A Serious Man (6 page)

She is attractive. Not young, not old: Larry’s age. Peaceful
.

After a still beat one of her hands gropes blindly to the side. It finds an
ashtray on the table next to her and takes from it a pluming cigarette.
She puffs, and replaces it
.

F Troop. Cantorial singing.

Blue sky and white puffy clouds
.

The sound of a pencil scratching paper
.

A pencil writes equations into a lamplit spiral notebook
.

Sidor Belarsky comes in at the cut. So does the spluttering suck-sound
of Uncle Arthur’s evacuator
.

Wider on Uncle Arthur, in his pyjamas, propped up on the narrow
fold-out sofa, writing with one hand as he holds the evacuator hose to
his neck with the other
.

Squeezed into the living room next to the fold-out sofa is a camp cot
of plaid-patterned nylon stretched over a folding frame. On the camp
cot is Larry, lying half-in, half-out of a rumpled sleeping bag. He
stares at the ceiling, a damp washcloth pressed to his forehead. His face
is flaming red
.

Arthur speaks absently as he scribbles:

Larry continues to stare at the ceiling
.

Uncle Arthur glances up, focuses on Larry
.

The lights are out. Very quiet. Uncle Arthur lightly snores
.

Larry still stares at the ceiling. He shifts his weight. The cot frame
squeaks. He shifts again. Another creak
.

Larry fishes his watch from the jumble of clothes on the floor: 4:50
.

Larry, in his underwear, spoons ground coffee into the percolator.
Uncle Arthur snores on in the other room
.

From outside, a dull thunk
.

Larry pulls back a curtain
.

Next door, Mr. Brandt goes down the walk, wearing camouflage togs
and a billed camo cap, a rifle bag slung over his shoulder. He is
carrying an ice chest, its contents clicking and sloshing
.

The boy Mitch, also wearing camo clothes and cap and also with a
rifle bag, has just closed the front door. He now lets the screen door
swing shut behind him and follows his father down the walkway to the
car in the drive
.

The twitter of early morning birds. Mr. Brandt’s voice, though not
projected, stands out in the pre-dawn quiet:

CLOSE ON THE NOTEBOOK

Its top sheet, densely covered by equations, has a heading:

The Mentaculus
Compiled by Arthur Gopnik

After a beat Larry’s hand enters to turn the page. The second page is
also densely covered with equations
.

Larry’s look comes up from the Mentaculus. We are in Larry’s office.
Standing in the office doorway is Arlen Finkle
.

Larry waits for more. Arlen, though, seems to think it is Larry’s turn
to speak, and so, after a beat, he does:

I feel I should mention it even though we won’t give this any weight at all in considering whether to grant you tenure, so, I repeat – no cause for concern.

Larry answers with a wan smile. He looks down at the Mentaculus
.

Somewhere inside the school a bell rings. Its doors swing open and
children emerge
.

Our angle is down a line of school buses waiting to ferry the children
home, each bus stencilled with the same Hebrew lettering
.

We track toward the buses to steepen the rake. As children sort
themselves and climb into their respective vehicles, the track brings the
nearest bus into the fore ground. It noisily idles with its signature
squeaks and stress sounds, its low engine rumbling. Children start
climbing on
.

Inside the bus, now moving. Engine noise bangs in louder and air
roars in through open windows. Somewhere on the bus, Jefferson
Airplane plays
.

We are on the driver, a sallow man in a short-sleeved white shirt with
earlocks and a yarmulka. He pitches about, stoically wrestling with the
wheel and gear shift as the vehicle bucks
.

The pitching children
.

Standing in his yard. His eyes are darkly pouched. He is staring at
something, it seems in dismay. We hear a fluttering sound
.

His point-
of-
view: stakes are set out in the Brandts’ yard. Red ribbon
connecting them outlines a projection from the side of the house. The
loose ends of the ribbon flutter in the breeze
.

Engine noise brings Larry’s look around. A car is arriving
.

It is the Brandts’ car, oddly burdened. As it pulls into their driveway
we see that there is a four-point stag strapped to the hood, its head
lolling over the grille
.

Mr. Brandt and Mitch get out of the car in their hunting fatigues.
Blood is smeared on Mr. Brandt’s shirt
.

This brings Mr. Brandt’s look around. Apparently he is unused to
talking with his neighbor. A short beat
.

Behind him is the dead buck, staring off through sightless eyes
.

He is indicating the staked area. Mr. Brandt looks at it, looks back at
Larry
.

Mr. Brandt barks at Mitch, who has lingered to listen to the grown-ups:

The child quickly goes. Larry frowns
.

He nods
.

Mr. Brandt stares at him with button eyes. Small talk is not his thing
.
Larry clears his throat.

… Um, Mr. Brandt, that’s just about at the property line, there. I don’t think we’re supposed to get within, what, ten feet –

We hear two pairs of pounding footsteps coming up the street
.

He indicates
.

Mr. Brandt turns and goes
.

Larry turns, reacting to the pounding footsteps. One of the two pairs
belongs to Danny, who arrives, slowing to a walk, panting, a bookbag
over his shoulder
.

A half-block back the pursuing boy also stops running. Husky, shaggy-
haired, he watches, scowling, as Danny goes up the walk to his house
.

Larry addresses Danny’s retreating back:

Larry enters
.

The thud of a car door outside
.

Sarah emerges from the hall and heads for the front door, pulling on a
jacket. Larry is surprised.

He looks out the front-door window. Four girls have emerged from a
car and are coming up the walk. They are Sarah’s age and all have
dark hair and big noses
.

Larry pulls open the door. From the four dark girls:

From somewhere in the house, Jefferson Airplane starts
.

As she brushes past Larry:

Judith enters
.

Larry has his arms pinned at his sides by hugging Sy Ableman
.

Sy releases Larry and all seat themselves at Sy’s booth – Judith next
to Sy, Larry facing
.