"Mainly on the Plains"
Kelly Robinson stands with a white-haired man in a dark suit, carrying a cane, at the fountain of the Plaza de Espana.
SILVANDO: There are four bridges, senor, each a replica of what is to be found in Venice. Do you know Venice?
ROBINSON: Well, I, uh, yes, pretty well.
SILVANDO: And which do you prefer? There? Here, or Venice?
ROBINSON: Oh, well, well I...I don't know. I've only been here in Sevil...Seville for one day, sir.
SILVANDO: It's quite different from anything in Ohio.
ROBINSON: Yes, I imagine....I beg your pardon?
SILVANDO: Your native state is Ohio. Am I not right?
ROBINSON: Well! Indeed you are, sir.
SILVANDO: I was sure I was. Seems I have a most remarkable ear. When you approached me a moment ago and asked me about the Plaza de Espana, I knew at once you were from Ohio. I confess, I like to see the look on people's faces when I tell them you are from Iraq or Ohio or Tasmania. (He chuckles) So I intruded myself.
ROBINSON: So did you see the look on my face? Well, how was I?
SILVANDO: Well, taken aback, I suppose you would say. Ah, but forgive me. I am Don Ernesto Silvando of the University of Madrid.
ROBINSON: Well, I'm Kelly Robinson of the international tennis circuit.
SILVANDO, shaking Robinson's hand: Mucho gusto, senor.
ROBINSON: Mucho gusto.
SILVANDO: Now, about the Plaza de Espana. Would you like me to tell you about it?
ROBINSON: Well, if I'm not taking you away from anything that's more important, sir, I would appreciate it.
SILVANDO: I'd be delighted. I'm on holiday, alone. If you have an hour to spare, I'll tell you about this part of Seville and then perhaps we'll have a small lunch, and you'll tell me about the international tennis circuit. Does that fit your plans?
ROBINSON: Your servant, Don Ernesto.
SILVANDO: Ah! At your disposal, Senor....?
SILVANDO: ....Robinson. Now....
As they stroll away from the fountain, two men approach it.Kurt is dark-haired. There is an automatic in his waistband. Horst has blond hair. They watch Silvando and Robinson.
KURT: That is he. Don Ernesto Silvando. He has locked in his mind one of the most dangerous secrets of the world. Get to know him. Charm him. Learn what you want from him. If you cannot, kill him.
He hands Horst the pistol.
Seville, Plaza de Espana...
Silvando shows Robinson a series of mosaic plaques built within the curve of the immense Capitana General.
SILVANDO: Each one of these plaques represents some event of great historic importance which took place in one of the Spanish provinces. There are forty eight of them, representing all of the Spanish provinces.
Horst is sitting on a stone bench nearby.
HORST: With the exception of Seville. The province of Seville is not represented here. Not in any of these benches.
SILVANDO: Correct. Not because it was not held in high esteem. All over Seville you see the motto...
Horst interrupts with a quote in Spanish.
HORST: It is what King Alonso said about the city when he was at war. And all these other cities, one after another, left him.
SILVANDO: And also you will remember that Seville is the home of Don Quixote de la Mancha. But of course you knew that from school.
HORST: Of course.
SILVANDO: And which school was that?
SILVANDO: Where the blessed Don Quixote first entered your life. Which school?
SILVANDO: Oh, you are Austrian.
SILVANDO: By birth.
HORST: Yes.The first twelve years of my life were spent in....
SILVANDO: In Germany. In Germany, senor. The province of...Saxony. Not Austria.
ROBINSON, to Horst: Well, uh, he has a remarkable ear.
SILVANDO, to Horst: Which tells me that you are a liar. What is it you want of me? Why are you trying to be my friend?
HORST: Well, I, uh...
SILVANDO, holding up a hand: Please. It would only be another lie. I know why you are trying to be my friend, and I reject you. (He turns to Robinson) Should we have lunch, my friend, and continue our journey?
ROBINSON: Your servant, sir.
SILVANDO: With pleasure.
Silvando and Robinson walk away. Horst stares after them.
Seville, Parque de Maria Luisa...
Don Silvando sits in shade on a park bench. Robinson stands beside him.
SILVANDO: ...when Don Quixote rode against the windmills and then, if you'll remember, he...he mistook a flock of sheep for contending armies and dispersed them.
ROBINSON: I think the section that was the most fun for me in the whole book, where Quixote...
SILVANDO: Ahh! Don Quixote, senor. No one cherished honor more than he did. Therefore, do him honor.
ROBINSON: You're right, sir, I'm sorry. Don Quixote. When Don Quixote released the prisoners. I think that's my favorite....that's the funniest part in the whole book.
SILVANDO: Funny? An act of nobility? Grace in the face of adversity? I ask you, what is funny about that?
ROBINSON: Well, sir, you have me again. Nothing.
SILVANDO, closing his eyes momentarily: Huh. Suddenly I'm a little tired. Perhaps too much wine at lunch.
ROBINSON, sitting down beside Silvando: It was a fine lunch, though. I must say, I'm awfully glad we've met.
SILVANDO: Thank you. Your stories of playing tennis all over the world are wonderful to listen to. You are a pleasant companion, senor.
ROBINSON: Thank you.
SILVANDO: What are your plans now?
