B o r r o w e d
D r e a m s
(now titled)
More Than Yesterday
Less Than Tomorrow
an epic novel
C O M I N G
S C R E E N P L A Y TO N O V E L
The novel is narrated by the protagonist herself, in a style infused with all the wit and wisdom she needs to draw on to survive the trials she encounters. The music of the prose captures the verve and passion of the lives it traces, and the arc of the narrative follows an epic trajectory, encompassing a vision as broad and embracing as the love that animates her awareness.
Andy's entire comment on WS,BD can be read under comments
ADAPTED FROM THE SCREENPLAY
White Shadows, Black Dreams.
DR HORTON'S COMMENTS ON THE SCREENPLAY:
Swingle evokes the era as well as the character and aptly carries us through something of an epic "journey" not only of locations but of emotions as well. Humor, horror, humanity, and love mix and cross leaving us with an all too rare satisfaction in contemporary cinema, even when tackling historical figures; a sense of not only having enjoyed the "journey" along with Sarah, but of having been enlightened and uplifted as well through her pain and joys.
—Andrew Horton
Andrew Horton is an award-winning screenwriter, and the author of thirty books on film, screenwriting and cultural studies including, Screenwriting for a Global Market (University of California Press 2004) and Writing the Character Centered Screenplay (University of California Press, 2000, 2nd edition). The Library Journal wrote about his Character Centered Screenplay, "Horton walks away with an Oscar in the valuable books for the prospective scripter category with his latest rendering." His films include Brad Pitt's first feature film, The Dark Side of the Sun (1988), and the much awarded Something In Between (1983, Yugoslavia, directed by Srdjan Karanovic).
A SAMPLE CHAPTER
EDITED 4-16-25
Jagged Recollections
Louvenia had been imprisoned in Jesse's jail for years by the time Alex and I came to her after our folks' passing. For so long he'd convinced her that if she walked out on him he'd get the law down on her. He warned that she'd then get no farther than the chain-gang he'd convinced her was all but waiting around each and every corner she might turn down. Sister surely heard in Jesse's rantings the echo of the Burney overseer ol' Isaac. When you live in brutality long enough, the layers of scars blind you to your options. But there were precious few for us, so best keep at your ironing board with the kitchen curtains pulled tight. Maybe then you won't catch yourself gazing into that dead end alley to see if you're still dying. But by then how could you deny the truth?
We seldom left that hell hole of a kitchen 'cept to deliver our ironing or to go buy more soap to pour into more tubs. Well, maybe it was too easy to blame Jesse—a poor soul also a slave, slave to his bottle—but we had to find a way out, Louvenia and me. Mind you, I knew there were only two options for our women: being bent over a tub or being a bent over whore.
Back then the stories Sister had shared during our long hours out on the laundry porch never stopped weaving through my thoughts. Perhaps it was all her jagged recollections that I'd come to string together that broke into my hopes for us. Like maybe them dreams of where a life of dignity might be; a place away from that alley if we could only somehow work our escape. Momma once told me up on Orchard Hill that a soul is a place to hide your dreams from the white folks. What she could never have known is that we'd come to hide our dreams from plenty of coloreds all the same.
Those mornings when Jesse was in his backroom snoring, Louvenia and I got to whispering. What 'a we gonna do? Because we had that laundry business going good so why did we take it from him day in and day out? Jesse busting our hopes as quickly as he busted our lips. Him thinking we was his nobodies—but still nobodies good enough to live off. I came to think that if Jesse was no longer at least then what pennies we made would be ours to keep. But Louvenia told me she done seen chain gangs and was scared he could all but rise to shackle her to one—the only promise he was sure to keep. How many times had he bolted from a drunken stupor to stumble in and put Sister's face to the tabletop because his meal wasn't there waiting? Strangely, she didn't seem to be as scared that the day would come when he' would finally kill her or, perhaps worse, he'd put her out on the street to make room for one of his whores. Maybe one of those women whose names he blurted in his drunken sleep. It's hard to see how terrifyingly deep the dry well is that a colored woman can stumble into when she reaches for the door and yet knows that the only thing waiting on the other side is her final prayer what with no money, no place to head to and nobody to turn to.
"Look at them whores out there on the street past Jesse's alley," Louvenia challenged. "They know what I's talkin' about!"
Most of the time Sister and I knew where we stood on things, and we seldom stood far apart even after bickering over this or that. But Louvenia somehow survived those years with that ol' man before Alex and I fell into her life. From those dark times I would come to understand that there were things Sister had seen too awful to put to words. Things still too scabbed to pick open again; all of them jagged recollections is what I'm talking about. Why is shame always the wound that resists healing?
