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- Ephraim Winslow: Goddamn your farts! You smell like piss, you smell like jism, like rotten dick, like curdled foreskin, like hot onions fucked a farmyard shit house. And I'm sick of your smell. I'm sick of it! I'm sick of it, you goddamned drunk. You goddamned no-account, son-of-a-bitch-bastard liar! That's what you are! You're a goddamned drunken, horse-shitting, short, shit liar. A liar!
- Thomas Wake: Ye have a way with words, Tommy.
- Thomas Wake: Yer fond of me lobster aint' ye? I seen it - yer fond of me lobster! Say it! Say it. Say it!
- Ephraim Winslow: I don't have to say nothin'.
- Thomas Wake: Damn ye! Let Neptune strike ye dead Winslow! HAAARK!
- Thomas Wake: Hark Triton, hark! Bellow, bid our father the Sea King rise from the depths full foul in his fury! Black waves teeming with salt foam to smother this young mouth with pungent slime, to choke ye, engorging your organs til' ye turn blue and bloated with bilge and brine and can scream no more - only when he, crowned in cockle shells with slitherin' tentacle tail and steaming beard take up his fell be-finned arm, his coral-tine trident screeches banshee-like in the tempest and plunges right through yer gullet, bursting ye - a bulging bladder no more, but a blasted bloody film now and nothing for the harpies and the souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon only to be lapped up and swallowed by the infinite waters of the Dread Emperor himself - forgotten to any man, to any time, forgotten to any god or devil, forgotten even to the sea, for any stuff for part of Winslow, even any scantling of your soul is Winslow no more, but is now itself the sea!
- Ephraim Winslow: Alright, have it your way. I like your cookin'.
- Thomas Wake: What.
- Ephraim Winslow: What.
- Thomas Wake: What.
- Ephraim Winslow: What.
- Thomas Wake: What.
- Ephraim Winslow: What.
- Thomas Wake: What.
- Ephraim Winslow: What.
- Ephraim Winslow: You think yer so damned high and mighty cause yer a goddamned lighthouse keeper? Well, you ain't a captain of no ship and you never was, you ain't no general, no copper, you ain't the president, and you ain't my father -- and I'm sick of you actin' like you is! I'm sick of your laugh, your snoring, and your goddamned farts. Your damned goddamned farts. Goddamn yer farts! You smell like piss, you smell like jism, like rotten dick, like curdled foreskin, like hot onions fucked a farmyard shit-house. And I'm sick of yer smell. I'm sick of it! I'm sick of it, you goddamned drunk. You goddamned, no-account, drunken, son-of-a-bitch-bastard liar! That's what you are, you're a goddamned drunken horse-shitting -- short -- shit liar. A liar!
- Thomas Wake: Y'have a way with words, Tommy.
- Thomas Wake: Should pale death, with treble dread, make the ocean caves our bed, God who hears the surges roll deign to save our suppliant soul.
- [Some time later]
- Thomas Wake: Should pale death, with treble dread, make the ocean caves our bed, God who hears the surges roll deign to save the suppliant soul.
- Thomas Wake: How long have we been on this rock? Five weeks? Two Days? Where are we? Help me to recollect
- Ephraim Winslow: What made your last keeper leave?
- Thomas Wake: He believed that there was some enchantment in the light. Went mad, he did.
- Ephraim Winslow: Tall tales.
- Thomas Wake: What?
- Thomas Wake: Since we're gettin' too friendly, Ephraim Winslow, ell me, what's a timberman want with being a wicky?... Not enough quiet for ye up north? Sawdust itchin' yer nethers? Foreman found ye too high tempered for carryin' an axe?
- Ephraim Winslow: It's like you said, I just... had enough of trees, I guess... Since I left dad, I'd done every kind of work that can pay a man... Some I ain't near proud of.
- Thomas Wake: Drifter, eh?
- Ephraim Winslow: No, just... can't find a post I could take a real shine to, so I keep movin' along... I ain't the kind to look back what's behind him, see?
- Thomas Wake: On the run?
