The Rape of Kosole Rahe
(A film in progress scenario)
I
Near Twilight
And inside the Barn
Music.
Kosole Rahe a long way off from home—St. Paul, Minnesota—now in the outskirts of some cornfields, ninety miles of cornfields, it is 1942 he
is walking down a deserted road, around fifteen-years old.
There is a moon appearing, an upcoming moon, hazy, with slow moving grey clouds, as if it is going to
rain, it is late summer (a war is going on in Europe and Asia).
He is a lightly lit grey figure, a long ways off, and twilight engulfs the area around the cornfields and around himself.
Now we see him approaching a barn, he sees the top roof of the barn over the cornfields, the wind—you can hear the wind it is picking up. He’s still somewhat of a mystery figure, you can’t tell his age yet, it all seems quite lonely, other than the weather, and his shadow following him as if it is a tail, things are pretty still, quiet, and now you get to see him a little closer, as he stops to take in the fullness of the barn, and there is a house nearby the barn, several hundred feet although from
the barn.
Closer now, we can see that he is a very young man—perhaps fifteen or sixteen not much older, white, very white, and a nice looking boy, almost feminine, with his long blond hair, which goes down to his neck, a leather jacket around his thin beltline, tight blue jeans on, he is what you call a teenage-freight rider, an extension from the depression days, of the late twenties and thirties you might say, a depression that swept across the country, and he himself bumming about out of work, and looking for work, and there is much work to be had nowadays it is just a matter of looking for it—he doesn’t seem all that worried about it. He’s been riding the rails
on a regular bases getting odd jobs here and there (we hear a train whistle in the background, indicating there is a link between the boy and the train he has just parted from, if we look harder in the distance, perhaps we can
see the configuration of the train).
He strides down a narrow dirt path that leads to a fork in the road, one path goes to the house, the other to the barn, lights are on in the house, the barn is dark, looks like it hasn’t been painted in a decade. We see he has creamy white skin, smooth, as if he has not yet shaved, a small, sensual mouth, and a thin upper top lip, and thick bottom lip, his hair is blowing in
the wind; he has a church steeple shaped forehead, eyes of
curiosity.
Suddenly he stops, he’s twenty-feet from the barn, and he looks about.
Now with his eyes, we see all around the cornfield, and a woman figure
walking to and fro in the lit window of the house, and there is a gibbous moon out this evening, and the orange and red twilight is materializing, day is being sucked up by night. He opens up one of the heavy barn doors slowly, lightless inside, as if it was a coffin, he is trembling a tinge, and he hears hovels inside, a cow, maybe two
cows…
And now we see him slide on in and around the door, closing it slowly, and lights a match, pulls out a candle from an inside pocket of his brown leather jacket, lights the candle, there are no windows in the barn facing the house, only one small window on the side of the barn up in the hayloft area, he hears the moans of the cows, the noise of hooves in the back of the barn, perhaps a horse
corral.
There are several stalls in the big barn, cows in a few of them, chickens
in another, and feed in another. And stalls that are empty, and odd looking work boots, bits of this and that, old furniture in the barn a hammer and saw on a wooden table among other things, rags, feathers of the chicken are all about, everything that a farm has is in the barn—for the most part, except big machinery, like tractors. There is a heaped high hayloft, and wooden stairs one can use to go up into it, and a heap of hay in it, and straw on the barn floor. And Kosole is whistling a song; the barn looks to be a very old but strong and firm farm, with a sold foundation, in good shape.
Close to
2
Down the Road
And the Barn
And up coming are more sounds coming out of the cornfields, and there is a drizzle of light rain descending over everything, and across the cornfield men are walking: three black men, one with a smile of an idiot, named Cornball, the other two Hank and Scip. They work odd jobs, nothing purposeful, and for the most part, are quite lazy, but are talkers, and just hobos, drinkers, they move with the seasons, Minnesota during the corn season, down South picking cotton, wherever, they all move together. They see things and do things and don’t remember, they are middle aged, and rough looking characters, Cornball is tall and thin, and Hank, he is bare-chested five-foot eight muscular fellow, with a dirty white shirt over his shoulder, that is it for him, although he has a pair of semi-new army boots on, where he got them, who knows; and Scip he has the gallon of wine he’s holding on to, bare-chested also, with army boots on, he’s kind of jerky—a little fat, a little taller than Scip, although shorter than Cornball. He has a tick in his right eye, when he gets excited it moves like a rattle snake. All ruddy-faced, short thick noses, nearly flat on their faces, very dark
skinned, near like tar.