ROBINSON: Well, I'm going on to Madrid. There's a tennis tournament there.
SILVANDO, brows knit: Madrid. Hmm. Madrid. Something about Madrid...
ROBINSON: You teach at the university there, don't you, sir?
SILVANDO: How did you know that?
ROBINSON: Well, you told me. Uh, you told me that the first time we met.
SILVANDO: Yes. Perhaps you would like to join me on the drive to Madrid. I have a big car. There would be plenty of room.
ROBINSON: Well, I'd like that very much, sir, but I'm traveling with a friend.
SILVANDO: Is he alert?
ROBINSON, laughing: Yeah, I guess you'd call him just about tops in the alert department.
SILVANDO, leans closer, conspiratorially: Good. All the better. The road to Madrid can be dark with peril. Three people can withstand danger better than two, eh, senor?
SILVANDO: When would you be ready to leave?
ROBINSON: Um, well, whenever you like.
SILVANDO: In the morning, then, at eight o' clock. I'm at the Hotel Inglaterra, Plaza Nueva. I'll expect you, then?
ROBINSON: Yes. Sure. Fine.
SILVANDO: Good, good. In the morning.
They stand, and Robinson watches Silvando walk away. Four small children run past him. He starts to walk away himself, as Horst comes up behind him.
HORST: One moment.
ROBINSON: Yeah. Certainly.
HORST: What do you want of Don Ernesto?
ROBINSON: You gotta be kidding. Here in this beautiful park with these lovely tiles...
HORST: Who are you? What do you want of him?
Robinson starts to walk away, but Horst grabs his arm.
HORST: An American agent!
ROBINSON: That's my sweater, Jack.
HORST: Stay away from him.
Robinson strikes, hitting Horst in the jaw, then the sternum, and finally flipping him over his shoulder. Horst goes sprawling, comes up with the automatic aimed at Robinson, who raises his hands, briefly.
ROBINSON: Oh, now, look here what we have. Isn't that dreadful.
HORST: Small, but effective at this range.
ROBINSON: Not really. You shoot that and you're dead, Jack. Because my picture then would be in the newspaper, 'cause you know how they love pictures of dead bodies around here in the newspapers. Don Ernesto will read it, he'll know it was you, and he'll run from you, and he'll hide. And that'll be the end of the whole caper. On the other hand, why don't we do it nice. Do it my way.... (He looks beyond Horst, appearing surprised) Don Ernesto! Senor, you are right about this man....
Horst looks back -- and Robinson kicks the pistol out of his grasp. Before Horst can recover, Robinson has scooped up the gun, knelt, grabbed Horst by the front of his jacket, and pressed the pistol against his chest.
ROBINSON: Close up against you like this, with your wonderful cashmere jacket bunched up around it, wouldn't make so much as a pop.
HORST: Do it. Do it!
ROBINSON: No. (He rises, steps back) Not on a beautiful day like this. Wonderful Seville, in the garden. Nah.
HORST, rising: You are an American, and soft. And you find an excuse not to kill in the fact that it is a sunny day.
ROBINSON, securing the pistol under his sweater: That's right.
HORST: Next time, no warnings. Whoever shoots quickest.
ROBINSON: Fair enough.
He walks away.
Seville, a sunny sidewalk cafe...
Robinson walks up to a table where Scott sits, perusing a letter.
ROBINSON: Certainly. Good news?
SCOTT: Yeah. Good news from mom. It's about my cousin, Timothy. Yeah, he was giving a speech in geography class on volcanoes, and he kind of erupted.
ROBINSON: Certainly. He what?
SCOTT: Well, he was talking about Vesuvius
ROBINSON: And he erupted.
SCOTT: He got the hiccups. He starting hiccuping.
ROBINSON: Well, sorry about that.
SCOTT: Well, he was standing in front of the class for about, about fifteen minutes and can't stop hiccuping -- just hic, hic, hic, hic, hic -- so finely the teacher, like, threw a board eraser at him, hit him upside the head, chalk all over his face and everything, and he stopped. And then on the way home he got 'em again and my brother Russell kinda scared him a little, you see, which got rid of them
ROBINSON: How did he scare him?
SCOTT: Well, they waited until he got home and they blew up a paper bag, you see, and they kinda snuck up behind him and PAH, hit the bag,! and of course that stopped him but my Aunt Clara passed out and bumped her head on the stove. Well, he does that all the time, Man. One time he even got them when he was talking about geysers, you know, started hiccuping all over the place.
ROBINSON: Timothy must be very sensitive
SCOTT:Yes he is. Hey listen, Man, my mom says she's sending you a jar of chitlins.
ROBINSON: Your mom is sending me a jar of chitlins? (He does a happy dance in his chair)
SCOTT: I don't see how you can eat those things, Man.
ROBINSON: Oh, Man, you don't appreciate nothing.
SCOTT: Did you meet Don?
ROBINSON: Yes, I did. And we've got from here to Madrid to work on him. He invited us to drive up there in his car tomorrow with him.
SCOTT: All right. What kind of a guy is he?
ROBINSON: Well, I dunno, he's, uh...he's a beautiful guy, now, but he seems a little vague, you know, for a....a....what's that? What is he?
ROBINSON: Certainly. Well, for one of those kind of guys, anyhow, who discovered the whole, uh....Say again what he discovered?
