EXT. THE DESERT. NIGHT
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Katharine sits alone on top
of the Dune, smoking, surveying the landscape. Below her the camp--a
fresh wind flicking at the tarpaulin. The DEEP TRACKS OF MADOX'S CAR
STRETCHING OFF TOWARD CIVILIZATION.
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Almásy emerges from the tent and, locating Katharine, heads up towards her. ALMÁSY: You should come into the shelter. KATHARINE: I'm quite all right, thank you. ALMÁSY: Look over there. |
Katharine turns, scans the horizon.
KATHARINE: What am I looking at?
ALMÁSY: Do you see what's happening to them--the stars?
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KATHARINE: They're so untidy. I'm just trying to rearrange them. ALMÁSY: No, no, over there. |
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In a few minutes there will
be no stars. The air is filling with sand.
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INT. CAR. NIGHT
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Inside the cabin, the sand
swirling around them, Katharine and Almásy sit without speaking.
He pours a little water so that they can wash out their eyes and noses
and mouths. She takes her silk scarf, wets it, presses it to her face.
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KATHARINE: This is not very good, is it? ALMÁSY: No. KATHARINE: Shall we be all right? ALMÁSY: Yes. Yes. Absolutely. KATHARINE: Yes is a comfort. Absolutely is not. |
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EXT. THE DESERT. NIGHT
The sand is piling up against the two cars, the tent is swept from its moorings, the water cans are hurled up too, and then plunge ominously into sand drifts as if going under an ocean.
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ALMÁSY: ... let me tell you about winds. There is a whirlwind from Southern Morocco, the Aajej, against which the fellahin defend themselves with knives. And there is the Ghibli from Tunis which rolls and rolls and rolls and produces a rather strange nervous condition ... And we hear Katharine's laugh. |
INT. CAR. NIGHT
Almásy sits alongside Katharine, whose head is against his shoulder. He continues his story of winds.
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ALMÁSY: ...and
then there is the Harmatton, a red wind which mariners call the sea
of darkness. Red sand from this wind has flown as far as the south coast
of England apparently producing showers so dense they were mistaken
for blood ...
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KATHARINE: Fiction. We have a house on that coast, and it has never, never rained blood.
ALMÁSY: No, it's all true.
(teasing her) Herodotus, your friend--
KATHARINE (laughs): My friend!
ALMÁSY: --he writes about it and he writes about a wind, the Simoon, which a nation thought was so evil they declared war on it and marched out against it in full battle dress.
He's touching Katharine's hair, he can't help it.
She is paralyzed by his touch, then puts out her hand and traces across the window, now entirely silted up with sand.
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