIGHT

                          JUDGE
                And the headwound?

                          NELS
                A long, narrow, flat object.

                          ISHMAEL
                We found a small fracture in the gunnel
                just below the mast.

                          HOOKS
                Anything could've caused that.

                          ISHMAEL
                Anything with human hair.

     He hands over a cellophane packet containing the strand of
     Carl's hair.  The Judge holds it up to the light.

                          HOOKS
                I have to start reading your paper more
                closely.  You're quite a storyteller.

                          ISHMAEL
                That means a lot, coming from you.

                          HOOKS
                This isn't a legal case.  There's no way
                to prove any of it.

                          NELS
                Lucky it's not his job to prove
                anything...

                          ISHMAEL
                ...beyond a reasonable doubt.

     There is a suppressed snort of nervous laughter from Moran.
     Hooks turns on him.

                          HOOKS
                You think this is funny?

                          MORAN
                No I don't.  But...not at all.

                          ISHMAEL
                    (to Hooks)
                There's nothing funny about any of this.

                          HOOKS
                     (to Nels)
                At the eleventh hour you let him drag us
                here with some preposterous story he's
                invented...

                          ISHMAEL
                Is everyone who doesn't agree with you a
                liar?

                          HOOKS
                Just look at the company you keep...

     Ishmael's anger is palpable.  Nels puts a hand on his arm.

                          ISHMAEL
                We always want someone to blame, don't
                we?  Even when there just isn't anyone.

                          JUDGE
                This clearly merits a fresh look.  I want
                to think about it.

     INT. NELS' LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

     Ishmael sits in a lounge chair.  From the kitchen behind him,
     a throaty COUGH.

     Nels appears, holding a kettle.  His hair wispy and wild.
     He looks at Ishmael, then disappears again.

                          NELS (O.S.)
                By the way, the coastguard report.  When
                did you come across it?

     No answer.  Nels appears, without the kettle.

                          NELS
                Was it today you went out to the
                lighthouse?

                          ISHMAEL
                    (just above a whisper)
                Day before yesterday.

     A pause.

                          ISHMAEL
                You're wondering why I held it.

                          NELS
                Perhaps I have some idea.

     Ishmael looks at him.

                          NELS
                Could it have anything to do with the way
                you look at her?

     Pause.

                          ISHMAEL
                Hooks called her a liar.  I knew she
                wasn't.

                          NELS
                It takes a rare thing.  A turning point.
                To free yourself from any obsession.  Be
                it prejudice.  Or hate.  Or even love.

                          ISHMAEL
                I had to really.  I had no choice.

                          NELS
                Now you're sounding just a little like
                your father.  Did I ever tell you how much
                I liked him?

     Ishmael reflects.

                          ISHMAEL
                I keep thinking about poor Carl.  How
                unfair it seems.  An accident.  Just like
                that.

                          NELS
                Things just bear down on us I suppose.  A
                freighter in the fog.  Or a war.

     And from some quiet corner of his heart...as the kettle 
     begins to whistle.

                          NELS
                Accident rules every corner of the
                universe.  Except the chambers of the
                human heart.

     Nels goes out to the kitchen and switches off the gas.

     HOLD ON Ishmael as the kettle whistle dies.  Nels pokes his
     head around the door.

                          NELS
                Tea?

     INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     The packed courthouse.  All on their feet as Judge Fielding
     enters.  He sits.  Everyone that has one, resumes their seat.
     Even in the press balcony there's silence.  And standing room
     only.

     Judge Fielding leafs through papers.  No one coughs, no one
     blinks.  He looks to the jury, watching expectantly.

                          JUDGE
                Members of the jury, this court thanks
                you for your diligence in the task you
                have performed under difficult
                circumstances.  However, in the light of
                new evidence received you are now
                discharged forthwith from your
                responsibilities.

     There's a murmuring in the public gallery as people react to
     the news.

     Nels grasps Kazuo's arm.  Hatsue draws in a breath, hardly
     daring to hope.

     The Judge turns to address the court.  When...

     In the gallery Hisao slowly stands, with dignified humility.
     Holding his hat in front of him, he turns and bows his head
     towards Ishmael's corner of the balcony.  There's a flicker
     of excitement from the crowd.

