out of focus?
It'll clear up again. You'll be well.
And I'll be sitting there staring at that white sheet, scared.
No you won't. You've forgotten what it feels like to be well.
- What am I gonna write about? What?
- What you've always wanted to write.
Where was the page I found?
"The Bottle. A Novel by Don Birnam,"
What was that to be?
About a messed-up life. About a man and a woman and a bottle.
About nightmares, horrors, humiliations,
all the things I want to forget.
Put it all down on paper. Get rid of it that way.
Tell it all, to whom it may concern.
And it concerns so many people, Don.
Yeah.
I'll fix us some breakfast.
We have quite a supply of milk.
You'll notice I didn't even find a first line.
Course you couldn't write the beginning
because you didn't know the ending.
Only now...
Only now you know the ending.
I'm gonna send one copy to Bim,
one to the doctor who loaned me his coat, and one to Nat.
Imagine Wick standing in front of a book store.
A great big pyramid of my books.
A Novel by Don Birnam.
"That's by my brother, you know."
That's by my fellow. Didn't I always tell you?
I'm going to put this whole weekend down, minute by minute.
Why not?
The way I stood in there, packing my suitcase...
Only my mind wasn't on the suitcase,
and it wasn't on the weekend,
nor was it on the shirts I was putting in the suitcase either.
My mind was hanging outside the window.
It was suspended just about eighteen inches below...
And out there in that great big concrete jungle,
I wonder how many others that are like me.
Poor bedevilled guys, on fire with thirst.
Such comical figures to the rest of the world,
as they stagger blindly...
towards another binge, another bender, another spree...
Subtitles by °Fredalme°You better take this along, Don.
It's going to be cold on the farm.
How many shirts are you taking?
- Three.
I'm taking five.
-Five?
Yeah, I told them at the office I might not be back
until Tuesday. We'll get there this afternoon.
That'll give us all Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday.
We'll make it a long wonderful weekend.
Sounds long, all right.
It'll be good for you Don, after what you've been through.
Trees and grass and sweet cider and buttermilk...
and water from that well that's colder than any other...
Wick, please, why this emphasis on liquids?
Very dull liquids.
Sorry, Don.
You know, I think it'd be a good idea
if we took along my typewriter.
What for?
To write. I'm gonna write there. Get started on that novel.
You really feel up to writing?
-Why not?
I mean, after what you've been through.
I haven't touched the stuff for ten days now.
I know. I know you haven't Don.
Where is the typewriter?
-In the living room...
in the closet...
kinda towards the back.
Are you sure it's in the closet? I can't find it.
Well look by the desk.
Isn't it under your bed?
Did you find it?
-Oh sure, sure here it is.
And here's some paper.
Tell you what we'll do, we'll fix up a table
on the south porch and nobody'll disturb you.
And maybe Saturday we can run down to the Country Club.
I'm not going near that Country Club.
-Why not?
"Because they're a bunch of hypocrites
and I don't like to be whispered about "
Look who's here from New York. The Birnam brothers...
or rather the nurse and the invalid.
- Oh. Stop it Don. Nobody there knows about you.
No? The minute we get off the train the alarm is sounded
The leper is back, Hide your liquor.
That's Helen. I'll take it. Helen.
Hello, Wick. Where's Don?
I'm glad I made it. I was afraid you'd be gone. Presents.
The new Thruber book, with comical jokes and pictures.
A nice quiet little double murder by Agatha Christie.
Cigarettes, chewing gum and darling, have a wonderful time.
And don't forget, lots of sleep, lots of milk...
Lots of cider, lots of ice cold water from the well. I know.
Bend down.
And now I must be going. I've missed ten minutes
of the concert already. So long Wick.
What concert?
-