SCOTT: The thermal coefficient for the homing antimissile missile, thereby causing an effective antimissile missile on the threshold of possibility. (He sticks out a hand, palm up) Ten silver dollars please, for brilliance.
ROBINSON: Yes. That's what I said. Anyhow, a guy that discovers all that...junk -- well, he won't let anybody in on it, he doesn't have any politics. A plague on East and West -- he says that every chance he gets. I guess instead of vague I mean the guy is uncommitted.
SCOTT: Well, that's what we're supposed to do. Commit him. To us, you see. Have him love us and care for us and believe that when we say we will take his discovery and use it in the prevention of wars instead of causing it he will say true true.
ROBINSON: Thing that bothers me most, I guess, is his span of attention is a little bit short. It's like he's absent-minded.
SCOTT: He's a professor, isn't he?
Seville, near Plaza Nueva...
Scott and Robinson are transported by horse-drawn carriage through the streets of Seville to the plaza where Silvando is loading his car, with the help of a bellhop from the Hotel Inglaterre. Along with Don Ernesto, Scott and Robinson stand beside Silvando's black convertible coupe, parked at the esplanade of a bustling boulevard, as the last of a great many bundles of books is loaded into car. Once that's done, Silvando looks with dismay at the luggage of Scott and Robinson.
SILVANDO: I am the absent-minded professor. I invite you to ride with me and leave no room.
SCOTT: That's allright, sir, we'll make room here. (He hands Robinson a bundle of old books) Here you are. Listen, take this one...
SCOTT: Here we go... (He hands Robinson another bundle)
SILVANDO: Careful, careful! Don Quixote.
ROBINSON: These are all Don Quixote.
SCOTT: How many different editions of Don Quixote do you have, sir?
SILVANDO: Sixty one, and in fourteen languages.
SCOTT: I see.
SILVANDO: That one is Bantu. It's delicious to read about Don Quixote in Bantu. For instance, they had no word for "windmill", so they called it "the giant who gathered the wind in his arms."
SCOTT: That's about the way Don Quixote felt about windmills anyway.
SILVANDO, pensively: He was the last great believer in chivalry. There's a passage that gives you the very essence of the man. I have it marked here.
As he takes a volume from the car and begins to thumb through it, Horst, on the roof of a building several stories above the street, aims his sniper rifle. Peering through the scope, he squeezes the trigger -- just as a man walking a bicycle passes in front of Robinson. With a clang, the bullet hits one of two metal milk containers strapped to the back of the bike, spewing milk all over the back of Scott's leg. Robinson looks around, puzzled by the sound. Scott looks down at the back of his pants legs, gives Robinson a shove. Horst prepares to take a second shot, but a group of people crossing the street partially block Robinson from his view, so he gives up.
On the road to Madrid...
In a battered old Jeep (apparently having given up trying to fit into Don Ernesto's overladen car), Robinson and Scott follow Silvando, who drives the black coupe out of Seville. They are soon in the open country, negotiating a winding road.
SCOTT: Say something.
ROBINSON: Well...I've been trying to figure something out.
SCOTT: Go ahead. I'll help you.
ROBINSON: Well, all those editions of Don Quixote, Man.
ROBINSON: Doesn't seem right.
SCOTT: Well, listen, I got a Cousin Victor, saves postage stamps.
ROBINSON: Yeah, that's fine. But has it ever occurred to you...
SCOTT: Yes it has, yes it has.
SCOTT: ...that this whole ride up here -- while we're driving up -- something from out of Don Quixote.
ROBINSON: That's right. That's it.
SCOTT: That's true. You know, like the drive up, and us following him.
ROBINSON: And us following him, just like Sancho Panza. That's right.
SCOTT: Yes indeed.
ROBINSON: I don't like it.
SCOTT, looking at the road ahead: Well now, where has he...
Silvando's car is parked off the road. Robinson pulls the Jeep in behind it. The get out, look around, and hurry across the open plain to join Silvando, who is brandishing his cane at one of several windmills.
SILVANDO: There they are, gentlemen. The giants. The monsters who plague the countryside. We will attack, gentlemen!
Silvando rushes forward.
SCOTT: Hey, I'm afraid he's a little more than absent-minded.
ROBINSON: He's Don Quixote.
SCOTT: Well, he's a little more than Don Quixote.
They rejoin Silvando.
SILVANDO: We will attack these ravagers of the poor, despoilers of the innocent!
ROBINSON: Well, now, sir, they probably didn't mean any harm. Why don't we just wait a while, and then....
SILVANDO: You're right! It's not wise to rush headlong into the very maw of the monster. Guile.
SCOTT: I beg your pardon?
SILVANDO: Cunning. We will defeat them by cunning. (He picks up a rock, hands it to Scott) Arm yourself, Sancho. Arm yourself!
SILVANDO: Now then. Disperse, and we will outflank them. You take the right flank, you the left, and on my command we will attack. Attack!
Wielding his cane, he moves forward.
Without much enthusiasm, Scott and Robinson split up and begin to half-heartedly toss small stones at the windmill.
SILVANDO: Ah, my brave troops!
SCOTT: How you doing over there, Sancho?
ROBINSON: Okay, Panza. How you doing over there on the left flank?
SILVANDO: Attack! Brilliant! Brilliant!
