Empathy

FADE IN
EXT. NEW YORK CITY STREET. EARLY SUNDAY MORNING 1990.

The streets are empty but covered by the garbage left over from Saturday night. ANNA, a thirty-year-old woman, is crossing the street toward the subway entrance. She is dressed up awkwardly, so that she stumbles slightly in high heels.

She passes a MAN leaning against the subway entrance smoking from a crack pipe.

I want to lick your pussy.

I’m going to a funeral.

I hope it’s not someone close.

INT. HALLWAY OF AN OLD-FASHIONED APARTMENT BUILDING.

ANNA rings the bell. Her mother, RUTH, opens the door. RUTH is simply but appropriately dressed. She does not dye her hair and she wears no makeup beyond a little lipstick.

Thank God you wore a dress.

But your hair is too short.

INT. RUTH AND IRV’S APARTMENT. MODESTLY DECORATED AND COMFORTABLE BUT FINANCIALLY SECURE.

He went to rent a car.

INT. RUTH AND IRV’S LIVING ROOM. PHOTOS AND OTHER MEMORABILIA ON THE MANTELPIECE. BOOKS VISIBLE ON THE SHELVES INCLUDE PORTNOY’S COMPLAINT, ISAAC SINGER, AND TWO ROWS OF BOOKS BY FREUD.

STEVE, Anna’s brother, enters the room. Although he is two years younger, he is much more comfortable in his funereal garb. Yet he is generally uncomfortable personally.

I flew in as soon as my secretary gave me the message.

He went to rent a car.

BARBARA, their younger sister, enters the room. She is twenty and, in addition to being chronologically younger, she also plays the role of the baby of the family.

Hi, Anna. Pop went to get a car.

Barb, your shoes aren’t shined.

Steve, give her a break. She’s old enough to dress herself.

Then why doesn’t she?

Mom’s been trashing Morris all morning. I think she feels guilty that he croaked.

Guilty? I don’t have anything to feel guilty about. The man was a fascist pure and simple. I know he was your father’s childhood friend, but he was a Republican. He was against busing but for the wrong reasons.

Where’s Pop? It’s almost two hours to the cemetery.

He had to take care of a patient who is suicidal and then he had to rent a car.

STEVE, BARB, RUTH

INT. A RENTED CAR. ONE HOUR LATER. DRIVING TO LONG ISLAND.

IRV is driving. RUTH is sitting next to him. The three children are in the backseat.

He was a real Republican. He voted for Goldwater. I remember I told him I voted for Henry Wallace and he said, “Who?” Whenever a black person came into his travel agency he would follow them around to make sure they didn’t steal anything.

What can you steal in a travel agency?

Mom, you should see what it’s like living in the South. If you pull over at one of those rest stops on the highway, they sell little salt and pepper shakers of black mammies eating watermelon.

What do your students say about it?

They don’t notice. The university is all white so the students’ lives are all white. Black people are something they see on television or public transportation.

I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.

What don’t you get, Pop?

He was sitting in a chair and then he slumped over, dead. Was it cardiovascular arrest or an aneurism? I don’t know.

INT. THE CAR DRIVES UP TO THE FUNERAL CHAPEL IN SUBURBAN LONG ISLAND.

Where do we park?

Pop, pull into the shopping mall across the street.

Irv, park in the mall.

Where should I park?

There’s Sylvia.

There’s Morris’s sister.

She’s the oldest and she had to watch her younger brother die.

I hope I die first.

Her husband died. Her daughter’s in the Peace Corps.

EXT. IN FRONT OF THE FUNERAL HOME.

SYLVIA, very distraught, is standing in front of the funeral home. ANNA is the first to reach her as the others walk over, one by one, from the parking lot.

I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know how I feel. I’m not feeling anything. I can’t cry. I just can’t cry.

Sylvia, how are you doing?

I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t cry. I’m not able to cry. I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know.

I was just telling your sister and your brother how I don’t know what I feel. I’m not feeling a thing. I was just telling them. Not a thing.

Ruthie. I was just telling the kids that I haven’t been able to cry. Not a tear. Where’s Irv?

He’s parking the car.