We see them walking through the cornfields toward the barn,
laughing: at nothing. Cornball is laughing the loudest, drunker than a skunk, and in-between the laugh, he is singing “Twenty-four black birds baked in a pie…” over and over and over, forgetting what comes next, and dancing to his own noise with a snarl, like an animal. The other two are not paying him much attention—they keep walking
with angry dark eyes.
We hear the first loud disturbance of the horse in the corral. And we
see a woman looking out her window to see why.
We hear the leader of the three, Hank, say to the other two:
“Youall best keep it low, cuz that old white lady in that there farm house is goin’ to come out with her old man’s shot gun!”
“I reckon so, I reckon so...” says Scip.
And then the voice of Cornball, “I’d like to…f…k…her…” and before he could finish it, Hank says: “I know what Youall would like to do, Cornball, but I aint goin’ to be hung over no damn old white missy.”
We now hear and see and hear Scip taking a big gulp from the wine bottle, handing it over to Cornball, and then to Hank. The woman in the house has left the window now. And the noise of the horse has stopped as well.
3
The Hayloft
The young man in the barn has found his way up into the hayloft, he is sleeping
under some hay, he has blown out the candle he brought with him.
We follow his snoring—we can hear his snoring and a few sighs of perhaps tension being released, and the little side window gives some light from the moon so we see, and have only a dim configuration of the lad under the hay.
4
Within the Barn
As the three Negros open the door to the barn, and walk through the entrance,
Kosole hears the voices, he is nearly completely covered with hay, but brushes some away to see: we see that he sees: black images, black trousers, black bare-chested men approaching the stairway to the loft. He wonders if they heard him snoring, he knows that he snores; he touches his nose, makes a grin. He is a little person compared to them, with a very pale face, and thin. Hank shuts the door, lights a lantern nearby, on that table with the saw and hammer. It is raining hard now, hard to hear anything, especially if you were in the house, hearing anything in the barn would be next to impossible. Scip has put the near empty wine bottle on the wooden planked floor by a wooden beam.
Cornball. I done heard a movement up yonder over there in that there hayloft, when we all come in, who and what I reckon I aint goin’ to know unless wes check it out. Who is you up there?
Hank. Maybe a rat or a snake, Youall best be careful.
Scip. We all needs to go on up there and see what it be, if-in wes goin’ to sleep up there.
Cornball walks to the end of the stairway, puts his hands on the two
sides poles of the stair ladder, starts to climb up the ladder.
Fade Out.
Now Fade In.
5
The Stairway
Kosole is still under the hay, but his feet are showing and his white face is showing and his shape can be seen if one looks hard at the hay, it is near the edge of the loft.
We can see a rare felicity of movement on the face of Cornball especially around his eyes, as if he might have seen the shape of the boy, and
figured it was that of a woman.
We can see on the boy’s face he smells the smells of Cornball, reeking with sweat, and booze, he is bare-chested still, and tall, wiry, clumsy, unshaven, Kosole tidies himself within his cocoon, tries covering his face some, moves in his
feet.
Some of this movement, Cornball from the corner of his eyes thinks he sees, he is a little unsure, and we can see this in his factual expressions…,
there are eight steps to the stairs, that look more like a ladder.
From above the loft we see down to Cornball, and his two companions standing next to the stepladder, as now he is on the third step, and his head near the edge of the loft.
6
On top of the Loft
It is a very long and wide loft.
Around the loft is mostly hay, and the floor is made of planks, or
boards about an inch thick, you can see through some of them.
All over the floor you see chicken feathers, and bones, as if a dog had
been there, a ball or two, as if kids had been playing up in the loft.