A face appears in one of the windows at the very top of the windmill. The man shouts at the three below in Spanish. Then the barrel of a shotgun emerges. He fires.
ROBINSON: Hey! Whoa! Wait a minute! It's shooting back at us! Wait a minute, sir! Hold it! Wait a second....ah!
The man fires the second barrel, hitting Robinson.
SCOTT: Retreat! (He tosses one last stone then makes a run for it)
There are two more shotgun blasts as Robinson and Scott converge on Silvando, pick him up bodily, and carry him out of range before setting him down.
ROBINSON: I'm sorry, sir, that we had to retreat, but, ah, I'm afraid I've been wounded.
ROBINSON: Uh, numerously.
SCOTT, taking a look at Robinson's backside: Uh, humorously.
ROBINSON: Thank you very much.
Alongside the road to Madrid...
Scott tests a pair of tweezers, then bends down, removes his hat, and prepares to pluck buckshot from Robinson's backside.
SCOTT: Dearly beloved....
ROBINSON: Now don't get smart.
SCOTT: All right. She loves me... (He starts removing the buckshot)
ROBINSON, in anguish: Yes.
SCOTT: She loves me not....She....
ROBINSON: Uh huh. Hey! Will you please watch it?
SCOTT: Listen. I'm trying to get some buckshot.
ROBINSON: Certainly you will. I hope so.
SCOTT: If you don't mind, I will continue at my happy work.
ROBINSON: Tell me the truth now.
SCOTT: What is it?
ROBINSON: Will I ever sit again?
SCOTT: Well, don't even think about it.
ROBINSON: I hope not.
SCOTT: Just grit your teeth. (He goes back to work)
ROBINSON: Listen! (He groans) Listen, when you bury me tomorrow morning or this afternoon will you please put on my epitaph that I regret I have but one (He reacts as Scott removes the last of the buckshot) -- ha ha ha! -- to give for my country.
SCOTT: Yes. A little alcohol here for yourself. A little alcohol. (He pours alcohol on the wounds) How do you like it?
SILVANDO: Gentlemen! I've made some tea.
Down by the road, Silvando gestures at a folding table and three chairs, set out with cups and a teapot sitting atop a kerosene burner.
ROBINSON: One of the greatest scientific minds of the century and he's spending an hour-and-a-half over a hot stove making tea.
SCOTT: Behave yourself, now. We've got to make the man love us.
ROBINSON: You know we could get killed making him love us.
ROBINSON: I've got an idea. Now, listen. Now just consider this for realism. Suppose we beat him up.... (He laughs at the look on Scott's face) ....All right.
SCOTT, grinning: We can't do that, Man. Put your pants on before you catch cold and sneeze. Come on now, be nice. We've got to be nice to the man and get him on our side politically so that we can prove to him that our side is right and the other side is wrong.
ROBINSON: Sir, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there's something that has escaped your attention. He thinks that he is a hero out of a book four hundred -- four hundred, count 'em, four hundred -- years old. Now, doesn't that strike you as being just a trifle removed from reality?
SCOTT: Granted, sir. Everybody in the world isn't perfect. However, the man was right about the windmills.
SCOTT: The windmills did strike back. Now, anytime you don't believe it just think....Say windmill and then sit down and you will say "True, true". Listen, he's made some tea. Come on.
They join Silvando at the small table, where he has poured tea into their cups.
SCOTT: Ah, Don Ernesto, I see you've made some tea for us, sir.
SILVANDO: I never travel without my tea service. I hope you find it to your liking.
ROBINSON, wincing as he gingerly sits: Windmills, windmills. Yes, windmills. Ah, yes, sir. I hope you won't mind if, uh, I sip my tea off one side of my body.
SILVANDO, remorsefully: I'm sorry if I have caused you any discomfort, I....I have enthusiasms. Sometimes, I get carried away.
SCOTT: Look, I think everyone should have enthusiasms. It makes life more exciting and it makes one feel young.
SILVANDO: How kind of you.
ROBINSON: Uh, sir? Scotty and I were just discussing, wondering if you had ever been to the United States.
SILVANDO: I've never had that opportunity.
SCOTT: Well, sir, don't you think you should? You should get to know our country, find out exactly what we believe in? What we think is right?
SILVANDO: What should I know about those things?
ROBINSON: Well, the way the world is going, you being a scientist and everything, maybe someday you'll have to choose sides.
SILVANDO: Oh, that I refuse to do. I reject both sides.
SCOTT: All right, then. What do you believe in?
SILVANDO: What do I....? (He thoughtfully rubs his chin) Justice. A man's energies should be used erasing evil close at hand. Wherever he turns his head and sees evil. If each person did that there would be no need to choose sides. (He rises, heads for his car) I made some muffins. They should be ready.
ROBINSON, to Scotty: Okay. All right. Come on. How 'bout it? Beat him up, right?
SCOTT: No, no, Man. We can't. We can't beat him up. Now listen. First of all, he made tea for us, Man. He made some muffins. Who else would go out here in the middle of -- where? -- and make muffins for us? This is a very complicated man. And he's got one of the world's great secrets, right up here. (He taps his skull)
ROBINSON: Uh huh. I tell you what. If we have to go in there after it, uh, you go. I'll stay here.