- Ephraim Winslow: Now look here! Ain't nothin' wrong with a man startin' fresh, startin' new. Just looking to earn a livin'...
- Thomas Wake: No...
- Ephraim Winslow: ...Just like any man...
- Thomas Wake: And if I tells ye to yank out every single nail from every molderin' nail-hole and suck off every speck of rust till all them nails sparkle like a sperm whale's pecker, and then carpenter the whole light station back together from scrap, and then do it all over again, you'll do it! And by God and by golly, you'll do it smilin', lad, 'cause you'll like it. You'll like it 'cause I says you will! Contradict me again, and I'll dock your wages.
- Thomas Wake: O what Protean forms swim up from men's minds, and melt in hot Promethean plunder, scorching eyes, with divine shames and horror... And casting them down to Davy Jones. The others, still blind, yet in it see all the divine graces and to Fiddler's Green sent,where no man is suffered to want or toil,but is... Ancient... Mutable and unchanging as the she who girdles 'round the globe. Them's truth.
- Thomas Wake: And I'm damn-well wedded to this here light, and she's been a finer, truer, quieter wife than any alive-blooded woman.
- Ephraim Winslow: Say, why is it bad luck to kill a gull?
- Thomas Wake: In 'em's the souls of sailors what met their maker. You a prayin' man, Winslow?
- Ephraim Winslow: Not as often as I might. But I'm God-fearin', if that's what you're askin'.
- Thomas Wake: Should pale death with treble dread / make the ocean caves our bed, / God who hear'st the surges roll, / deign to save our suppliant soul.
- Ephraim Winslow: Goddamn your farts! You smell like piss, you smell like jism, like rotten dick, like curdled foreskin, like hot onions fucked a farmyard shit house. And I'm sick of your smell. I'm sick of it! I'm sick of it, you goddamned drunk. You goddamned no-account, son-of-a-bitch-bastard liar! That's what you are! You're a goddamned drunken, horse-shitting, short, shit liar. A liar!
- Thomas Wake: Ye have a way with words, Tommy.
- Thomas Wake: Doldrums. Doldrums. Eviler than the Devil. Boredom makes men to villains, and the water goes quick, lad, vanished. The only med'cine is drink. Keeps them sailors happy, keeps 'em agreeable, keeps 'em calm..
- Thomas Wake: Yer relieved o' yer duties.
- Thomas Howard: [giggles hysterically] No need to tell me, old-timer!
- [he goes to the other room and comes back with Wake's logbook]
- Thomas Howard: [reading various entries] "Assistant slept late. Work below standard. Attitude hostile. Assistant missing. Given to habitual self-abuse in supply shed. Drunk on duty. Attempted to abandon his post. Assault. Theft. Recommend severance without pay."
- [he throws the book at the wall in fury]
- Thomas Howard: SEVERANCE WITHOUT PAY? You tryin' to ruin me? I'm a hard worker. I am. I work as hard as any man.
- Thomas Wake: Ye lie, Thomas.
- Thomas Howard: Stop it!
- Thomas Wake: Ye lie to yerself, but y'ain't have the sauce to see it.
- Thomas Howard: [getting down on his knees] Please... just let me into the light, old man. I've learned so much from you. Just let me show you, another chance. Forgive and forget, I says. Just let me into that lantern, is all. Don't make me beg, or I'll beg. I'll beg, if that's what you want, I'll beg.
- [pleading]
- Thomas Howard: Please. Please, please, please!
- Thomas Wake: Stand down.
- Thomas Howard: [lurching to his feet] You selfish bastard! Keepin' it all to yourself! You left your old lady, your children, for what? For what?
- Thomas Wake: Look at ye, handsome lad with eyes bright as a lady. Come to this rock, playin' the tough. Ye make me laugh with yer false grum. Ye pretended to some mystery in yer quietudes, but... there ain't no mystery. Yer an open book. A picture, says I. A painted actress screamin' in the footlights, a bitch what wants to be coveted for nothin' but bein' born, cryin' 'bout the silver spoon what shoulda been yers! Now look at ye, cryin'. "Boo... boo..." What ye gonna do? Will ye kill me? Will ye? Will ye kill me like ye done that gull?