We TRACK TOWARDS him (Cornball, we see he is looking about)
He takes a handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes his forehead, he is sweating profusely.
Hank’s voice is heard.
Man, what Youall see up yonder there, Cornball?
Cornball looks back down behind him. He looks a little dizzy, as if he might fall. His face is not smiling, and looks as if it is unaccustomed to
it.
Now from the bottomed looking up, Hank is on one side of the ladder,
and Scip, on the other holding it as if not to have it move.
Glances at the ladder all the way up it, pacing Cornball to his right, he sees the hay move, it is near the stomach of the boy, now he looks up from that area, he sees white within the hay.
Hank. (to Cornball)… Don’t Youall fuss with looking anywhichway but at the hay over yonder to your right, I done think we got ourselves a little missy there.
Scip moves onto the ladder to get a closer look.
Cornball steps onto the platform, he’s got to stay on his knees, he’s too tall to stand up, he stretches his long right arm to where the shape is, and starts to unpack the hay on the shape.
Cornball. Look what I found! She’s as white as a ghost I declare.
Kosole. I’m just a kid, I’m a boy!
Scip. (Unsmiling, throughout.) We got a young missy up here Hank. (And Hank now starts up the ladder also.)
Close to
7
The Victim
All three now are on their knees on top of the loft, looking at the boy with the long blond hair, whom now all the hay has been brushed away from, or taken off of him by the three…whatever the case he now is completely visible from a front view (henceforward to be considered
the victim at hand.)
It is an intimate, uncomfortable moment for the boy.
A fire is blazing in the eyes of the three.
A light is still emanating upwards from the lit lantern left down on the floor
of the barn.
Coming closer to the boy, we see through the side window, the moon in the sky, hear the rain on the roof. Everything is still for a moment; the three black men are looking at the boy, as if to make up their minds what to do, although their minds are made up, there is a moment of doubt.
Then the boy before he gets a complete view of the men (smartly), he puts his hands over his face, covering his eyes.
Cornball. I never had a young white missy like this, Scip. Have you?
Downstairs on the floor mice are running to and fro, all about, as Scip puts his hand on the boy’s leg…Scip smiles calmly:
Scip. No, I aint never had a white missy.
Cornball turns the boy around, onto his stomach.
Hank. And I hope our little missy behaves!...
Scip. She’s asleep. Said her prayers I reckon, and she best stay asleep, if-in she don’t want her guts cut out! Cuz once she knows what we look like boss, she aint goin’ to have anymore eyeballs, or worth keeping alive, if-in we don’t cut out her tongue and cut off her fingers.
Cornball smiles.
THE ROOM IS GROWING SLOWLY DARKER
Cornball. I said, it be okay, right boss?
Hank. Yessum, it be all right.
Notes: History behind the story 1: the original idea of the story is taken in part, that is, inspired in part—the idea to write it, from a happening that took place by the author’s friend, during his friend’s youth, and was told to him. Although the story is completely different in its makeup and movements; and as the author has looked into male child rape issue, it has been a disturbing factor, that nearly one out of every five males in the United States has had some kind of childhood, or teenage unwanted experience in molestation, or rape, or sexual encounter. It is not just a female thing, or tragedy. The story is not meant to be a sexual erotic thing for the reader; it is a sorrowful happening for the writer to have to write it but feels it should be told. The actual incident took place in Minnesota, perhaps in the mid to late ’50. He will not mention the person’s name, but it has been a life time of healing for that person, now in his mid sixties.
History behind the story 2: The original story was written in 2003, and was an added on chapter to the novelette: “Look at Me,” with the subtitle “Mississippi Shanty Town.” Then in July thru Sept, 2005, it was “Mississippi Levee,” and revised in 11-2008, and put under the heading, and completed short story “John Nobel and the Mac Camp Boy” as a short story by itself, actually it was two short stories linked together, stemming from “Look at Me.” The author took the second part of the story, the “Mac Camp Boy,” and changed the title to read it new title name, “The Rape of Kosole Rahe,” changing the boy’s name, but leaving everything else as it was, and changing the short story style to a film in progress scenario, in 6-2010. Copyright © 2010 Dennis L. Siluk
(A film in progress scenario)
I
Near Twilight
And inside the Barn
Music.