One morning while Sister was ironing, and I was twisting the water out of a shirt to hang it seemed as though my going on about us getting out of that alley got Sister cross. I still recall her saddened look of frustration folded with anger when she put her iron back on the stove and pointed to the table for me to take a seat. I knew what that meant.
"What?"
"Sit down over there. I got things to say to you," she said. "Things I should 'a told you long ago. Ugly things I reckon it's time to tell you because you got to know what I seen, where I been. Then you understand what I been tellin' you."
"What I got to know, Sister?"
"You're always goin' on like all we got to do is fill a pillowcase with our things and step off that porch ridin' on nothin' but a big smile. Maybe like we ain't never gonna have to beg Jesse to take us back come some cold rainy night. But I know better, and I'm gonna tell you what I know, too!"
In silence, Louvenia paced the kitchen shaking her head as though she was cursing at the very recollections she didn't want to drudge up again. I sat down to hear what she had to say.
"Not long after I come to Jesse's, he told me he was gonna rent a buggy and we was gonna get out of town. Go for a picnic, he say."
"Jesse took you on a picnic?"
"Now you just hush and let me tell you 'bout Jesse's picnic alright," she said. "He told me to make up a basket of food. And I did. Baked us fresh bread the night before; fried some ham and Annie shared some mustard she'd made. Even baked a cake. Never since I met that man had we gone nowheres I recall. Then I carried the basket to the stables 'cause Jesse, he say him's back was hurtin'."
"Jesse's back hurt so bad he couldn't carry no damned basket of sandwiches?"
"He rented us a buggy. We went all the way out of town and then down some dusty county road."
"Where was that?" I asked.
"Don't know. Just 'member the dust blowing up in my face. I figured Jesse knowed of a place where we could eat under some shady trees or maybe near a pretty stream. But then I seen for sure where we was headed. Way up there, in a cloud of dust, I seen these folks workin' a ditch. They was all colored and Lord, there was women in with 'em. I asked Jesse why we was headed there. He said he had somebody he wantin' me to meet. Jesse stopped where them folks was working their picks and shovels. They all looked up but couldn't hardly see 'cause they was so blinded by that hot sun and all that dust covering their sweaty faces."
"What were they doin'?" I asked.
"They looked to be diggin' a drain ditch along the county road. I tell you, there'd not been a hotter day that summer! No, ma'am."
Sister paused like she needed to catch her breath but then went on in a whisper.
"I watched when a man fell over on the side of the road. Don't think he ever made it up. Nobody done nothin' for him. Not even give 'im a swallow of water."
Sister started to tear up at the very thought of that poor man. Her recollections became jagged and she swollowed hard from it.
"Lord, Louvenia, why'd Jesse go there for a picnic?"
"Then Jesse waved to a man standing there watchin' over 'em all. You know that man was like ol' Isaac who watched over us in the cotton fields. Jesse nodded to 'im. That man, with a grin on his big ugly face headed over. Lord Jesus, I got to thinking he had that same evil look that Jesse do!"
"Were you scared?"
"Jesse, he say to me, 'I want you to listen good here 'cause I ain't gonna say it but once. There ain't but one reason I took you in, and it ain't 'cause I wanted to look at that face of yours. No, Ma'am, it sure enough ain't.' He say, 'I only married you 'cause I gettin' old and gonna need somebody to take care 'a me when I need it, and that's all you's good for. You got nothin' else that interests me. No, you sure as hell don't. But if you ever get it into your head you'd be better off by heading out on me, you gonna find yourself right down there in that dirt like them others. Look 'em over good, 'cause you'll be down there with 'em. Yep, gonna be digging your way back to me with a pick and shovel. And Lord, you know I mean it, woman! You be digging your way to where I told you never to stray and then be on your knees thankin' me for takin' you in and all.'"
"My Lord, Sister!"
"That ugly man, he come up to the buggy with that big grin still on his face. Jesse grabbed the basket off my lap and handed it over to him. He yanked the rag off the top and tossed it to the ground and went to eatin' my sandwiches like he'a hog. Jesse say to 'im, 'You tell Louvenia here who them folks yonder are. She gots to know how good it is with me so's to keep 'er doin' what I tell 'er.'"
"That man, with a mouth full of my food, he say, 'Sister, that there is a nigger chain-gang. They's worthless vagrants, them is. Owe the county jails money to pay off theys fines for vagrancy. But they ain't got no money, so they come work the roads or the county ditches. They earn a quarter a day, and ever' cent goes to the boss. Yeah, done lost another over there. Bet he's dead from heatstroke,' he gestured to the man covered with so much dust you couldn't no more make out his face."
