FADE IN:
EXT. HEAVEN - BRIGHT LIGHT ABOVE - ETERNAL DAY
NARRATOR
Max had read the Book of 'Job' describing heaven, the throne of god: white light: Angels zip about. The Satanic entourage approaches. Lucifer
steps forward, leans with one hand on the left arm of the throne.
THE LORD
(casually)
From where do you come?
LUCIFER
From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down
on it.
THE LORD
Have you considered my servant 'Job', that there is none like him
in the earth, a perfect and upright man, one that fears God and eschews evil? And still he holds fast his integrity,
although you moved against him, to destroy him without a cause.
LUCIFER
Skin for skin, yea, all that a man has will he give for his life.
But put forth your hand now, and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse
you to your face.
THE LORD
Behold, he is in your hands now, but save his life.
EXT. EARTH - BIBLICAL TIMES - CITY DUMP - NIGHT
'Job' sits in rags with boils over his whole body. Job's wife, in fine silks, adorned with
jewelry, approaches him, and whispers in his ear
JOB'S WIFE
Do you still retain your integrity? Why don't you curse God and
die?
INT. HEAVEN - LOWER LEVEL - CUBICALS INTO ETERNITY - MORNING
Angels sit on Oriental Rugs in a Bedouin Tent of God way up on
high; while, in a dingy cubical, one of an eternity of cubicles that stretch
out for an infinity, several levels down, sits a lower-level angelic
bureaucrat. He reads from a large screen.
ANGEL
(Mutters)
Shit, his troubles have only begun. Max, he's no 'Job', but is alone with or without,
new, or, old friends. He has a loving
family that would have nurtured him but he will disappear from their sight for
several years. Like a cat, he's gone away to lick his wounds. Hoping that everything would be back to
normal someday, someday always will be after the one he's in. And, that reality is one he lives in for over
a decade.
A nasty little imp, Lucky, enters the angel's cubical.
LUCKY
Wha cha upta, old boy.
Angel cancels the page, spins around, sees the visitor is the Imp,
Lucky, with a black cat, turns back to the monitor, and fakes looking busy
ANGEL
(mildly sarcastic)
Oh, Lucky! Did the cat drag
you in? I'm busy with some new
directives on venial sins. Some are
shifting, you know. Like eating meat on
Fridays and all that. What have you been
up to old boy?
LUCKY
(puffs up its chest)
Oh, I've been tagging along with the Master Satan. You know, Numero Uno, the Big S, to and fro,
and all that. What were you reading?
Angel turns its back to the screen and scrolls down the page,
comes back to Max's name, opens the file
ANGEL
(yawns)
Lookie here. This guy,
Max? Looks like you've been at him.
Lucky peers over Angels shoulder. Angel leans away from the smell.
LUCKY
Vaguely. Oh yeh. Just a few
days ago I smacked him down a notch or two.
ANGEL
Seems okay. Pretty good guy.
Some black marks but, well, he's human.
LUCKY
He's a damned drunk.
Angel pulls out a pint labeled Heavenly Nectar from a drawer,
takes a toke, and passes it to his friend.
Lucky guzzles it down until it is empty.
Lucky points to the floor
LUCKY
(seriously)
Ah! We don't get much of
this stuff down there unless one of you guys get busted, or switch sides,
smuggles a case in through the back door:
know what I mean? All we get is
rot-gut.
ANGEL
(reads consul and comments)
Yes, Max has his faults, marriage on the rocks. She dumped him and married again. No real
fault of his. He did try to mess around
back then but his heart wasn't in it. Didn't have much luck there. Good to his
daughter though. Pays double the going rate for support. Volunteered at that! He likes his work and the inmates he helps
with writing poetry, painting, sculpture, and, ah yes, even a fledgling or two
with novels.
LUCKY
(bitter)
Yeh, but hey, this ego-maniac.
This A-hole has some protection goin' for him.
ANGEL
Isn't this the pot calling the kettle black?
LUCKY
He has his health, his career and his wits about him. He is a drunk but a happy drunk. Say, give me a chance, lift that fence a bit
and let me at him. Suppose we put a case
of Nectar on it.
ANGEL
Have at him if you're bored. It might be interesting to see what
he is made of. I say he'll come out smelling like roses.
NARRATOR
Where's that Imp ever going to get a case of Nectar when he loses.
LUCKY
I've seen these types before.
They can be moral: all good and happy as long as they don't have to go
out of their way too much for it. Let's say you let me take away his creative
drive and see what happens to our happy-go-lucky chap after I'm done with him.
Even the Big Kahuna won't recognize him.
Angel speaks at the screen after he watches Lucky leave
ANGEL
I've also seen cases like this before. They can't get so bad that
the Big Kahuna doesn't recognize them.
FADE OUT:
FADE IN:
INT. VISION - DARK BAR - NIGHT
Bearded San Juan De la Cruz sits at a table in the back of the
bar. The bar looks empty but for a prostitute at the bar, the balding barkeep
and a neon Our Lady of Guadalupe on the wall.
SFX: clacking of pool balls o.s. on the break with intermittent
clicks and clack of each shot
SAN JUAN
(reads under his breath)
Sluts, Dykes, Whores, and Saints: These are the women I've given my heart.
Madonna Saint; Hard core slut; all unavailable; no contest. I fall in and out
of love with a purity and intensity that confounds me. It never fails. The more
they reject this unconditional love the more I crave them. Such subservience
can be depended upon.
The neon Virgin of Guadalupe comes off the wall and opens her robe
suggestively.
SAN JUAN
(shouts)
Senoras de la noche oscura: Masochist! Absolutely! Absolutely!
LUCKY
(as barkeep)
Hey, knock it off or your gone!
SAN JUAN
Okay. Right.
SAN JUAN
(low voice)
The purity of passion and intensity is astonishing, purging. This
my friends is no playground masochism of leather costumes, whips and chains.
PROSTITUTE
Say, what are you reading anyway,
PORN?
San Juan stands with the book in his hand as if a preacher
SAN JUAN
(proclaims)
This here is the Big Tent, out of the donjons, an open-air variety
of being led about on a leash of unfulfilled aspirations, and submitted to the
sting of the whip of labored love lost!
LUCKY
Dammit, John! Outa here!
SAN JUAN
Such a pathetic waste of time!
NARRATOR
The old junkie wasn't so far off.
Max had found his self bouncing around in the limbo of a private
purgatory for so long that he'd begun to accept that San Juan de la Cruz's
condition was going to define the rest of his life.
FADE OUT:
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