Kosole Rahe a long way off from home—St. Paul, Minnesota—now in the outskirts of some cornfields, ninety miles of cornfields, it is 1942 he
is walking down a deserted road, around fifteen-years old.
There is a moon appearing, an upcoming moon, hazy, with slow moving grey clouds, as if it is going to
rain, it is late summer (a war is going on in Europe and Asia).
He is a lightly lit grey figure, a long ways off, and twilight engulfs the area around the cornfields and around himself.
Now we see him approaching a barn, he sees the top roof of the barn over the cornfields, the wind—you can hear the wind it is picking up. He’s still somewhat of a mystery figure, you can’t tell his age yet, it all seems quite lonely, other than the weather, and his shadow following him as if it is a tail, things are pretty still, quiet, and now you get to see him a little closer, as he stops to take in the fullness of the barn, and there is a house nearby the barn, several hundred feet although from
the barn.
Closer now, we can see that he is a very young man—perhaps fifteen or sixteen not much older, white, very white, and a nice looking boy, almost feminine, with his long blond hair, which goes down to his neck, a leather jacket around his thin beltline, tight blue jeans on, he is what you call a teenage-freight rider, an extension from the depression days, of the late twenties and thirties you might say, a depression that swept across the country, and he himself bumming about out of work, and looking for work, and there is much work to be had nowadays it is just a matter of looking for it—he doesn’t seem all that worried about it. He’s been riding the rails
on a regular bases getting odd jobs here and there (we hear a train whistle in the background, indicating there is a link between the boy and the train he has just parted from, if we look harder in the distance, perhaps we can
see the configuration of the train).
He strides down a narrow dirt path that leads to a fork in the road, one path goes to the house, the other to the barn, lights are on in the house, the barn is dark, looks like it hasn’t been painted in a decade. We see he has creamy white skin, smooth, as if he has not yet shaved, a small, sensual mouth, and a thin upper top lip, and thick bottom lip, his hair is blowing in
the wind; he has a church steeple shaped forehead, eyes of
curiosity.
Suddenly he stops, he’s twenty-feet from the barn, and he looks about.
Now with his eyes, we see all around the cornfield, and a woman figure
walking to and fro in the lit window of the house, and there is a gibbous moon out this evening, and the orange and red twilight is materializing, day is being sucked up by night. He opens up one of the heavy barn doors slowly, lightless inside, as if it was a coffin, he is trembling a tinge, and he hears hovels inside, a cow, maybe two
cows…
And now we see him slide on in and around the door, closing it slowly, and lights a match, pulls out a candle from an inside pocket of his brown leather jacket, lights the candle, there are no windows in the barn facing the house, only one small window on the side of the barn up in the hayloft area, he hears the moans of the cows, the noise of hooves in the back of the barn, perhaps a horse
corral.
There are several stalls in the big barn, cows in a few of them, chickens
in another, and feed in another. And stalls that are empty, and odd looking work boots, bits of this and that, old furniture in the barn a hammer and saw on a wooden table among other things, rags, feathers of the chicken are all about, everything that a farm has is in the barn—for the most part, except big machinery, like tractors. There is a heaped high hayloft, and wooden stairs one can use to go up into it, and a heap of hay in it, and straw on the barn floor. And Kosole is whistling a song; the barn looks to be a very old but strong and firm farm, with a sold foundation, in good shape.
Close to
2
Down the Road
And the Barn
And up coming are more sounds coming out of the cornfields, and there is a drizzle of light rain descending over everything, and across the cornfield men are walking: three black men, one with a smile of an idiot, named Cornball, the other two Hank and Scip. They work odd jobs, nothing purposeful, and for the most part, are quite lazy, but are talkers, and just hobos, drinkers, they move with the seasons, Minnesota during the corn season, down South picking cotton, wherever, they all move together. They see things and do things and don’t remember, they are middle aged, and rough looking characters, Cornball is tall and thin, and Hank, he is bare-chested five-foot eight muscular fellow, with a dirty white shirt over his shoulder, that is it for him, although he has a pair of semi-new army boots on, where he got them, who knows; and Scip he has the gallon of wine he’s holding on to, bare-chested also, with army boots on, he’s kind of jerky—a little fat, a little taller than Scip, although shorter than Cornball. He has a tick in his right eye, when he gets excited it moves like a rattle snake. All ruddy-faced, short thick noses, nearly flat on their faces, very dark
skinned, near like tar.
