(GK: Garrison Keillor; SS: Sue Scott; TR: Tim Russell; FN: Fred Newman)
(THEME)
SS: A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but high above the empty streets, on the twelfth floor of the Acme Building, one man is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions, Guy Noir, Private Eye ---
(PIANO)
GK: It's a pretty simple straightforward story, how I came to take a plane down to Miami last week---- somebody called and asked me to go.
SS (ON PHONE): It's about my husband, Mr. Noir. His name is Ralph. We're dairy farmers from Ogilvie, Minnesota. We're in Florida, we're on a cruise and he's disappeared. In Miami. I'm frantic.
GK: How old is he, ma'am?
SS (ON PHONE): Sixty-four.
GK: A dangerous age. Any idea where he went?
SS (ON PHONE): He left me a note. It says, "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And I took the one I hadn't taken before." (STING)
GK: Poetry. It's a dangerous stimulant to some people --- I'll be there right away. (MUSIC) I took the next plane to Miami, an economy airline that gives a powerful sedative to passengers and puts them in wooden crates --- so I was still woozy when I got into a cab (CAR ACCEL, SCREECH OF TIRES) and I sat passively as the driver took me into a section of the city known as Little Oslo. Center of the Norwegian craze that has swept Miami in recent years ---- the popularity of ketchup bands (TUBA, POLKA)---- people dancing the lemon meringue ---- restaurants serving Norwegian food ---- (FN WAITER: Here is your herring enchilada. Careful. The plates are cold.) ----- home of the Cuban Lutheran Church ----- and the ultimate sign of creeping Scandinavianism ---- a professional hockey team (SKATING, SHOTS). The Stanley Cup in Miami in June. Unbelievable, the allure of ice to people who've only seen it in drinks. And then we were out of Little Oslo and in Little Havana. Big difference. (SFX SEQUENCE. TRAFFIC. FOOTSTEPS. VOICES IN PASSING. GLASSES CLEANER. A BOOMBOX. A MOTOR SCOOTER. CHILDREN'S VOICES. A RADIO PLAYING. AN OLD BUS. A STREET MUSICIAN.) I looked for an old guy in cruise clothes. I asked a few people but nobody had seen him----
SS: SPANISH, FAST
TR: SPANISH, FAST ----
GK: Hombre blanco. Polyestro ---? Molto blanco?
SS: SPANISH
TR: SPANISH----
GK: And I was about to leave, when --- (STING) I felt cold steel pressed against my temple ---- a man was holding a clipboard to my head ----
FN (NYER): Lieutenant Nucci. Cruise Control. Who are you?
GK: Private eye, pal. Noir's the name.
FN: You're here for that escaped passenger --- the weirdo from Minnesota----
GK: What about him?
FN: He went AWOL from Carnival Lines and he's trying to join the carnival. The one with fire-eaters and jugglers.
GK: So what if he is?
FN: He owes us money for two Pepsis he took from the mini-bar.
GK: How much?
FN: Fifty bucks. Apiece.
GK: Why you------ I oughta ---- There. (COUNTS OUT MONEY) (STING) It wasn't that hard to find Ralph. The carnival people winter in Miami and you can hear them (CHIMP, OFF) and their animals ----- the sword swallower was practicing (SFX) and the fire-eater (SFX) and the Wild Man from Borneo (TARZAN CRY) and the midgets (SMALL VOICES: Careful where you step. Thank you for not kicking us.) and there was Ralph----
TR (KIRK D): I've seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by milking ---- by shoveling manure ---- by planting soybeans. (KNIFE THROW, WHACK, BWANNGGG)
GK: Easy there, Ralph. Careful with the knife. I know, you've been under a lot of tension, and probably that's why you took a vacation-----
TR (KIRK D): Who're you? You from the ship?
GK: Nope. Just a friend.
TR (KIRK D): I'm never going back to dairy farming again. I'm learning knife throwing ---- it's sort of like milking a cow, but instead of pulling, you---- (KNIFE THROW, WHACK, BWANNGGG) SLAP, HARD)
GK: Your family's looking for you, Ralph.
TR (KIRK D): Who cares?
GK: I'm Guy Noir. A private eye. They asked me to find you.
TR (KIRK D): And so you did. Now you can go tell em ---- I'm selling the farm, and I'm becoming a performance artist.
GK: In the carnival?
TR (KIRK D): Everybody's gotta start someplace.
