[Héctor, in a dress with great big silly flowers on his head, approaches a skeleton in a fancy sparkly suit and a little living boy... Ernesto de la Cruz and Miguel. They're all in a large dark room, litter from a party still all over the floor around the guitar-shaped pool and large television screens up on the walls playing clips from old black and white films.]
Who are you? What is the meaning of this?
[Héctor steps out of the shadows and closer to the lit up pool. It's not exactly the greatest disguise. And yet...]
Oh, Frida! I thought you couldn't make it.
[He rolls his eyes at Ernesto, ripping off the wig, shirt, and dress. Idiot. Anyway, he's here to talk to the kid, not his 'friend'.] You said you'd take back my photo. You promised, Miguel!
[...Miguel, who seems nervous, backing away from Héctor as Ernesto puts a protective hand on the boy's shoulder.] You know this, uh, man?
I just met him tonight. He told me he knew you...
[Ernesto seems to have to think to recognize the shabby looking skeleton in front of him.] Hé--Héctor?
[Scaring a kid isn't really what Héctor wants--he lowers his voice this time as he kneels down in front of Miguel and holds out his photo. (Ernesto may as well not be there. He hasn't looked at the man, except briefly to roll his eyes.)]
Please, Miguel, put my photo up.
[He's pleading, and not in the obnoxious used-car-salesman way he usually sounds. No, this is genuine. Unfortunately... Ernesto snatches the photo out of Héctor's hands before Miguel can and stares at it, then Héctor himself.
Being looked at this way, with something like pity from Ernesto, fills him with shame. Such a contrast between Ernesto's fancy clothes and pure white bones and Héctor's tattered rags... filthy looking, weathered and stained bones. Fractures that won't heal. He's weak, with only hours left and no one in the world on his side.]
My friend... you're being forgotten.
[But the shame turns into anger a moment later, for good reason. He stands back up, glaring at Ernesto.] And whose fault is that?
Héctor, please.
Those were my songs you took. My songs that made you famous.
...what?
If I'm being forgotten, it's because you never told anyone that I wrote them!
That's crazy. De la Cruz wrote all his own songs. [Says poor confused Miguel, looking back and forth between the two skeletons.]
You wanna tell him, or should I? [Don't lie to a kid, for pity's sake.]
Héctor, I never meant to take credit. We made a great team, but... you died and I... I only sang your songs because I wanted to keep a part of you alive.
Oh, how generous. [The sarcasm there is practically a deadly weapon.]
You really did play together...
[Héctor's stepping away, hand over his face. Seriously, this is insane, and he doesn't exactly have time to waste getting sidetracked. Too late to change the past.] Look, I don't want to fight about it. I just want you to make it right. Miguel can put my photo up--
Héctor...
And I can cross over the bridge! I can see my girl!
[Ernesto's staring at the photo, like he has to think it over. What in the world is there to think about?? It's a simple request. Not money, not the stupid tower and the parties, not recognition--all he wants is to cross over, tonight. Just once. He has to fight to keep his voice calm.] Ernesto... remember the night I left?
That was a long time ago.
We drank together, and you told me you would move heaven and earth for your amigo. Well, I'm asking you to now.
[The poor kid with them speaks up again... and is actually acknowledged, this time.] Heaven and earth? Like in the movie?
What?
That's Don Hidalgo's toast in the de la Cruz movie, "El Camino A Casa."
[Thank goodness for Miguel and his obsession with every single de la Cruz movie there was. Tragically, Héctor is not impressed--movies are fun sometimes, some even good, but not ones with Ernesto in them. No thank you.] I'm talking about my real life, Miguel.
No, it's in there. Look!
[Miguel's pointing at one of the screens, playing a clip right on cue. 'Don Hidalgo' pours Ernesto's character a drink, saying it's a toast to their friendship, and indeed... that he would move 'heaven and earth' for his amigo.]
But in the movie, Don Hidalgo poisons the drink...
[Ernesto's character spits out the drink, shouting that it's poison and punching Don Hidalgo in the face.
It makes a skeleton think. Héctor stares into space, talking to himself more than Ernesto.]
That night, Ernesto. The night I left... we'd been performing on the road for months. I got homesick. And I packed up my songs. We argued, I put my foot down. You gave in, you poured me a drink... 'to our friendship'... and you walked me to the train station. But I felt a pain in my stomach. I thought it must have been something I ate... or something I drank. I woke up dead.
[A beat, before Héctor forces the words out, horrified.]
You poisoned me.
You're confusing movies with reality, Héctor.
All this time I thought it was just bad luck. I never thought that you might have... that you...
[Rage is building up. No, not a bit of anger like before. This is something much bigger, darker, something utterly unlike Héctor. Ninety five years. Everything, everything that he's suffered, here in the Land of the Dead. It wasn't bad luck. It was someone's fault.
And that someone is right here, only a few feet away. So there's only one thing he can do. He launches himself at Ernesto like some sort of wildcat, screaming as he tackles the other skeleton to the ground. He slams Ernesto down again and again, trying to punch the bastard in the face, desperate to break some bones--Ernesto barely seems to be putting up a fight, calling for security instead. Pathetic coward. (Miguel is saying Héctor's name, frightened.)]
How could you?! You took everything away from me! You rat!
[Two guards rush in, apparently not far away. It's not hard for them to drag a shouting Héctor off of Ernesto and towards the door. They don't say one word as they do.]
You rat!
