Prayers to Broken Stones (25 page)

There were screams, human and otherwise, but Louis
paid no attention as he watched the death throes of the two dozen spectral forms in the room. His vision had altered permanently now and the beds and their human occupants were mere shadows in a great space blazing in ultraviolet and infrared but dominated by the blue-white corona which was his own body. He vomited once more, doubling over to retch up blood and two dying, glowing slugs, but this was a minor inconvenience as long as his strength held out and at that second he felt that it would last forever.

Louis looked down, through the floor, through
five
floors, seeing the hospital as levels of clear plastic interlaced with webs of energy from electrical wiring, lights, machines, and organisms. Many organisms. The healthy ones glowed a soft orange but he could see the pale yellow infections, the grayish corruptions, and the throbbing black pools of incipient death.

Rising, Louis stepped over the dying corpses of cancer vampires and the acid-pools which had been thrashing slugs seconds before. Although he already could see beyond, he opened wide doors and stepped out onto the terrace. The night air was cool.

Drawn by the extraordinary light, they waited. Hundreds of yellow eyes turned upwards to stare from blue-black pits set in dead faces. Mouths pulsed. Hundreds more of the things converged as Louis watched.

Louis raised his own eyes, seeing more stars than anyone had ever seen as the night sky throbbed with uncountable X-ray sources and infinite tendrils of unnamed colors. He looked down to where they continued to gather, by the thousands now, their pale faces glowing like candles in a procession. Louis prayed for a single miracle. He prayed that he could feed them all. “Tonight, Death,” he whispered, the sound too soft for even him to hear, “you shall die.”

Louis stepped to the railing, raised his arms, and went down to join those who waited.

Just recently, as I write this in the early autumn of 1989, I optioned my novel
Carrion Comfort
to a film and TV production group. As is the case with many would-be Ben Hechts, I wanted first crack at the screenplay.

All right, said the production group, but first let’s see what you can do with a half-hour TV script.

I’ve never written a teleplay or screenplay before, but being a child of the second half of the Twentieth Century, I feel like I’ve
lived
in the movies for most of my life. As a writer, I’ve heard all of the horror stories about doing work-for-hire in this particular collaborative medium: the senseless rewrite demands, the producer’s girlfriend suggesting a “great idea” that guts your script, the contempt so much of the industry has for writers (“Didja hear the one about the Polish starlet visiting Hollywood? To get ahead she slept with all the
writers
!”), the endless compromises of quality in the face of budget or perceived market demands or whim or … you name it. The list of aggravations seems infinite.

That’s why it was interesting to me that my first attempt at script writing was a lot of fun. The rewrite suggestions not only were minimal but definitely improved the product. The people I dealt with were professionals, and I always enjoy working with people who know their business—whether it’s in carpentry or filmmaking. Of course, my agent says that it was a fluke … 
that
studio was OK but the next will drive me to drink and beyond. My agent is a gentleman and a friend … he humors me
… but I know that in his heart he thinks that I should quit while I’m ahead.

Well, maybe. Maybe after one more TV show. Then perhaps a movie. Just a little movie … and then, just maybe, a twenty-hour mini-series. And then …

Meanwhile, I thought you might be interested in how I decided to adapt “Metastasis” to teleplay form. Reading scripts is not the easiest or most enjoyable literary pursuit, so if you skip over this entry it’s understandable.

But if you
do
bear on, it might interest you to know some of the demands and restrictions a low-budget syndicated TV series makes on the writer who’s adapting a story.

First, the thing has to run about 22 or 23 pages to fit its half-hour format, averaging about a minute per page, since the rest of the time is taken up by the fershtugginer commercials that keep so many of us from
watching
these syndicated shows.

Second, as I’m sure you know, the “exciting parts” come right before the commercial cluster breaks. (They don’t really give a damn what happens the last few minutes of the show … they don’t need to get you back after
that
break.)

Third, budget restrictions on this show allowed only three or four characters, or at least only that many characters who could
speak.
No exterior shots (but the director wanted the “windshield” shots in the opening). Only two interior sets and those easy to construct. Limited special effects—one or two optical processes, a few seconds of simple animation, and a guy in a monster suit and/or mask.

Fourth, they wanted a new title. “Metastasis” was out. They were afraid the audience would flip channels rather than watch something with such an ominous, disease-ridden sound to it.

Fifth, one of the top people thought I should also throw out the idea of “cancer vampires”—but, hey, I had to draw the line somewhere. I pointed out that this was the concept for which they had bought the story. I reasoned with them. I used logic. Then I held my breath until I turned blue, pounded my heels on the linoleum, and
threatened to fax them six bales of junk mail if they didn’t let me keep my cancer vampire. They relented.

There’s more, but I think you get the idea. The question I faced was—could I adapt “Metastasis” so that the essence of the short story survived even while I tossed out major plot elements, characters, settings, and structure for the reasons listed above?

I found the challenge rather enjoyable. As I write this, the studio is just finishing the filming (actually taping) of “The Offering” and I have no idea when I’ll see it. I don’t know which actors were chosen. I can only guess what changes were made in the script during the actual production. (For those of you interested, the program will be aired on a syndicated series called
MONSTERS,
scheduled somewhere between 11:00
P.M.
and 4:00
A.M.
in most local markets. God knows where and when it will be by the time you read this.)

I’d be curious to know what you think of this adaptation.

FADE IN:

1. EXT. A CAR. NIGHT.

We open with a montage of images: E.C.U. of rain on a windshield, the blur of a windshield wiper; we close on LOUIS—a handsome young man but agitated now, unshaven, intense, blinking in the glare of oncoming lights and obviously upset about something—a sudden flash of light too bright to be a passing car, brakes squealing, metal tearing … from Louis’s P.O.V. we see everything spinning and the glare expanding, the sound of impact, filling the universe with rising noise and moving light …

DISSOLVE TO:

2. INT. HOSPITAL ROOM. DAY.

The moving light blurs, comes into focus, and we see that it is a penlight held by DR. HUBBARD, an avuncular, older man wearing a white hospital coat over his suit.

Louis tries to lift his head but is restrained by the doctor.

Louis’s head is heavily bandaged. He groans again, tries to lift both hands to his head, but stops—staring at his hospital ID bracelet, the IV in his left arm, his hospital gown—looking around in surprise. He moves his head slowly, obviously in great pain, and squints up at the doctor.

The doctor smiles, plays with his unlit pipe.

Louis starts to sit up but the pain is so intense that he almost passes out. Dr. Hubbard takes him firmly by the shoulders, sets him gently back on the pillows.

Louis’s eyes are still closed as he fights the pain, concentrates. Finally he shakes his head … he can’t quite remember.

Dr. Hubbard removes the pipe, frowns at it as if just discovering it is unlit, and shakes his head.

Louis opens his eyes and it is obvious by the intensity ol his gaze that he is not worried about his own well-being.

Dr. Hubbard removes his pipe again, turns it over and over in his hands and stares at it.

Louis sits up in spite of the pain, grips the doctor’s white coat and pulls him closer.

Dr. Hubbard looks straight at Louis, all business now, his voice brisk.

Louis is stunned, speechless. Dr. Hubbard grips the younger man’s shoulder.

Louis struggles to get his legs off the bed, to stand up.

Dr. Hubbard restrains him, forces him back onto the pillows.

A syringe is brought to the doctor. He checks the contents administers it via Louis’s IV.