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turning to page one
Hot, dirty, miserable. Laroche leads the Indians through waist-high black water. He points out a turtle on a rock.
LAROCHE
Pseudemys floridana. Did you fellas know
you fellas believe the world rests on the
back of a turtle? Not you fellas
specifically. Although, maybe you fellas
specifically. That I can't speak to.
The Indians ignore him. They trudge. Laroche spots something else, a dull green root wrapped around a tree. He stops, circles the tree. His eyes widen in reverent awe.
LAROCHE (cont'd)
A ghost. Polyrrhiza Lindenii.
The Indians come around. Laroche stares at a single beautiful, glowing white flower hanging from the tree. He tenderly caresses the petals. Then, business-like:
LAROCHE (cont'd)
Cut it down, Russell.
Russell pulls out a hacksaw, begins sawing through the tree.