Somewhere in the Night

Somebody turned on a light.

It's a faraway light...

but I don't have to be alone in the dark anymore.

My head hurts.

Somebody's here with me.

Easy. Lie still.

Tell him it hurts.

Why can't I talk?

Doc, look at me. Look at me hard.

See it in my eyes. I need somebody.

It hurts me.

Help me.

He came to a little while ago. Seems to be in a lot of pain.

He'd be letting you know it, too, if his jaw weren't bandaged so tightly.

Let's control the pain. Quarter grain M.S. every four hours, more often if necessary.

- Yes, sir. - What's happened to me?

What am I doing here...

when I don't even know where I am?

- Is he gonna be all right, Doc? - Taylor? Every chance in the world.

It was a pretty tough job though.

- He must have been right on top of that grenade when it blew. - He was.

- How's he gonna be, Doc? - In time, as good as ever.

That's good enough. Nothing but clean sheets from here on in, Taylor.

- You're gonna be okay now. - Taylor. Who's Taylor?

So he's okay now. So what?

What about me? What about me?

I don't know my name.

You. Talk to me. Act like I was alive, not just somebody with eyes and no name.

Think of a name. Taylor.

Think of another name. There must be other names.

Taylor. No.

Taylor. No.

Taylor. Taylor.

Taylor.

Taylor.

Taylor.

Good morning.

Good morning.

It is one too. One of Honolulu's finest summer mornings.

Why not take a look at it?

Come on. Try.

See that tree? There's one just like it outside my window back home.

I'll bet there's one you remember too.

The doctor said that you're to sit up for a while today.

Your jaw's knitting beautifully.

The wires will come out in a day or two.

When you get tired, rap on the nightstand.

It won't be long before you'll be able to call for me.

I'll bet that'll be a relief.

I'll call all right. I'll yell.

I'll want to know why they call me George Taylor.

Who's George Taylor, and who am I?

For all I know, that's the first tree I ever saw.

Still, that's what it is. That's what I call it.

They call me Taylor. So for all I know, I am Taylor.

I've gotta take time, work on it.

Time to think. Hard.

Now I'm tired.

Where's the nurse? The nightstand, rap on it.

What's that? A wallet.

Must be my wallet.

Yeah. There I am again.

That's me all right.

Good old George Taylor.

How have you been, George?

"These are my last words to you.

"That's why I write them. So that I can always be sure that these were my last.

"But I despise you now, and the memory of you.

"But I'm ashamed for having loved you.

"And I shall pray as long as I live...

"for someone or something to hurt and destroy you-

"make you want to die...

as you have me."

Who writes letters like this?

Who do they write them to?

Men they despise, whose memories they despise.

The memory I haven't got.

Won't be long, and I'll have to talk. Think fast. Now they only know my name.

If I tell 'em I don't remember, they'll backtrack.

They'll dig up that memory and throw it in my face.

I've forgotten that man. Somebody's praying for him to be hurt and want to die.

I won't let them know I can't remember. I won't let them dig him up!

Taylor, George W.

Hello, Taylor. Sit down.

You're now in the process of being separated from the armed forces of the United States.

You feel you have a right to know answers to a lot of questions...

about yourself and how you'll fit into civilian life.

Those questions need not necessarily be restricted to the G.I. Bill of Rights...

employment, insurance and such.

Oh, by the way. Before I forget.

Your sea bag, it's been located.

- Any change in your civilian address? - My civilian address.

I could ask one of the boys to drop it off.

I'll, uh-Maybe I'd better pick it up myself.

Well, why wait around? It might be this afternoon, it might be a couple of days.

I imagine you'll be wanting to get back to Los Angeles.

We could have it delivered to the, uh...

Martin Hotel.

Will you be going back there?

Martin Hotel. In Los Angeles. Yes.

I'll be going back there.

Can you give me some information?

- That depends. - A man named George Taylor lived here three years ago.

It must have been in January. Did he give an address he had before he came here?

Or did he leave a forwarding address?

- We're not supposed to- - It's kind of important.

Yeah?

Summer, 1942.

January, 1943.

"T," "T," "T." Taylor.

- Did you say George Taylor? - Yes.