SCOTT, chuckles: Well I think, you know, a man like this is going to have a scary brain. I mean, I'd just as soon go in after it. 'Cause he's got one of the great obsessions, and that is to right all wrongs. So, we'll just have to stay around with him.
In a field nearby...
Six young men sit around a blanket, being given wine from a gourd by a seductive young woman. They are laughing, grabbing playfully at her.
SILVANDO: Unhand her!
They look at Don Ernesto, who stands a stone's throw away, brandishing his cane.
Alongside the road...
Robinson and Scott hear Silvando.
SCOTT: Don Quixote talk, I believe.
ROBINSON: Unhand her?
They head off to the rescue.
In a field nearby...
Silvando approaches, menacing the amused young men with his cane.
SILVANDO: Unhand her! Unhand her! Young lady, help comes on swift feet. You knaves! Defend yourselves! Flee, fair lady, while I engage these ruffians....
The young men, laughing, push Silvando down onto the blanket, then pick the blanket up and proceed to toss him high in the air. Robinson and Scott arrive and try to break it up. But the young men grab Scott and toss him a few times. Then it's Robinson's turn.
YOUNG WOMAN, to Robinson: You want some wine?
ROBINSON, pinned by several of the young men: Por favor!
Laughing, she pours the wine all over his face.
Back on the road to Madrid...
In the Jeep, Robinson and Scott follow Silvando in his black coupe.
ROBINSON: Listen, how are we supposed to get...? What are we going to do about this guy?
SCOTT: Listen, we will follow our assignment. That's about all we can do. Nothing else.
ROBINSON: Certainly. But how do we get through to him?
SCOTT: We will, Man.
ROBINSON, skeptical: We will. Boy, you sure are optimistic about it. We're doing lousy.
SCOTT: No, we're doing....
ROBINSON: Tomorrow we're going to be in Madrid. We're going to lose him.
SCOTT: We're doing very good, Man. The guy likes us. Look, I got a feeling that the worst is all over. What else can he do just cruising along on the highway?
ROBINSON, seeing something he doesn't like up ahead: Oh, por favor, no....
Alongside the road...
Robinson and Scott join Silvando, who is gazing at the valley below, in anguish.
SCOTT: What is it, sir?
SILVANDO: They clash! Two great armies are met in bloody battle!
Robinson and Scott look -- to see a flock of sheep, tended by a shepherd and his dog.
ROBINSON: Uh, no, sir. Sir, no, those are sheep, sir.
SILVANDO: Oh, the slaughter! Rout them. Disperse them, before their blood floods the plain. Charge!
ROBINSON: Wait, sir....
Silvando surges forward, waving his cane aloft. Robinson and Scott, holding on to him, have no choice but to go along. A shepherd sees them, shouts in alarm, and raises his staff....
On a grassy hillside...
Robinson is sitting in the grass, shoe and sock off, rubbing his ankle. Scott walks up with several figs plucked from a nearby tree , tossing several to Robinson, sitting down with another, already opened.
ROBINSON: Thanks. You're not going to eat those, are you?
ROBINSON: They'll give you something bad, Man.
SCOTT: Well, is it any worse than what I already have?
ROBINSON, groaning as he continues to massage his ankle: Anybody ever hands me that stuff again about the gentle, mild shepherd, sitting upon the slopes of the countryside blowing on his little penny flute is going to get a fat lip from me. Can you believe it?
SCOTT: Believe what?
ROBINSON: Us! Boy, we are the perpetual losers of all time. We have lost to windmills, uh, sheep, farmers, farmers' dogs. We really are pitiful.
SILVANDO, approaching: You were very brave, my comrades. A pity to waste such valor on an old man's delusions.
ROBINSON, putting on his sock and tennis shoe: Well, we'll be perfectly honest with you, sir, we have noticed that sometimes you seem to get carried away a little in your enthusiasms.
SILVANDO: You are a very kind and tactful man. Another would find a harsher and more accurate way to describe my behavior.
SCOTT: Well, sir, we kinda figure you've been...kind of under a...a strain lately.
SILVANDO: How perceptive of you. I have indeed been under a great strain. Soon I...I must make a decision that may affect the fate of the whole world. Oh, I know this sounds like another of my delusions, but please, you must believe me.
ROBINSON: Well, we do believe you, sir.
SILVANDO: Thank you. At times, the responsibility has been almost unbearable. Have you ever been in an aeroplane, flying in and out of patches of clouds? That is how it has been with me. Passing through mists that seem to cloud my mind. Please, be patient with me.
He walks away.
SCOTT: You know, I tell you, Man, I...I kinda like him. I really do. I like old Don. I like the jousts, too, I'll tell you that.
ROBINSON: I like the man. I hate the jousts.
SCOTT: Well, that part is over, Herman. Looks like he's got his feet back on the ground, so no more of that wild stuff.
They hear shouting up on the road and leap to their feet. Up on the road, Silvando is swinging his club at two men who had been changing the tire on a truck.
SILVANDO: Sancho! To me!
Robinson and Scott arrive to take on the two men. Robinson throws his jacket over one man's head. Scott ducks a swing by the other man, kicks him the backside, propelling him into Robinson's fist, then ducking as the man staggers backwards and flips the man over his shoulder. Silvando circles to the back of the truck to find a locked door, the fingers of people inside clawing at the grate in the window.
