Bony is my first short script. I wrote it in the fall of 2010 for a short script competition organized by Nisi Masa. I was selected by Ctrl N to represent Romania at the workshops in Moulin D’Ande and the pitch session in Strasbourg in the beginning of 2011. I was supposed to film it sometimes last year, but the plans went astray. I still might, at some point, although this little story did its job well – I managed to travel and meet great people. And I actually wrote something, which I hadn’t done in quite some time.
Over the next few weeks, I will be sharing my short script here, with you. It’s the first draft. I have several newer versions, but this is the one I am happiest with. The photo above shows my grandpa in the garden of my childhood. The old shed and the garden, as well as his tall nature, white hair and the way he really loved us without saying a single word about it inspired some parts of my story. And my childhood cat, of course. The rest is fiction.
I hope you’ll enjoy this little read. Feedback is much appreciated, of course.
EXT. EVENING. GARDEN
The scene shows a small slouching house with time stricken walls and buckled carpentry. To the left, a poky shed with a table and two chairs in the middle. An old, shabby brown blanket is carelessly thrown over one of the chairs. Many old boxes are stacked disorderly against one of the walls. There is a small garden in front of the house, with a paved walkway going from the gate to the house door. Weeds are growing between the rocks in the walkway and the small garden is uncared for. The fence is mended here and there with pieces of mesh in different colors and the gate is ajar. There are tall, modern glass buildings behind the house. Tram noises and horns can be heard in the distance.
VASILE (67), an old man, with white, messy hair, comes out of the house and goes limping towards the table in the shed. He is tall, limps, and always passes his hand through his uncombed hair. His trousers are patched and his white undervest is yellowish, baggy and worn. He wears a checkered red and brown shirt, unbuttoned and its sleeves tucked up. He has no socks and the slippers are old and overused. He sits down on the empty chair with a sigh and puts his elbow on the table, gazing towards the street.
ILIE (13), a skinny, tall, washed out boy, stops in front of the gate. His shirt is out of the pants and he has a colorless bitty school bag on his shoulder.
(getting on his toes and looking over the gate)
Here I come!
(without looking at the boy and going with the hand through his hair)
The gate is locked, you have no business here!
(puffing his cheeks)
Not locked, I tell you. I can blow it down, if I want to…
ILIE comes into the garden, carefully closing the gate with a loud screech.
We have to get this gate fixed. It will fall on some thieves some day, for pity’s sake.
Who asked you anything? Didn’t I tell you it’s locked and that you should be on your way?
ILIE throws the school bag in the shrubs on the side of the walkway and jumps an imaginary hopscotch on the paved walkway leading up to the shed.
(preparing to sit on the empty chair, where the blanket is)
It’s holiday. It’s going to be so boring…
(interrupting ILIE, still gazing and passing his hand through the hair)<
That seat is taken, can’t you see? Sit over there, on those boxes, if you’d like.
(going towards the boxes, then coming back and sitting in front of the table, with his feet under him)
So… It’s going to be boring, these two weeks. I was thinking maybe I can help you clean up the garden. Dad said weeds are gonna get you if you don’t do something.
What’s your father got to do with this? Did anybody ask him anything?
You’re grumpy for no reason, he is just worried. You didn’t visit for so long, you’re not answering the phone.
(getting up and going around the boy in his way to the house)
There is a reason. Close the gate on your way out.
VASILE goes into the house, without looking at the boy. ILIE remains sited a while longer. Light goes on at one of the windows. ILIE gets up and picks up his school bag on his way to the gate. He can’t close the gate, which screeches loudly again. The lights go off.
INT. EVENING. LIVING ROOM
The living room is small, crowded, untidy. There is dust on the TV set and the knickknacks around the room, the place seems abandoned. The couch is a mess, a pillow is at one end, the blanket with no sheets is falling on the floor. The door is closing and the heavy pace of VASILE is heard in the hallway. VASILE appears in the living room door, going with his hand through his hair. He is frowning and his mouth is gaping, with corners pointing down. His shoulders are slouching and he is sighing. He turns on the light from the switch on the right side of the door and goes to the table by the window. On one side of the table, an old plate with dried leftovers and an empty glass. Bread crumbs are all over the table. He takes off his shirt and with one of the sleeves wipes the imaginary dust on a picture frame on the other corned of the table.
(putting back the frame on table and letting the shirt fall on the floor)
The weeds are gonna get me. What do they know? They know nothing… The weeds already got me.
Through the window, ILIE is picking up his school bag and goes out on the street.
VASILE goes back to the living room door and turns off the light. He lies on the couch, with his back to the window, and pulls the blanket over his head. On the table, the picture frame, with VASILE smiling with a lovely gray-haired lady by his side, in the shed.