EXT. CONVOY SITE. ITALY. DAY
The Convoy is in the final stages of loading up. Oliver passes the vehicles, deep in dispute with a determined Hana, who is carrying some sacks of rice.
HANA: When he dies, I'll catch up.
OLIVER: It's not safe here. The whole country is crawling with Bandits and Germans and God knows what. HANA: The war's over--you told me yourself. How can it be desertion?
OLIVER: It's not over everywhere. I didn't mean literally, This is normal--it's shock. For all of us, Hana.
Oliver hovers as a Hana adds the rice to a small cache of provisions then lays another blanket over the Patient.
HANA: I need morphine. A lot. And a pistol.
anything happened to you I'd never forgive myself.
Hana nods. A tiny smile. Oliver shrugs helplessly.
OLIVER: We're heading for Leghorn. Livorno, the Italians call it. We'll expect you.
INT. THE PATIENT'S ROOM. DAY
THE PATIENT: What was that banging all about? Where you fighting rats or the entire German army?
HANA: I was repairing the stairs. I found a library and the books were very useful.
HANA: Oh-I've found plums. We have plums in the orchard. We have an orchard!
THE PATIENT: Herodotus is the father of history, do you know that?
HANA: I don't know anything.
THE PATIENT: Thank you.
She has peeled a plum and now slips it into his mouth. His mouth works with the pleasure of the taste, a little juise escaping from his lips. Hana mops it up.
THE PATIENT: It's a very plum plum.
EXT. BASE CAMP AT POTTERY HILL. DUSK
COUNT LASZLO DE ALMÁSY, Hungarian Explorer, squats with an ancient Arab who draws in the sand, talking in some Arcane dialect, scratching out a map. The old man stops speaking and scours the sky a beat or two before we or Almásy hear the faint noise of a PLANE. It's a bright yellow Steerman coming in to land.
Almásy doesn't look up. The Arab continues to talk. The plane sweeps past the cluster of tents and camels and trucks which constitutes the Base Camp for a team of International Explorers, led by Almásy and his colleague, PETER MADOX.