SILVANDO: Do not despair! I'm with you! I will rescue you!
Back at the front of the truck, the first man lunges at Robinson, who dispatches him with a kick. Meanwhile, Silvando sees a jacket on the ground, runs to it, and finds keys.
SCOTT: You know what we've got here, for a change, don't you?
ROBINSON: Yeah, I think I do.
SCOTT: We've got real, live....
The second man comes at them, but Scott swiftly karate chops him to the ground.
SCOTT: ...living, breathing enemies, Man. Not sheep or windmills. (He looks at the two men sprawled unconscious on the road) Well, we had them.
At the rear of the truck, Silvando unlocks the door. Five men bolt out of the truck and run up the nearest hill.
SILVANDO: Freedom is yours! Run! Run, with joy. All men should be free. I give you freedom!
Robinson and Scott reach the back of the truck in time to see the men scurrying over the crest of the hill.
SILVANDO: Oh, this act of chivalry, my companions-in-arms, will live in the annals of honor. To have given freedom....
ROBINSON: What? What do you mean -- were they locked up in here?
He sticks his head inside the truck. They circle the truck, and Robinson picks up a jacket; it's clearly the tunic of a uniform. He shows it to Scott.
ROBINSON: Recognize that?
Using the jacket, he rubs the dirt off the door, to reveal the words POLICIA DE LA MANCHA.
ROBINSON: What does that say? Don't lie!
SCOTT: In my neighborhood he's known as The Man.
ROBINSON, muttering: Oh my living, breathing....
He reaches through the open window, takes a piece of paper from the seat, hands it to Scott, who reads it.
SCOTT, to Silvando: We...we want to thank you for this, sir. You just turned loose six notorious criminals who were being transferred to maximum security.
Back on the road to Madrid...
Robinson and Scott are in the Jeep.
ROBINSON: How many of 'em are following us now?
SCOTT, glancing back: No. Es nadie.
The return to the "scene of the crime", and find Silvando sitting in his car. They pull off the road and get out.
ROBINSON: What's the trouble, sir?
SILVANDO: I don't seem to be able to start the car.
ROBINSON: Uh, sometimes it...it helps to turn on the ignition, sir.
SILVANDO, starting the car: Sometimes I forget.
ROBINSON: Well, sometimes we all do.
Beyond a bend in the road they see the two policemen moving around the truck, and shouting.
Later, on the road to Madrid...
ROBINSON: You got to admit, though, Man, truly, all things being taken into consideration and all, like they would be if they were, uh, this is the way to see Spain.
ROBINSON: With the sun on your head and the wind in your hair....
SCOTT: And the hot breath of the law breathing right down on you. You know, in Spain, the word for fugitive is fugitivo, you see. So, in case a man pulls a gun out and points it and says that to you you'll know exactly what's going on with the wind blowing in your hair and everything.
ROBINSON: El fugitivo!
ROBINSON: Got a ring to it, though.
SCOTT: Certainly does. Listen, Man, don't fool around. I'm telling you, here in....The Spanish police are the most efficient people in the world, Man. And justice is short and the sentences are long.
ROBINSON: Oh, will you stop.
ROBINSON: Get out of here. What we did back there was, well, we made an honest mistake.
SCOTT: I hope so.
ROBINSON: And if we get caught.... (He sees something up ahead) Ohhhhh....
At a bridge, Silvando has been stopped by a police roadblock, consisting of five uniformed men, three of them armed with CETME light machineguns, the others with machine pistols.
SCOTT: Fugitivo. Fugitivo.
Robinson stops the Jeep. Silvando is being menaced by one of the men with machineguns.
SILVANDO: Sir! This is an outrage!
The policeman barks an order at Silvando, motioning with his machinegun toward a paddy wagon.
ROBINSON, to Scott: The short happy life of el fugitivo.
Another policeman gives the same command to Robinson and Scott. They climb into the back of the paddy wagon, following Silvando, and being followed in turn by two of the policemen. A third closes the door. Then he and the fourth man climb aboard their motorcycles and follow the paddy wagon down the road.
Inside the paddywagon...
SCOTT: Well, you insult the dignity of the Spanish FBI, setting six desperate criminals on the countryside, what do you expect?
ROBINSON: About twenty years.
SILVANDO: Gentlemen, please! I have good news.
ROBINSON: Ten years.
SILVANDO: The good news -- there is nothing to worry about. That man is not of the police. Neither are the others. Though they speak Spanish fluently, they are foreigners. The accent is Central Europe. Their Spanish is definitely not the Spanish of the Spanish police. You remember the delicacy of my ear? Is that not good news?
SCOTT: Uh huh.
SILVANDO: They are not police, but imposters.
SCOTT: Yeah. But I'm telling you, you forget one thing, though. There are more of them than us, you see. They have guns, we have none.
SILVANDO: That is the bad part of the good news.
SCOTT: Oh, truly -- you have spoken truly.
The vehicle pulls up to a large stone structure, what might once have been a convent. The "policemen" get out and motion with their machineguns for the others to do likewise, barking orders.
SILVANDO: Definitely not the accent of a Spanish policeman.
SCOTT, to one of the "policemen": You're phony. Phony. You're not fuzz.
As he gets out, Robinson stumbles, grabs the nearest policeman's machinegun.