I was speechless.
She continued, "Jesse, he say to that man, 'Tell Louvenia 'bout them women over there!' The man grinned, and with his dirty hand grabbed a fist full of my cake and started shoving it into his mouth, nodding to Jesse as he swallowed it down. That hog did! Then he said, 'Them women, they's whores, ain't they Jesse? Sure, they are. They don't work hard enough out there. Ain't that right? You can plainly see they ain't no good. So, they owe me overtime now don't they? End of the day, they service the men here. Yeah, they sure as hell do! The man that works hardest and gives me no grief, he first at 'er while the others watch. Then they gets their turn on her. Don't make no difference, they's whores.' That's what that man said, then went to laughin' like it was at me. Jesse, he laughed with 'im and turned the buggy 'round and headed back. That was my picnic that day. So, you still think it's easy movin' on? I got nowheres to go. Got no money, and after living in this alley I got no name people gonna respect. Cause me and Jesse weren't never married. And you know what that makes me this alley? Me livin' with a man I ain't married to? I'd be called a whore by the folks livin' up and down this alley! So, now where you think we can head off to? Huh? Well, you go ask Jesse. He'll tell you where we had that picnic, 'cause that's 'bout where we'd end up!"
"But where we headed now if we stay here?" I replied. "We're climbing into a box. A pine box Jesse gonna nail shut and put six feet under," I said.
"Let me tell you something more," Sister said. "That man, that nigger watching the others like him a white slaver, you know who that was? Huh?"
"You know 'im?" I asked.
"That man is Jesse's brother, Fred. That Fred Powell. After that day, he started comin' 'round the alley all the time to eat my food till he and Jesse got into it at the bar over a whore. Him comin' up to me in my kitchen with a big ugly grin on his face and askin' me if I wanted to come out to the ditches with him to visit with the men out there. Said they's waiting for a woman like me to service 'em! Him workin' for the man and his chain-gang off the backs of folks like me, he was. No, he ain't no better, 'cause I know what he does with them women from the bars! He works the alleys with 'em, that's what!!"
*
At times I wondered if maybe Jesse could read our minds. At least there were nights when he seemed to sense something stirring behind his back out in the kitchen.
Sister was still ironing one night, and I'd just come in from washing my hair out on the porch when he come out from his sleeping room looking mean like maybe he was aiming to situate his next helping of bruises. That man, he watched over us night and day as he did his bottles. But then we were his bottles. Jesse looked about like something was amiss and then looked me up and down real hard like 'cause I had my nice dress on and was cleaned up to go down to Annie's to help her with her kids.
"What's that girl up to gettin' herself all dolled up?" he asked Louvenia, standing next to me with the brush. "That a new dress she got on? Huh? Come over here so I can get a good look at you."
"That ain't no new dress, Jesse. You know it ain't," Sister replied in barely a whisper as she had to have known he was looking for a fight. "Just one the neighbor passed down." Then she jumped to defend against his next accusation. "Where would we get money to buy a new dress? I only put a new collar on it cut from an old white shirt one of my ladies give me. You know that shirt was too small for you Jesse," she quickly added. "Sarah, hadn't you best get on down to Annie's. Go on now, like I say."
"Yeah and bring me back a bottle or don't come back through my door, lil' girl. That's all I got to say to you!" Jesse snorted.
"Now, Jesse, you knows Sarah can't go out on the street this late for no bottle. She only twelve."
Sister knew that Jesse's friends would pimp me as good as any child in the alleys.
"What I know is that girl gots too high opinion of herself. You seen that?"
"I sure seen lots of things, Jesse," Sister retorted.
"Huh? If that keeps up, she be out on the streets like that boy, Alex. You remind 'er what I done to him for not respectin' me!"
"Don't worry, Jesse. Sarah ain't never gonna forget what you did to Brother that winter."
For Louvenia the hurts piled up like lash scars; layer upon layer crisscrossing the backside of her soul. Jesse never stopped reminding me there were nigger dogs of all colors.
"I ain't in the mood for you," Jesse announced again as Sister stood biting her lip surely to keep from telling him to go to hell. "I'm goin' over to my brother Fred's. You hear that? May not come back tonight. You think on that!"
And Lord how long had we? We'd been thinking on him walking off that laundry porch with his stolen money and borrowed pride and getting so damned tripped up on his own barbed life that he never come back. Amen, Lord, hear our prayers even if you're tired of hearing them.
THE FIRST PART OF THIS NOVEL AS
The Air Between Our Tubs
was
Winner
Hackney Literary Awards
and
Runner Up
William Faulkner - William Wisdom Competition