- Thomas Howard: I didn't!
- Thomas Wake: LIAR! Ye murd'rin' dog! 'Twas ye what changed the wind on us! 'Twas ye what damned us, dog, 'twas ye! Will ye do what ye wished ye'd done to ol' Winslow? Will ye best me then? For Winslow were right, Thomas! Yer a dog! A filthy dog! A DOG!
- [last lines]
- Ephraim Winslow: Should pale death with treble dread, make ocean caves our bed, God who hear'st the surges roll, design to save the suppliant soul.
- Thomas Wake: I seen ye sparrin' with a gull. Best ye leave 'em be. Bad luck to kill a sea bird.
- Ephraim Winslow: More tall tales?
- [Wake suddenly throws his drink at Winslow and looks at him deadly seriously]
- Thomas Wake: *Bad luck to kill a sea bird!*
- Thomas Howard: It seems powerful hard to eat grass with no teeth. Goats and sheeps and cows, they all got teeth, don't they?
- Thomas Wake: You know how you eat grass with no teeth?
- Thomas Howard: Indulge me.
- Thomas Wake: You rip it out... and swallow it!
- [laughs]
- [Wake wakes to find Winslow standing over his bed with a knife]
- Thomas Wake: Queer way to wear your shoes.
- Ephraim Winslow: I didn't want to wake you is all.
- Thomas Howard: That's the trouble with you!
- Thomas Wake: That's the trouble with ye!
- Thomas Howard: With you!
- Thomas Wake: With ye!
- Thomas Howard: You! YOU!
- Thomas Wake: Get back to yer duties I say, or I'll give ye a real keelhauling.
- Thomas Howard: You ain't even human no more. Workin' apart from folks so long. You're only tolerable when you're drunk.
- Thomas Howard: What made your last keeper leave?
- Thomas Wake: Him? Me second?
- Thomas Howard: Mmhmm.
- Thomas Wake: Died. Went mad, he did. Ravin' about sirens, merfolk, bad omens and the like. In the end, weren't no more sense left in him than an hen's tooth. He believed that there was some enchantment in the light. He notioned that St. Elmo had cast his very fire into it. Salvation, said he.
- Thomas Howard: [scoffs] Tall tales.
- Thomas Wake: Who are you again, Tommy? I'm probably a figment of yer imagination. This rock is a figment of yer imagination, too. Yer probably wanderin' through a grove of tag alders, up north in Canady, like a frostbitten maniac talkin' to yerself, knee-deep in the snow, the blizzard overtakin' ye.
- Thomas Wake: It's bad luck to leave a toast unfinished, lad.
- Thomas Howard: Oh, meanin'... Meanin' no disrespect.
- Thomas Wake: Man what don't drink best have his reasons.
- Thomas Howard: Uh... Ain't it... I... I understood it's against regulations, sir.
- Thomas Wake: Did ya?
- Thomas Howard: I did, sir. From uh... From them's manual.
- Thomas Wake: Didn't picture you a readin' man.
- Thomas Howard: Well, I ain't tryin' for trouble.
- Thomas Wake: Then you'll do as I say. That's in yer book, too.
- Thomas Wake: Look at yer shiverin'. Ye're so mad, y'know not up from down. How long have we been on this rock? Five weeks? Two days? Where are we? Help me to recollect. Who are you again, Tommy? I'm probably a figment of your imagination. This rock is a figment of your imagination, too. Ye're probably wand'rin' through a grove of tag alders up north in Canady, like a frostbitten maniac talkin' to yerself, knee-deep in snow.
- Thomas Wake: When the fog clears, you'll work through the dog watch.
- Thomas Howard: Doggin' it? I was 'specting I'd git up to see the lantern.
- Thomas Wake: I tend the light.
- Thomas Wake: Well, the rules is alternatin' shifts.
- Thomas Wake: It's the mid watch that's to dread, lad. My watch, night to morning. Some new junior man I'm fixed with. See to yer duties. The light is mine.
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