SS (FAT LADY): I'm Ralph's cousin, Nancy.
GK: Pleased to meet you, ma'am. --- I don't mean to be rude, but --- are you in the carnival too?
SS (FAT LADY): I'm the fat lady.
GK: I see that.
SS (FAT LADY): Ralphie and I are going on the sawdust trail --- he'll do poetry and throw knives, and I'll be the dancing fat lady. (FAST FLAMENCO STEP). What do you think?
GK: For an obese person, you're very light on your feet, ma'am.
TR (KIRK D): You bet she is. And we're gonna be happy. For once in my life, I'm doing what I want to do.
GK: You're going to be a poet, Ralph?
TR (KIRK): Buzzards circle in the black sky
And the crocodile sleeps in the swamp.
There is moss in my hair.
Where is the woman in the blue-green beach dress,
The one searching for shells,
The one I followed all the way from Minnesota.
GK: That's not a poem people would pay money to hear, Ralph.
TR (KIRK): There's more!
The sea is black, black as the grief in my heart.
Snakes hang from the trees,
As I turn and see the ghost Holstein
Charge, his horns lowered,
And "Muerte," I cry. "Muerte."
Driving the tip of my sword
Through the red cape
Into his ankle.
"Merde," I cry. "Muerte".
Where is that woman with the black hair,
The one who came with the one-eyed shepherd----
GK: Okay, okay-----
TR (KIRK): There's more.
GK: Save it.
TR (KIRK): It's called "Muerte".
SS: I love it. (STING)
TR (KIRK): Gladys----
GK: I turned and there was a tall attractive woman with long blonde hair, in a blue plaid skirt, and long stockings, and right away my pulse rose. Plaid skirts drive me wild. It's one reason I don't dare go to Scotland.
SS: You're Guy Noir, aren't you----
GK: Yeah. And you're Gladys. --- I found your husband, ma'am.
SS: Thank you.
GK: You want me to call you a cab?
SS: We're staying, Mr. Noir. We found something in Florida. Ralph isn't much of a poet but he's becoming an excellent knife-thrower. (KNIFE THROW, WHACK, BWANNGGGG)
GK: You can throw knives in Minnesota.
TR (KIRK): You can't, though. People'd ask you, How come you do that? What's the good in that? They wouldn't understand. I do it --- (KNIFE THROW, WHACK, BWANNNGGGG) --- because I love to do it.
GK: But what about your friends? What about the beauty of Minnesota? Our state bird the loon? That Golden Gophers hockey team? And those four seasons you find in Minnesota, you don't find four seasons here in----- (KNIFE THROW, WHACK, BWANNGGGG) --- okay, never mind about the four seasons.
SS: People are more soulful here. They cry. We need that. They hug. Even men do. Cuban men. It's wonderful.
GK: Men are not meant to hug, ma'am. I don't know how to say it any other way. Real men don't. (KNIFE THROW, SLICE. GK OOOHHHHH, FALLS)
SS: Ralph has a temper. I'm sorry I forgot to tell you that.
GK: He got me in the forearm.
TR (KIRK): And as soon as you pass out, I'm going to put my arms around you and give you a big squeeze.
GK: No, you aren't, you----- take that. (SWINGS, KONK, TR OOFFFF) And that. (SWINGS, KONK, TR FALLS).
SS: I think maybe I'm going to put some flowers in your hair, Mr. Noir.
GK: Don't do it.
SS: And a hibiscus perfume. (SPRAY)
GK: Don't aim that at me ----- (GUNSHOT) (BWANGGG)
SS: You shot the aerosol right out of my hand-----
GK: Sorry. I had to. And I want both of you to put your hands above your heads. Hands up. Come on.
TR (KIRK): What do you want with us, gumshoe?
GK: We Minnesotans don't give up on each other as easy as you might think, mister.
SS: Just let us go. Let us be happy.
GK: If we let you be happy, then everybody would want to be. Put your hands up in the air and say, "Rah rah rah for Ski U Mah. Rah Rah Rah Rah. Rah for the U of M."
TR (KIRK): Never.
GK: I'm giving you one more chance. Sing "Minnesota hats off to thee, to your colors true we shall ever be-----"
SS: You can't make us.
GK: We'll see about that. Sing, darn you. Sing. I'm gonna count to four. One. Two.
(THEME)
TR: A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but one man is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions, Guy Noir, Private Eye ---
(THEME)
© Garrison Keillor 2003