First Narration

One of the things I want to add to this script is a series of vignettes where stories about Indonesia, the country the characters travel through without ever really scratching the surface of, get an airing. They'll be about some character who is helping them, who they're not really paying any attention to.

It's very much following a model used by the Cuaron brothers in Y Tu Mama Tambien. Like them I want an impersonal narrator and visuals that highlight what the characters are doing rather than the subjects of the stories.

Anyway this is the first one about the boat pilot taking the guys to the island to see Komodo dragons. As the story unfolds we see the tourists leave the boat, step onto the island, see the dragons, admire the view, take photos, come back, fail to give the guide a tip and then Sean runs back and gives them something, and then get back on the boat and sail back under a setting sun as the story ends.

And this is what it sounds like, first draft anyway:

Muhammed was glad that the white man with the coloured eyes was playing with the boy. He often took the boy to and from the island where his mother worked as a guide but they never talked. They never really interacted except to say hello and goodbye. Muhammed didn't feel comfortable talking to children.

He'd been the youngest of six so wasn't used to having to take care of anyone younger than himself and when he'd gone off to find work it was in the forest, away from families and children.

But when he'd come back to the fishing villae, children were suddenly important. Latipah, the most beuatiful woman in the village, who he'd gawped at in school and at festivals, was a widow with three young children. Muhammed had money now and could be a husband. He started visiting her and soon they were married.

Now he was a father and although he was nervous at first he soon learnt to love his new children and would take them swimming in the morning in the Indian Ocean off Aceh.

Then one morning, the day after a holiday for Christians, the waves started to pull away, back into the sea. He wasn't sure why at first but then he saw it start to swell. He grabbed the youngest in one arm and the middle in another but he did not have space for the eldest.

'Run' he told him. He was a quick boy. Maybe he could make it himself. They started to run but thye boy was too small. He couldn't keep up. Muhammed couldn't stop for him. He'd lose all the children if he did. He ran and he ran. He got to higher ground, left the other two and sprinted back.

But the waves had come. For six days he searched for the boy. But he was gone.

Latipah would not speak to him. Would not look at him except once but all he could see in those eyes were anger, fury. He had let her sone die. If it had been his own son, he would not have let this happen.

Muhammed did not believe this but he could persuade her. Eventually he realised he had to leave.

He came to Flores and settled among the Catholics, who drank beer. He drank beer too now. And didn't pray. Not even on Fridays. He had a job. He'd even made some friends. He had, not a whole life again, but he did have a bit of one. But he couldn't talk to children.