[Ernesto stands, unharmed, coolly brushing some dust off his suit.] Have him taken care of. He's not well.
be sure thy sins
[Héctor, in a dress with great big silly flowers on his head, approaches a skeleton in a fancy sparkly suit and a little living boy... Ernesto de la Cruz and Miguel. They're all in a large dark room, litter from a party still all over the floor around the guitar-shaped pool and large television screens up on the walls playing clips from old black and white films.]
Who are you? What is the meaning of this?
[Héctor steps out of the shadows and closer to the lit up pool. It's not exactly the greatest disguise. And yet...]
Oh, Frida! I thought you couldn't make it.
[He rolls his eyes at Ernesto, ripping off the wig, shirt, and dress. Idiot. Anyway, he's here to talk to the kid, not his 'friend'.] You said you'd take back my photo. You promised, Miguel!
[...Miguel, who seems nervous, backing away from Héctor as Ernesto puts a protective hand on the boy's shoulder.] You know this, uh, man?
I just met him tonight. He told me he knew you...
[Ernesto seems to have to think to recognize the shabby looking skeleton in front of him.] Hé--Héctor?
[Scaring a kid isn't really what Héctor wants--he lowers his voice this time as he kneels down in front of Miguel and holds out his photo. (Ernesto may as well not be there. He hasn't looked at the man, except briefly to roll his eyes.)]
Please, Miguel, put my photo up.
[He's pleading, and not in the obnoxious used-car-salesman way he usually sounds. No, this is genuine. Unfortunately... Ernesto snatches the photo out of Héctor's hands before Miguel can and stares at it, then Héctor himself.
Being looked at this way, with something like pity from Ernesto, fills him with shame. Such a contrast between Ernesto's fancy clothes and pure white bones and Héctor's tattered rags... filthy looking, weathered and stained bones. Fractures that won't heal. He's weak, with only hours left and no one in the world on his side.]
My friend... you're being forgotten.
[But the shame turns into anger a moment later, for good reason. He stands back up, glaring at Ernesto.] And whose fault is that?
Héctor, please.
Those were my songs you took. My songs that made you famous.
...what?
If I'm being forgotten, it's because you never told anyone that I wrote them!
That's crazy. De la Cruz wrote all his own songs. [Says poor confused Miguel, looking back and forth between the two skeletons.]
You wanna tell him, or should I? [Don't lie to a kid, for pity's sake.]
Héctor, I never meant to take credit. We made a great team, but... you died and I... I only sang your songs because I wanted to keep a part of you alive.
Oh, how generous. [The sarcasm there is practically a deadly weapon.]
You really did play together...
[Héctor's stepping away, hand over his face. Seriously, this is insane, and he doesn't exactly have time to waste getting sidetracked. Too late to change the past.] Look, I don't want to fight about it. I just want you to make it right. Miguel can put my photo up--
Héctor...
And I can cross over the bridge! I can see my girl!
[Ernesto's staring at the photo, like he has to think it over. What in the world is there to think about?? It's a simple request. Not money, not the stupid tower and the parties, not recognition--all he wants is to cross over, tonight. Just once. He has to fight to keep his voice calm.] Ernesto... remember the night I left?
That was a long time ago.
We drank together, and you told me you would move heaven and earth for your amigo. Well, I'm asking you to now.
[The poor kid with them speaks up again... and is actually acknowledged, this time.] Heaven and earth? Like in the movie?
What?
That's Don Hidalgo's toast in the de la Cruz movie, "El Camino A Casa."
[Thank goodness for Miguel and his obsession with every single de la Cruz movie there was. Tragically, Héctor is not impressed--movies are fun sometimes, some even good, but not ones with Ernesto in them. No thank you.] I'm talking about my real life, Miguel.
No, it's in there. Look!
[Miguel's pointing at one of the screens, playing a clip right on cue. 'Don Hidalgo' pours Ernesto's character a drink, saying it's a toast to their friendship, and indeed... that he would move 'heaven and earth' for his amigo.]
But in the movie, Don Hidalgo poisons the drink...
[Ernesto's character spits out the drink, shouting that it's poison and punching Don Hidalgo in the face.
It makes a skeleton think. Héctor stares into space, talking to himself more than Ernesto.]
That night, Ernesto. The night I left... we'd been performing on the road for months. I got homesick. And I packed up my songs. We argued, I put my foot down. You gave in, you poured me a drink... 'to our friendship'... and you walked me to the train station. But I felt a pain in my stomach. I thought it must have been something I ate... or something I drank. I woke up dead.
[A beat, before Héctor forces the words out, horrified.]
You poisoned me.
You're confusing movies with reality, Héctor.
All this time I thought it was just bad luck. I never thought that you might have... that you...
[Rage is building up. No, not a bit of anger like before. This is something much bigger, darker, something utterly unlike Héctor. Ninety five years. Everything, everything that he's suffered, here in the Land of the Dead. It wasn't bad luck. It was someone's fault.
And that someone is right here, only a few feet away. So there's only one thing he can do. He launches himself at Ernesto like some sort of wildcat, screaming as he tackles the other skeleton to the ground. He slams Ernesto down again and again, trying to punch the bastard in the face, desperate to break some bones--Ernesto barely seems to be putting up a fight, calling for security instead. Pathetic coward. (Miguel is saying Héctor's name, frightened.)]
How could you?! You took everything away from me! You rat!
[Two guards rush in, apparently not far away. It's not hard for them to drag a shouting Héctor off of Ernesto and towards the door. They don't say one word as they do.]
You rat!
[Ernesto stands, unharmed, coolly brushing some dust off his suit.] Have him taken care of. He's not well.
I just wanted to go back home! No, nooo!
[Going, going... gone.]