The Exodus of Calvita: Part II

EXT. Day (LS), another dune. CALVITA is trudging slowly across the desert, a bundle of palm fronds on his back. He pauses, wipes his brow.

Cut to handheld, alongside CALVITA. He is breathing heavily, but his expression is optimistic. He tries to whistle, with mixed results.

CALVITA: Ah, yeah. Bit of a breakthrough, really. Big haul of fronds from the oasis today. These will do me roof for me, I’d say.

MVO: Ivor has been gathering palm fronds to construct a bivouac. It is an important step in his recovery plan.

CALVITA: Isn’t “bivouac” a funny ould word, though? Would it be Greek? I’d say it would. Like fistula. That’s another Greek one.

CALVITA: A fistula dollars, as the fella says. But the Greeks had their agenda too, with the Renaissance. A fierce gang of queers.

CALVITA: Don’t get me wrong, I’ve a great appreciation for art. But yesterday is a hissy fit, and tomorrow is a fistula, I always say.

Cut to MS, CALVITA’s home dune. He has constructed a rough shelter from camel bones and palm fronds. He lays the new fronds on the roof.

The heat of the day is searing, and CALVITA is stripped to the waist and sweating profusely. He sings Bee-Gees songs as he works.

CALVITA: No place like home, what? Be it ever so nimble, as they say. Wouldn’t be what I’m used to, mind you. Not by a long stretch.

MVO: In the village, Ivor was a cobbler. He shared a two-room hut with his elderly aunt, a one-eyed former prostitute.

CALVITA: Well, let’s say I was among the professional classes, kind of thing. Which is where the agendas come in, you see.

CALVITA: A fella can’t be doing well, you see. Because what? Jealousy. The green-eyed spinster, as the man says. That’s Shakespeare.

CALVITA: Which again, Julius Caesar was the same. Et tu, Popeye, ye bollicks ye? But you live in the moment. Cometh the iceman, you know?

CALVITA: But once the bivouac is up, that’s me back in the game. Because what? Postal address, my friend. That’s what it’s all about.

MVO: Ivor’s plan is to enlist with the Lusty Scimitars, a successful band of brigands. Without a postal address, he cannot apply.

CALVITA stands back to admire the finished bivouac. He produces a sign, which he hangs over the door opening. It reads: “CHEZ NOUS”.

CALVITA: Ah, now that sets it off, you see. The bit of French always adds a touch of Jenny Sequins. The French? Oui. I’m bipolar, you see.

CALVITA (yawning and stretching): Well, I think I shall retire for the evening. A big tomorrow. Today is hickory, tomorrow is a symphony.

EXT. (LS) CALVITA’S bivouac in silhouette against the declining sun. Insects tick and whine. CALVITA softly sings Chris Rea songs.

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