Afraid you have the wrong hotel, son. There's no George Taylor in our books.

Well, maybe it was November or February.

This runs through from July to July, and there's no George Taylor.

I'm sorry, son.

What's the matter? Aren't you feeling all right?

Yeah. I... I guess I just made a mistake.

I thought, uh-Well, I see you got the Purple Heart, and I thought that maybe-

No, no. It's okay.

- I don't suppose you've got a vacancy, have you? - We're all filled.

- Always one or two. - Thank you.

Our, uh-Our bellboys are all out of the army...

but they still ain't convinced they won't get jobs as bank presidents.

- It's, uh, 618, straight ahead as you get off the elevator. - Thank you.

And, uh, I'm sorry about not finding your friend.

Yeah. This is it all right.

That'll be 13.60 storage charges.

Three years and seven months it's been laying here.

Another five months, and it'd have been sold for the charges.

That's the longest I ever heard of anybody checking a briefcase.

Even a trunk-Unless it had a body in it.

Hey.

Larry Cravat?

"Your pal, Larry Cravat."

Thank you very much, sir. Come again.

And I'll be sure and send that uniform.

I'm George Taylor. I just got out of the marines. I've got an account here.

Here's my identification.

I'd like some money.

Of course. I'll check the account and have it for you in a moment.

Larry Cravat.

My friend who opened the account for me. Could you give me his present mailing address?

Cravat. Larry Cravat. Sure.

- If you'll pardon me a minute, Mr. Taylor. - Anything the matter?

What's going on? Isn't the account all right?

It's perfectly all right, Mr. Taylor.

If you need any more identification, I have my discharge-

- If you'll just wait a minute. - Wait? For what?

If you don't mind, there's some questions we'd like to ask you.

- Questions? I don't get it. - It'll just take a minute, Mr. Taylor.

It'll have to be some other time.

Maybe I can help you.

I was looking for Cravat, Larry Cravat.

What made you think he was hiding in the desk?

Well, I got a letter from Cravat on your stationery.

Lots of people use our paper. Nobody here by such a name.

The letter was written three years ago. Maybe he worked here then.

I was working here then. I don't know no Larry Cravat.

- Maybe he used to come in a lot. Maybe somebody else knows him. - Nobody else is here but me.

He might come in again. Will you tell him to get in touch with me? It's very important.

George Taylor at the Martin Hotel.

George Taylor, the Martin Hotel.

Thanks.

Hey, uh, maybe you oughta try around the corner.

- What's around the corner? - Café. Called the Cellar.

Because it's in a cellar.

Lots of guys get loaded there and then come over here to sweat it out.

- Maybe you oughta ask there about your pal. - What time's it open?

How do I know? When it gets dark.

Thanks. I'll try it.

- Larry Cravat come in yet, honey? - Larry Cravat?

- I'm sorry. I wouldn't know. - Thanks anyway.

- Good evening, sir. - Mr. Cravat's table.

- Mr. Cravat. With a "C" or a "K"? - "C."

I'm very sorry. Mr. Cravat has no reservation this evening.

- Well, he might have forgot. I'll wait for him at the bar. - Thank you.

Thank you, Mr. Mitchell.

Mr. Mitchell anybody special?

- He's a customer. - You must know a lot of customers.

- You must know a lot of names. - Enough. What'll you have?

You name it.

- Been around here a long time? - Ever since they took the bars off the door.

Friend of mine used to come in a lot. Maybe you know him.

Larry Cravat?

I, uh, used to know a Larry Cashman, but that ain't Cravat.

Well, maybe you could ask around.

Maybe some of the other boys would know him.

Could be. I'll, uh, ask around, Mr.

Taylor. George Taylor.

I'll ask around, Mr. Taylor.

You forgot to knock.

I can explain if you'll let me.

Out.

Not right now.

- Get out of here. - I'm sorry.

- Suppose I yell the roof off. - Then I'd have to stop you.

I bet you'd try, at that.

You know, I can't make up my mind whether this is a pitch or you're some kind of a nut.

- But if this is your idea of a pitch, then I know you're a nut. - Who owns this place?

- Who wants to know? - I do.