ROBINSON: Excuse me. I said I was sorry....
A kick and karate chop drops the man. Robinson aims the machinegun at him.
ROBINSON: Now then. You step inside, my friend, and you tell your friends...you tell your friends that we know you're not fuzz, that you're a phony, this is not a police station. Now go on. Go on.
SCOTT: He doesn't understand.
ROBINSON: Well explain it to him.
HORST, from a window above, aiming a machine pistol at Scott: No need. I understood. I'm focused on the ear of your friend. You kill my man, I kill yours. Make your choice.
ROBINSON, handing the machinegun back to its owner: Sir, I'm afraid you dropped something.
In a barren room...
Robinson, Scott and Silvando are leaning against a wall, while their guard stands by a window, his machinegun near at hand, strumming a guitar. Horst enters, holding the machine pistol on them.
HORST, to Robinson: When last we met, our bargain was the next time one would kill the other. Your epitaph will be that you have served your purpose. You have brought him to us. Don Silvando....
SILVANDO: Ah, yes, yes. You are the liar I met in Seville. The one who tried to be my friend.
HORST: I still want to be your friend.
SILVANDO: It is not my friendship you want, I know. It is something else.
HORST: I want you to give me your knowledge.
SILVANDO: Why should I do that?
HORST: For the satisfaction of knowing that you have served us and thereby, humanity.
SILVANDO: Oh, so that is what you are. A servant of humanity.
SILVANDO: My congratulations, servant of humanity, on your prison, your pistol, your machinegun. (He laughs)
HORST: You can be free, Don Silvando. I offer you your life.
SILVANDO: Life? I know that to be an illusion.
HORST: But I can make it real. With pain. Think about it, Don Silvando. You have fifteen minutes to give me your answer.
Horst walks out.
SILVANDO, to Scott and Robinson: We had gallant adventures, did we not?
SCOTT: Don, you want to know the truth?
SILVANDO: Truth? Yes....
SCOTT: All the other things, the sheep, and the windmill, they were all very nice, simpatico adventures, but do you know what they plan to do with you?
SILVANDO: Torture me?
ROBINSON: Yes, sir. That's true.
SILVANDO: It will avail them nothing.
ROBINSON, to Scott: Listen. You, uh, dig flamenco, don't you?
ROBINSON: Great. Beautiful. Why don't you go tell him?
ROBINSON, nodding at the guitar-playing guard: Go tell him that you love his work. Go ahead.
Scott saunters over to the window. As he approaches, the guard picks up his weapon.
Scott says something in Spanish. The guard thanks him. Scott saunters back to Robinson.
ROBINSON: Now, you see? You told him you love his work, now he likes you.
SCOTT: He stopped playing the guitar and started playing his gun.
ROBINSON: Well, that's just a natural reflex, because he doesn't want to be caught off guard or anything like that, you understand. You play guitar, don't you?
SCOTT: I do?
ROBINSON: Certainly you do, you fool. Student of the great Segovia that you are.
ROBINSON: Go tell him.
SCOTT: No, you can't do this, you see. You can't go around just name-dropping. Segovia!
ROBINSON: I'm not talking about throwing around no names, Man. I'm just saying that you have to stand up and brag a little. Definitely. Go brag.
SCOTT: About Segovia.
SCOTT: Brag. Okay. (He returns to the guard at the window) Segovia is my professor.
Awed, the guard says something.
ROBINSON, puffing on a cigarette: How'd he take it?
SCOTT: He's envious.
The guard offers Scott the guitar, asking him to play.
SCOTT: No, no, that's impossible. No.
GUARD: Por favor, senor.
ROBINSON: Okay, hold it. Hold it. That's enough modesty now. Now, tell the man you are going to play for him some brilliant chords for his entertainment. Go ahead, take it.
Scott takes the proffered guitar.
ROBINSON: Now, when I say hit it, I want you to hit it. Hit it.
ROBINSON: Hit that fletcher before he wakes up.
Scott smiles at the guard -- then slams the guitar into his face. The guard goes down. Robinson scoops up the machinegun, heads for the door. Scott, helping Silvando along, follows. The cross an empty courtyard, Robinson covering the progress of Scott and Silvando. Moments later they are racing down the road on two motorbikes, Silvando riding with Robinson.
Alongside the road to Madrid...
Silvando stands with Robinson and Scott on a hillside above their cars.
SILVANDO: No more retreat. We flee no more. Here we make our stand. Here we engage them. Here the flags and banners of honor....
SILVANDO: Are you now a coward?
ROBINSON: Sir, it doesn't have anything to do with heroics or cowardice or....It just has to do with reason. Now, all we have to do is, you get in your car, we'll get in our car, and we'll just drive off to Madrid.
SILVANDO: Flight. Retreat. Coward!
ROBINSON: No, sir, I am not a coward, but there comes a time in every man's life....Look, fun is fun, but the game is over now, we've got to face hard facts.
SILVANDO: The hard fact that you are craven and weak.
ROBINSON: No I am not craven and weak.
SILVANDO: I challenge you to prove it. To prove that you are not. (He slaps Robinson) By the rules of chivalry I should lay down my challenge with a glove. But I am without one. I apologize for the irregularity and bid you to consider that you have been challenged.