We see them walking through the cornfields toward the barn,
laughing: at nothing. Cornball is laughing the loudest, drunker than a skunk, and in-between the laugh, he is singing “Twenty-four black birds baked in a pie…” over and over and over, forgetting what comes next, and dancing to his own noise with a snarl, like an animal. The other two are not paying him much attention—they keep walking
with angry dark eyes.
We hear the first loud disturbance of the horse in the corral. And we
see a woman looking out her window to see why.
We hear the leader of the three, Hank, say to the other two:
“Youall best keep it low, cuz that old white lady in that there farm house is goin’ to come out with her old man’s shot gun!”
“I reckon so, I reckon so...” says Scip.
And then the voice of Cornball, “I’d like to…f…k…her…” and before he could finish it, Hank says: “I know what Youall would like to do, Cornball, but I aint goin’ to be hung over no damn old white missy.”
We now hear and see and hear Scip taking a big gulp from the wine bottle, handing it over to Cornball, and then to Hank. The woman in the house has left the window now. And the noise of the horse has stopped as well.
3
The Hayloft
The young man in the barn has found his way up into the hayloft, he is sleeping
under some hay, he has blown out the candle he brought with him.
We follow his snoring—we can hear his snoring and a few sighs of perhaps tension being released, and the little side window gives some light from the moon so we see, and have only a dim configuration of the lad under the hay.
4
Within the Barn
As the three Negros open the door to the barn, and walk through the entrance,
Kosole hears the voices, he is nearly completely covered with hay, but brushes some away to see: we see that he sees: black images, black trousers, black bare-chested men approaching the stairway to the loft. He wonders if they heard him snoring, he knows that he snores; he touches his nose, makes a grin. He is a little person compared to them, with a very pale face, and thin. Hank shuts the door, lights a lantern nearby, on that table with the saw and hammer. It is raining hard now, hard to hear anything, especially if you were in the house, hearing anything in the barn would be next to impossible. Scip has put the near empty wine bottle on the wooden planked floor by a wooden beam.
Cornball. I done heard a movement up yonder over there in that there hayloft, when we all come in, who and what I reckon I aint goin’ to know unless wes check it out. Who is you up there?
Hank. Maybe a rat or a snake, Youall best be careful.
Scip. We all needs to go on up there and see what it be, if-in wes goin’ to sleep up there.
Cornball walks to the end of the stairway, puts his hands on the two
sides poles of the stair ladder, starts to climb up the ladder.
Fade Out.
Now Fade In.
5
The Stairway
Kosole is still under the hay, but his feet are showing and his white face is showing and his shape can be seen if one looks hard at the hay, it is near the edge of the loft.
We can see a rare felicity of movement on the face of Cornball especially around his eyes, as if he might have seen the shape of the boy, and
figured it was that of a woman.
We can see on the boy’s face he smells the smells of Cornball, reeking with sweat, and booze, he is bare-chested still, and tall, wiry, clumsy, unshaven, Kosole tidies himself within his cocoon, tries covering his face some, moves in his
feet.
Some of this movement, Cornball from the corner of his eyes thinks he sees, he is a little unsure, and we can see this in his factual expressions…,
there are eight steps to the stairs, that look more like a ladder.
From above the loft we see down to Cornball, and his two companions standing next to the stepladder, as now he is on the third step, and his head near the edge of the loft.
6
On top of the Loft
It is a very long and wide loft.
Around the loft is mostly hay, and the floor is made of planks, or
boards about an inch thick, you can see through some of them.
All over the floor you see chicken feathers, and bones, as if a dog had
been there, a ball or two, as if kids had been playing up in the loft.
We TRACK TOWARDS him (Cornball, we see he is looking about)
He takes a handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes his forehead, he is sweating profusely.
