The night had brought little relief from the heat, and at dawn a hot gust of
wind blows across the colorless sea. The KNIGHT, Antonius Block, lies
prostrate on some spruce branches spread over the fine sand. His eyes are
wide-open and bloodshot from lack of sleep.
Nearby his squire JONS is snoring loudly. He has fallen asleep where he
collapsed, at the edge of the forest among the wind-gnarled fir trees. His
open mouth gapes towards the dawn, and unearthly sounds come from his throat.
At the sudden gust of wind, the horses stir, stretching their parched muzzles
towards the sea. They are as thin and worn as their masters.
The KNIGHT has risen and waded into the shallow water, where he rinses his
sunburned face and blistered lips. JONS rolls over to face the forest and the
darkness. He moans in his sleep and vigorously scratches the stubbled hair on
his head. A scar stretches diagonally across his scalp, as white as lightning
against the grime.
The KNIGHT returns to the beach and falls on his knees. With his eyes closed
and brow furrowed, he says his morning prayers. His hands are clenched
together and his lips form the words silently. His face is sad and bitter. He
opens his eyes and stares directly into the morning sun which wallows up from
the misty sea like some bloated, dying fish. The sky is gray and immobile, a
dome of lead. A cloud hangs mute and dark over the western horizon. High up,
barely visible, a seagull floats on motionless wings. Its cry is weird and
restless. The KNIGHT'S large gray horse lifts its head and whinnies. Antonius
Block turns around.
Behind him stands a man in black. His face is very pale and he keeps his
hands hidden in the wide folds of his cloak.
KNIGHT
Who are you?
DEATH
I am Death.
KNIGHT
Have you come for me?
DEATH
I have been walking by your side for a long
time.
KNIGHT
That I know.
DEATH
Are you prepared?
KNIGHT
My body is frightened, but I am not.
DEATH
Well, there is no shame in that.
The KNIGHT has risen to his feet. He shivers. DEATH opens his cloak to place
it around the KNIGHT'S shoulders.
KNIGHT
Wait a moment.
DEATH
That's what they all say. I grant no reprieves.
KNIGHT
You play chess, don't you?
A gleam of interest kindles in DEATH'S eyes.
DEATH
How did you know that?
KNIGHT
I have seen it in paintings and heard it sung
in ballads.
DEATH
Yes, in fact I'm quite a good chess player.
KNIGHT
But you can't be better than I am.
The KNIGHT rummages in the big black bag which he keeps beside him and takes
out a small chessboard. He places it carefully on the ground and begins
setting up the pieces.
DEATH
Why do you want to play chess with me?
KNIGHT
I have my reasons.
DEATH
That is your privilege.
KNIGHT
The condition is that I may live as long as I
hold out against you. If I win, you will
release me. Is it agreed?
The KNIGHT holds out his two fists to DEATH, who smiles at him suddenly.
DEATH points to one of the KNIGHT'S hands; it contains a black pawn.
KNIGHT
You drew black!
DEATH
Very appropriate. Don't you think so?
The KNIGHT and DEATH bend over the chessboard. After a moment of hesitation,
Antonius Block opens with his king's pawn. DEATH moves, also using his king's
pawn.
The morning breeze has died down. The restless movement of the sea has
ceased, the water is silent. The sun rises from the haze and its glow
whitens. The sea gull floats under the dark cloud, frozen in space. The day
is already scorchingly hot.
The squire JONS is awakened by a kick in the rear. Opening his eyes, he
grunts like a pig and yawns broadly. He scrambles to his feet, saddles his
horse and picks up the heavy pack.
The KNIGHT slowly rides away from the sea, into the forest near the beach and
up towards the road. He pretends not to hear the morning prayers of his
squire. JONS soon overtakes him.
JONS
(sings)
Between a strumpet's legs to lie
Is the life for which I sigh.
Ingmar Bergman, Famed Director, Dies at 89
By MERVYN ROTHSTEIN 11 minutes ago
Ingmar Bergman, the “poet with the camera” who is considered one of the greatest directors in motion picture history, died today on the small island of Faro where he lived on the Baltic coast of Sweden, Astrid Soderbergh Widding, president of The Ingmar Bergman Foundation, said. Bergman was 89.
http://movies2.nytimes.com/person/81548/Ingmar-Bergman/biography
