The time: 1941
The place: Paris, occupied France, shortly before the American entry into the war

EXTERIOR: Night. A small winding street near Sacre Coeur. The light emanates
from a little cabaret bar frequented by the few American who have remained.
For the time being.

WE HEAR The sounds of voices, and the unmistakable STRAINS OF A CONCERTINA Cut to

INTERIOR: A man wielding his famous BELLOWS-like instrument. A crowd of the
agitated and bored sit chattering.

                                                                MAN WITH THE CONCERTINA
Sankyou Ah weel now play zuh "Moulin Rouge". Ees a verruh, verruh tendair and
sad song-uh. Zen aftair un bref intair-miss-ion ah shall continuez wees "Mon
Legionnaire". Alors!! Je ne regretez rien!! Cut to

EXTERIOR

WE HEAR the steady click of heels. WE SEE jackbooted feet in steady pursuit of
decent, godfearing low cut shoes.

INTERIOR

The door of the bar bursts open a women half-entered SCREAMS

                                                                WOMAN
BOCHE!! BOCHE!! Zey come!! Zey come!!

ENTER a black clad SS Sturmbahnfuehrer and his two thug enlistees.

                                                                NAZI
Stand azide fraulein. I am only hier to enzhure zuh Amerikaners get a gut
ztrong doze of zere grrrreatezt poet, zat liedermeister of zuh lyriches
liederkranz, Herren und Frauleins, I giff you, MEISTER EZZZZRAH POUNT!!

All heads turn to REVEAL a bearded man dressed like an extra out of La Boheme.

                                                                POUND
Waaaal. Then came the bad weather. Haw haw. Maybe sumbuddy kin write a
in-definite artee-cull bout this re-citation. But seriously
folks..(Stentorious) And then went down to the ship. Set keel to breakers, and
set forth on godly sea, and...

A SOUND ERUPTS from the back of the room. IT IS THAT OF THE MAN AND HIS
CONCERTINA. Pound, the Nazis all fall writhing to their knees, as does
everyone else. He goes on playing the Marseillaise, singing in a cracked voice

                                                                MAN
QUOI CES COHORTES ETRANGERES
FERAIENT LA LOI DANS NOS FOYERS

DIE YOU STEENKING BOCHE PEEGS. OR AT ZUH VERUH LEEST GO COMPLETELEH DEFFFF!!!
AND ZAT GOES EXTRA FOR YOU MEESTAIR- EZ-RA POWWNND-UH

EXTERIOR
People stagger out hands clutched over their heads only to fall again,
writhing in agony.

INTERIOR
The man continues to pump his squeeze-box as the last Nazi tries to go for his
Luger only to drop it and collapse as a sharp wheedly scraw rips his eardrums
open. Pound is long gone, hotfooting it all the way back to Italy.

                                                                        MAN
NO!! I REGRET NUSSEENG!! AH AND MAH CONCERTINA SHALL NEVAIR SURRENDAIR. WE
CONTINUEZ ZUH TROUVE FOR LIBERTE EGALITE AND ZUH FRATERNITE SANS ALL COLLABORATEURS.

EXTERIOR
Still night. The street has cleared. WE HEAR the SWELLS OF THE CONCERTINA. In
the distance, the increasing bleat of Gestapo sirens. But the Concertina RISES
STEADILY, and for a moment, it is ALL WE HEAR.

FADE TO BLACK

GAVIN


En Lin Wei wrote:
>

>
> If it is a matter of principle for you that voices should not be drowned
> out, how do you analyze Pound's position vis-a-vis, free speech?  And if you
> are concerned that your opinions (or the voices of others who might share
> your view) are not being heard, then why not express your point of view?
> You are a free agent, and you need not complain about the lack of a forum in
> which to air your views.
>
> Respectfully yours,
>
> Wei
> ________________________________________________________________________
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