ROBINSON: Okay. Allrighty. Now, what do I do now?
SILVANDO: You are the challenged. You have the choice of weapons.
ROBINSON: Well, there are not too many old pikes and broadswords lying around.
SCOTT: Well, sticks would be nice.
ROBINSON: What did you say, Coach?
SCOTT: I said sticks would be nice. Now you can't get out of this one. You've got to prove to the man that you're not a coward. The laws of chivalry will say that if you whip him, if you whip Don, everything he owns is yours. You dig?
ROBINSON: Certainly. You are right again, Holme. Uh, what did you say about weapons, sir?
SILVANDO: The choice is yours.
ROBINSON: Um hm. Well, I didn't pack my dueling pistols or my epees, swords, foils, switchblades, what have you, so I guess we'll just have to improvise from our surrounding area or something. How about tree limbs?
SILVANDO: Good! A stout staff.
ROBINSON, mumbling: Take a whole tree, myself. Come on, Woody.
He and Scott go in search of tree limbs.
ROBINSON: Hey. Here's a whole bunch of sticks somebody left here, Man.
SCOTT: Yeah. Probably from the last old stick fight or something.
ROBINSON: Your sense of humor at this time....How come that he never calls you a coward? Doesn't challenge you?
SCOTT: 'Cause he knows I'm sensitive, that's why, mostly. I bet you, he'll whip you all over this place.
ROBINSON: What, are you kidding?
SCOTT: One of the last of the great wooden samurai fighters.
ROBINSON, returning to Silvando with several long sticks: All right, sir. Want to take your pick?
SILVANDO, handing his cane to Scott: If you please.
SCOTT, taking custody of the cane: Yes, sir.
SILVANDO, selecting one of the sticks: En guard, senor!
He strikes. Robinson parries the blow. Again and again, Silvando swings his stick, but Robinson easily defends himself. They circle at the top of the slope, and Robinson glances at Scott, wondering what he's supposed to do.
SCOTT: Hey, don't look at me for sympathy, Man. Defend yourself.
Silvando continues on the attack, and Robinson continues to parry the blows.
SCOTT, shaking his head: Sad.
Winded, Silvando slips, and tumbles down the slope. Robinson drops his stick, and he and Scott hurry to Silvando's side.
SILVANDO: I am defeated.
ROBINSON: Yes you are, sir.
SILVANDO: You...you are my conqueror.
SCOTT: Yes he is.
SILVANDO: Therefore, I am your vassal.
ROBINSON: You are, sir. I mean you're not.
SCOTT: Yes he is, Man.
ROBINSON: Yes you are, sir.
SCOTT: Like, everything he has is now yours. Now, don't go back on that. You'll dishonor him. Panza.
ROBINSON: Sir, I want the results of your experiments in, uh....uh....
SCOTT: Thermal coefficient for the homing antimissile missiles.
ROBINSON: Yeah, that's what I want, sir.
SILVANDO: Then that is what you will have. I will give you the contents of my notebooks.
Robinson and Scott help him to his feet, and down the slope to the cars. While Silvando searches his car for the notebooks, a police truck pulls up. Two armed men in uniform jump out, followed by Horst, with his machine pistol.
HORST: Whoever among you makes the first move is the first dead man. Who wishes the honor? Nobody. What a pity. (To the uniformed men) Take them over there, execute them!
The two uniformed men order Robinson and Scott to get moving. They start down the road.
HORST: Until we have got what we want from you, Don Silvando, we can't kill you. So for the time being you are a most fortunate man.
Silvando seems to slump into the driver's seat. Then he quickly starts the car and accelerates, trying to run Horst over. Horst fires -- bullets pockmark the windshield, and one strikes Silvando, but he maintains control of the car and hits Horst. The two uniformed men turn, and are jumped by Robinson and Scott; they fall. Robinson and Scott retrieve the machineguns and head for the ditch. The uniformed men get up and try to flee. Silvando chases one into a ravine, then backs up and pursues the other down the road until he, too, lunges into a ditch. Silvando stops the car, slumps unconscious against the door. Robinson and Scott hurry to the car.
ROBINSON: This is a brave man.
SCOTT: He's better than brave. He's noble.
A training ground for matadors...
Robinson and Scott stand with Silvando, watching young men practice their cape work against wooden "bulls" on wheels pushed by other men.
SILVANDO: Ah, brave young blood of glorious Spain. Intrepid. Fearless. Ole!
SCOTT: Whoa, behave yourself now, sir. You just came out of the hospital.
SILVANDO: Ah, but cured. Cured, in body and mind. And mind.
ROBINSON: Well, you're looking, sir, you're looking very fit.
SILVANDO: And why not? The terrible thing I carried with me, the secret that burdened me down, is now your burden. Your country's burden. I only hope you're wise and brave enough to bear it. And now, farewell. You have been kind, and I shall miss you.
SCOTT: And we you, sir.
ROBINSON: Vaya con Dios, sir.
The start to walk away. One of the young men pushes a wooden bull close to Silvando.
SILVANDO: To me, my brave ones! A horde of dragons breathing fire and destruction bear down on us! Advance! Charge!
Alarmed, Robinson and Scott look back. Then Silvando begins to laugh. They smile, wave, and walk on in the direction of the nearby road.
[transcribed by Jason M., November 2002]