Look at you, you’re all so broken up. Me? I don’t know what I feel.

INT. THE LOBBY OF THE FUNERAL HOME.

The three siblings are standing together awkwardly, surrounded by short relatives.

You don’t remember me but I’m your daddy’s second cousin, Hilda Friedman. This is my husband, Izzy, and that’s my sister Frieda Shluvsky. You’re such a big girl now, how old are you?

SOPHIE PEARLMAN

Remember me? I’m your cousin Sophie Pearlman from Glendale. I remember Stevie when you were just a little boy. You came to my store in the Bronx and you wet your pants, wee-wee all over the floor. What are you doing now?

I teach semiotics.

And you, you’re still the baby.

IRV enters the room.

There’s your father. Irv, can you believe it?

Hilda, how are you?

Eh, the diabetes. You shouldn’t know.

Are you taking medication?

Yeah, but the real problem is Izzy.

(Loud voice.)

Izzy, wake up, it’s Irv, the doctor. Irv, Izzy had a psychotic break.

Could you believe it?

How are you feeling?

SYLVIA enters.

Irv, I’ve been looking all over for you. I’m all alone here.

How are you doing, Sylvia?

I can’t cry. I just can’t cry.

INT. THE WAITING ROOM OF THE FUNERAL HOME. PEOPLE ARE LOOKING AT THEIR WATCHES.

IRV is talking to two old men in polyester suits and yarmulkes.

JOEY WARSHOFSKY

So, Irv, then she had the radium implants.

That must have been difficult for you.

How are you doing, Pop?

Steve, you know the Warshofsky boys, Yankel and Joey.

STEVE is obviously embarrassed by the whole scene. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with these people and can’t understand why his father is so connected to them.

Stevie, Yankel was just telling me about some illness in his family.

Yeah, Irv, it’s the circulation. Look, my leg, it only goes this far.

Dad, we’ve got to go into the chapel now.

I tell ya, Irv, it was a big shock to have Morris go so quickly.

That guy was built like a horse. He took his pressure five times a day. He never touched a piece of meat. A real vegetarian.

I could have sworn you’d go first, Irv. What with your lousy history and all. To tell you the truth, this is quite a shock.

INT. IN THE CHAPEL.

All the mourners are seated in pews. RUTH, IRV, and SYLVIA are on one side of the first row. ANNA, STEVE, and BARB are sitting together in the back.

Who are all these people? I can’t believe I’m related to them. Who’s that?

That’s Shirley Weintraub. She married a Christian and her father never spoke to her again.

Which one is her father?

Walter, the dissipated one in the third row.

What a jerk. What is he, religious?

No, he’s a shmuck.

Now Morris is dead and Shirley and Walter are in the same room for the first time in ten years.

Morris Levine had a life. He was born in the Bronx in 1923. He worked hard for his parents in their small shoe repair shop. He was a perfect son. When his country called him to duty he fought bravely at D Day. And true to his sense of responsibility Morris returned to the shop. Twenty-five years later when his father died, Morris took over the shop and turned it into a thriving travel agency. Years from now when we think of Morris we’ll say, “Morris, thanks for the memories.” Morris Levine will be laid to his eternal rest at Beth Sefer Torah, on exit fourteen.

EXT. OUTSIDE THE CHAPEL AS THE MOURNERS ARE FILING OUT. LATE AFTERNOON

Look at Walter. He looks awful. He should, the way he treated his own daughter.

What can you do?

No, Morris. He just fell over and he was dead. He didn’t even know it was happening.

WALTER comes running over.

Irv, Irv, come quick. It’s Sophie Pearlman. She passed out.

Don’t tell me.

Dad, you’re running around taking care of everybody and no one is taking care of you.

That’s what happens when you’re a doctor - you get used to it.

INT. MORRIS’S SMALL BRONX APARTMENT.

At the shiva. Lots of close-ups of the deli platters. The relatives are gobbling smoked meat.

JOEY WARSHOFSKY

Good tongue. The best.

Anna, do you remember me? I’m your Aunt Molly from Chicago.

How are you, Molly? How are your children?

