STREET
Everett and Penny walk arm in arm, the seven Wharvey gals behind. The girls sing 'Angel Band' as the grown-ups talk.
EVERETT
All's well that ends well, as the poet
says.
PENNY
That's right, honey.
EVERETT
But I don't mind telling you, I'm awful
pleased my adventuring days is at an end...
He fumbles in his pocket.
...Time for this old boy to enjoy some
repose.
PENNY
That's good, honey.
EVERETT
And you were right about that ring. Any
other weddin' band would not do. But
this-here was foreordained, honey; fate
was a-smilin' on me, and ya have to have
confidence -
He is slipping it onto her hand.
PENNY
That's not my ring.
EVERETT
- in the gods - Huh?
PENNY
That's not my ring.
EVERETT
Not your...
PENNY
That's one of Aunt Hurlene's.
EVERETT
You said it was in the rolltop desk!
PENNY
I said I thought it was in the rolltop
desk.
EVERETT
You said -
PENNY
Or, it might a been under the mattress.
EVERETT
You -
PENNY
Or in my chiffonier. I don't know.
Everett shakes his head.
EVERETT
Well, I'm sorry honey -
PENNY
Well, we need that ring.
EVERETT
Well now honey, that ring is at the bottom
of a pretty durned big lake.
PENNY
Uh-huh.
EVERETT
A 9,000-hectacre lake, honey.
PENNY
I don't care if it's ninety thousand.
EVERETT
Yes, but honey -
PENNY
That wasn't my doing...
Indignation quickens her pace. Everett keeps up, and the two are pulling forward out of frame.
EVERETT
Course not, honey, but...
We are now on the Wharvey gals who follow in a ragged bunch, still singing. From somewhere distant, through the song, we can just hear a rhythmic clack of metal on metal.
The second-to-last girl is the oldest; she holds a piece of string along which we travel, still listening to Penny and Everett, off:
PENNY
I counted to three, honey.
EVERETT
Well sure, honey, but...
We reach the end of the piece of string; it is wrapped around the waist of the toddler, who lingers in frame. She gazes down a quiet street at the edge of town that ends in an open field.
...finding one little ring in the middle
of all that water...
His voice, and that of the singing girls, recedes.
...that is one hell of a heroic task...
The string is given a tug and the little girl waddles out of frame.
A train track is thus revealed in the distance. The rhythmic clack is from the hand-pumped flatcar.
The blind seer pumps the car along the distant track, singing harmony under the Wharvey gals' receding voices.
THE END
------------------------------
"O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU"
BY
Ethan Coen & Joel Coen