     Fujiko tugs at his arm, embarrassed at the uncharacteristic
     display.  But Hisao holds his ground.  So Fujiko joins him.
     And her daughters.  Hatsue turns too, and rises slowly.

     The muttering grows amid the non-Japanese side of the
     gallery.  People crane their necks to see what's happening.

     Judge Fielding's hand reaches for the gavel.  But leaves it
     untouched.

     In the balcony, Ishmael leans forward with the other 
     journalists to see what is going on.  He is astonished to see
     the display.  The other journalists look at him
     questioningly.  What the heck is all that about?

     One by one other Japanese people rise and silently look
     upwards, until the majority of them are standing.

     Nels turns, and follows their gaze up to Ishmael.  Their eyes
     meet briefly.

     Hooks and Moran are discomforted by the display, and look to
     the Judge.

     Now the gavel RAPS.

                          JUDGE
                Order.  You will resume your seats.

     Everyone sits, still murmuring.

                          JUDGE
                Settle down, settle down...Let us not
                forget we have been considering the death
                of one man...

     A glimpse of Susan Marie and Etta.

                          JUDGE
                ...and pondering the fate of another.
                    (turning)
                Will the defendant please rise.

     Kazuo and Nels stand side-by-side.

                          JUDGE
                Kazuo Miyamoto.  In the interests of
                justice, the charges against you are
                dismissed.  You are free to go home.  God
                bless.

     He raps the gavel once more.

     APPLAUSE breaks out from the gallery, where citizens of 
     Japanese ancestry have forgotten custom and decorum.

     Some of the citizens assembled add their applause.  Others
     look awkward, not knowing how to react.

     The defendant is OUT of his chair, and with one strong grip 
     of gratitude to the frail shoulder of his counsel, he is...

     ...AT the rail, HATSUE is in his arms, the embrace so FIERCE 
     on both sides, everyone crowding around them.

     A glance upward from her catches Ishmael's eye.

     INT. COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR - LATER

     The Miyamotos, surrounded by family and well-wishers, make
     their way out of the courtroom.

     It's a chaotic throng of citizens and reporters.

     Ishmael watches from the balcony staircase.  Below him, a
     jubilant exchange of hugs, kisses, tears.

     Hatsue and Kazuo are each embraced by family and community
     members, Japanese and non-Japanese alike.

     Reporters jostle around the edge of the melée.  Eager for
     comment.

     Ishmael sees Hatsue's sisters mobbing Kazuo, excitedly.  And
     now, Nels finds himself in a grateful embrace from Hatsue.

     EXT. COURTHOUSE - DUSK

     It's still snowing.  Hatsue tentatively approaches Ishmael.
     As he notices her approach, she stops a pace or two away.
     Physical awkwardness radiates between them.

     Their eyes meet.  Hatsue smiles hesitantly.

                          HATSUE
                    (softly)
                Can I hold you now?

     Ishmael smiles too.  A little smile.

                          ISHMAEL
                Just for five seconds.

     She moves closer and HUGS him in a tender embrace, her face
     in the crook of his neck.  He feels her closeness to him.  He
     smells her hair, as she whispers in his ear.

                          HATSUE
                I'm so grateful.  For your gentle heart.

     Ishmael puts his arm around her.  Holds her close - for five
     seconds.  Perhaps a beat longer.  Snowflakes settle on their
     clothes and hair.

     Stepping outside amid the group, Nels watches as they draw
     apart.  Kazuo registers the moment too, as Hatsue turns to be
     reabsorbed into the joyous crowd.  Nels exchanges an
     understanding glance with Ishmael.  And passes by.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. COURTHOUSE - DUSK

     HIGH WIDE SHOT of Ishmael's small figure.  As the rest
     depart.  The expanse of snow.  The courthouse.

     CLOSER...Ishmael goes to put his notepad into his pocket.  It
     slips from his grasp.  He stoops to retrieve it.  Something
     falls from his jacket...

     ...his father's SPECTACLES tumble into the snow.

     Ishmael picks them up.  And looks at them.  As if recognizing
     them for the first time.

     He wipes the snow off the lenses carefully.  Tucks them
     safely into his breast pocket.

     Walks away.

     ROLL END CREDITS.