Good. My daughter, Sheila, she married a rabbi. They’ve got two healthy girls. But my oldest son, Leon, isn’t doing too good.

What’s the matter?

Well, he’s forty years old. He’s still single and he lives all alone in Key West.

INT. ONE CORNER OF THE LIVING ROOM AT MORRIS’S APARTMENT.

IRV is sitting alone looking through a stack of books.

What are you looking at, Pop?

These books Morris was reading. He must have five hundred dollars worth of books here.

What kind of books?

How to Avoid Stress, Eat Right to Live Long, Living without Stress, Better Diet for a Stress-Free Life. What was he so anxious about? I feel like I didn’t even know him.

INT. ANOTHER CORNER OF THE LIVING ROOM IN MORRIS’S APARTMENT.

ANNA is sitting on a couch talking to an eighty-five-year-old Orthodox Jew with a beard and hat.

So, Uncle Fischl, what’s new?

Listen. When my father died, I went every day to the cemetery. And every night he would come to haunt me in my dreams. The next day I would go to the cemetery and plead with him to leave me alone, leave me alone. But every night he would come back again to haunt me. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I went to the rabbi. I said, “Rabbi, every night my father comes to me in my dreams and every day I go to the cemetery and beg him to stay away. But he won’t listen. What should I do?” Do you know what the rabbi said?

He said, “Stop going to the cemetery.”

INT. THE KITCHEN.

STEVE goes over to SYLVIA sitting alone in a chair.

Sylvia, do you want me to make you a sandwich?

I’m sick to my stomach. I couldn’t eat a thing.

Do you want me to bring you some ginger ale?

I’m telling you, I’m so mad at that guy.

At that stinking brother of mine.

Because he died?

Because he died.

EXT. IN FRONT OF MORRIS’S BUILDING.

IRV and WALTER are standing together outside the house. ANNA stands next to her father holding his coat.

I’m going back to Manhattan now, Walter, but I just want to know how you’re feeling.

I’m angry, Irv.

What are you angry at?

I’m angry at you, Irv. You don’t give a shit about me or any of your old friends. You left the Bronx and became a big-shot psychiatrist. I know you look down on all of us. You never call to ask how I’m doing. Then you call me out of the blue to say that Morris is dead. You wanna know why you’re such an asshole, Irv?

Because you’re a snob and a phony. You’re a phony, Irv. You don’t give a shit about any of us and you didn’t give a shit about Morris.

Walter, I know you’re angry at me, and I know you think I’ve done some bad things and I probably have. But I also think you’re angry about something else.

You’re right, Irv. I’m angry at myself.

Look, anytime you want to come to my office and talk, just give me a call. I always have time for you.

EXT. THE STREET IN FRONT OF MORRIS’S BUILDING.

ANNA and IRV are walking down the block to the car where the rest of the family is waiting.

Pop, why did you let Walter yell at you like that? This is your friend’s funeral. People should be nice to you.

So, I helped him out a little bit. He can’t hurt me. He doesn’t even know who he is.

INT. IN THE CAR GOING BACK TO MANHATTAN. SUNSET ON THE BRIDGE.

Hey, Ma. You never told me that cousin Leon is gay.

He’s not gay. He’s lonely.

Oh, come on. Get over it, Ma. You think in the whole family I’m the only one?

Anna is right, Ruth. Plenty of lonely people are gay.

That’s not what I said. Stevie, tell them.

Don’t drag me into it.

This is so predictable.

Did you see that expression on Hilda Friedman’s face? I thought she was going to jump into the grave right after him.

She was always in love with Morris. For thirty years they used to go out for breakfast together once a month. Even last Wednesday they went.

You two are always thinking about what other people are feeling. I just found out in therapy that most families don’t talk like this.

All Jewish families talk like this.

No they don’t. Do you think the people in the other cars are saying, “Poor Irv, this must be so hard for him?” No, they’re saying, “Did you see that dress she wore?”

(Very angry. Suddenly out of control.)

No they’re not. They’re all concerned. They’re all concerned about how the other one feels.

Pop, be careful, you’ll have a heart attack.

What are you talking about? Don’t tell me not to die. You don’t die. You don’t die.

This is no time for jokes.