Hank’s voice is heard.
Man, what Youall see up yonder there, Cornball?
Cornball looks back down behind him. He looks a little dizzy, as if he might fall. His face is not smiling, and looks as if it is unaccustomed to
it.
Now from the bottomed looking up, Hank is on one side of the ladder,
and Scip, on the other holding it as if not to have it move.
Glances at the ladder all the way up it, pacing Cornball to his right, he sees the hay move, it is near the stomach of the boy, now he looks up from that area, he sees white within the hay.
Hank. (to Cornball)… Don’t Youall fuss with looking anywhichway but at the hay over yonder to your right, I done think we got ourselves a little missy there.
Scip moves onto the ladder to get a closer look.
Cornball steps onto the platform, he’s got to stay on his knees, he’s too tall to stand up, he stretches his long right arm to where the shape is, and starts to unpack the hay on the shape.
Cornball. Look what I found! She’s as white as a ghost I declare.
Kosole. I’m just a kid, I’m a boy!
Scip. (Unsmiling, throughout.) We got a young missy up here Hank. (And Hank now starts up the ladder also.)
Close to
7
The Victim
All three now are on their knees on top of the loft, looking at the boy with the long blond hair, whom now all the hay has been brushed away from, or taken off of him by the three…whatever the case he now is completely visible from a front view (henceforward to be considered
the victim at hand.)
It is an intimate, uncomfortable moment for the boy.
A fire is blazing in the eyes of the three.
A light is still emanating upwards from the lit lantern left down on the floor
of the barn.
Coming closer to the boy, we see through the side window, the moon in the sky, hear the rain on the roof. Everything is still for a moment; the three black men are looking at the boy, as if to make up their minds what to do, although their minds are made up, there is a moment of doubt.
Then the boy before he gets a complete view of the men (smartly), he puts his hands over his face, covering his eyes.
Cornball. I never had a young white missy like this, Scip. Have you?
Downstairs on the floor mice are running to and fro, all about, as Scip puts his hand on the boy’s leg…Scip smiles calmly:
Scip. No, I aint never had a white missy.
Cornball turns the boy around, onto his stomach.
Hank. And I hope our little missy behaves!...
Scip. She’s asleep. Said her prayers I reckon, and she best stay asleep, if-in she don’t want her guts cut out! Cuz once she knows what we look like boss, she aint goin’ to have anymore eyeballs, or worth keeping alive, if-in we don’t cut out her tongue and cut off her fingers.
Cornball smiles.
THE ROOM IS GROWING SLOWLY DARKER
Cornball. I said, it be okay, right boss?
Hank. Yessum, it be all right.
Notes: History behind the story 1: the original idea of the story is taken in part, that is, inspired in part—the idea to write it, from a happening that took place by the author’s friend, during his friend’s youth, and was told to him. Although the story is completely different in its makeup and movements; and as the author has looked into male child rape issue, it has been a disturbing factor, that nearly one out of every five males in the United States has had some kind of childhood, or teenage unwanted experience in molestation, or rape, or sexual encounter. It is not just a female thing, or tragedy. The story is not meant to be a sexual erotic thing for the reader; it is a sorrowful happening for the writer to have to write it but feels it should be told. The actual incident took place in Minnesota, perhaps in the mid to late ’50. He will not mention the person’s name, but it has been a life time of healing for that person, now in his mid sixties.
History behind the story 2: The original story was written in 2003, and was an added on chapter to the novelette: “Look at Me,” with the subtitle “Mississippi Shanty Town.” Then in July thru Sept, 2005, it was “Mississippi Levee,” and revised in 11-2008, and put under the heading, and completed short story “John Nobel and the Mac Camp Boy” as a short story by itself, actually it was two short stories linked together, stemming from “Look at Me.” The author took the second part of the story, the “Mac Camp Boy,” and changed the title to read it new title name, “The Rape of Kosole Rahe,” changing the boy’s name, but leaving everything else as it was, and changing the short story style to a film in progress scenario, in 6-2010. Copyright © 2010 Dennis L. Siluk
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