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                                                             FADE IN:

               INT. TRAIN

               A busy railway carriage. Zulfo, a man of Eastern European
               appearance is sitting by the window watching the Dutch
               landscape pass by. He is well-dressed in a dark-grey suit,
               white shirt, tie. He is aged about forty. He is a handsome
               man with dark skin, a moustache, and a thin scar that
               follows the contour of his left cheekbone almost from his
               ear to his nose. His hair is not long but is thick and
               slightly wild. It is dark brown with grey streaks near the

               Next to him, in the aisle seat, a middle-aged Dutch woman,
               healthy tanned skin, vigorous blonde hair, wearing a blue
               denim suit, is writing in a puzzle book.

               Opposite Zulfo, a man is reading the International Herald
               Tribune. The main headline reads "Bosnian 'War Criminal'
               Pleads Not Guilty at the Hague", below which is a small
               passport-sized photo of the accused.

               Zulfo studies the front page that is facing him. He looks
               out the window again but his gaze keeps returning to the

               The ticket collector asks Zulfo for his ticket. He opens
               his wallet and finds his ticket. In the face of the wallet
               is a photo of a blonde woman and child standing on the
               porch of a house with lots of plants around.

               The train arrives at a large station. The announcer says
               "Den Haag, Holland Spoor. Den Haag, Holland Spoor". Zulfo
               stands up. He reaches up for his suitcase from the overhead
               rack. Pulls it down. Looks at the people around him as if
               he should exchange some 'goodbye'. No-one looks at him.


               The cavernous interior of the Holland Spoor train station.
               Zulfo steps down from the train as people crowd around the
               door. A young, very attractive Indonesian woman, heavy make
               up, black mini-skirt, leather knee-length boots,
               transparent coat, is talking to her friend and laughing.
               She smokes a cigarette then throws it under the train. They
               both climb onto the train, watched closely by a business
               man standing right behind them.


               Zulfo carries his suitcase through the crowd of people.
               Near the exit a group of down and outs, migrants, stand
               around. One of them approaches Zulfo, smiling.

                         Francais? English? American?

               Zulfo, his path blocked, shakes his head.

                                   MIGRANT (CONT'D)
                         Can you spare me five guilders?

                             (shakes his head)

                         You speak English. You must have
                         some money.
                         Give me some!

               A young woman wearing a small backpack appears from nowhere
               and discreetly flashes a transport police badge at the
               migrant. She looks a typical backpacker. In dutch, she
               tells the migrant to get lost or she'll arrest him. On
               seeing the badge, the migrant turns on his heel and leaves
               the station without speaking.

                             (to Zulfo, smiling)
                         Be careful around here. Don't
                         give them anything. Don't even
                         talk to them else they won't
                         leave you alone. Where are you

                         Near the Peace Palace.

                         Okay. It's easiest if you take a
                         taxi. Have a good time, and stay


               Zulfo enters a taxi. The driver is Moroccan. Zulfo takes
               out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and reads the
               name of a hotel, showing it to the driver. The driver makes
               no expression, just starts the car and drives away.

               The taxi arrives outside a modest hotel. Zulfo pays and
               enters the hotel.

               INT. HOTEL BEDROOM - NIGHT

               Zulfo enters his hotel room and drops his suitcase on the
               He opens the case and puts some clothes in the wardrobe.
               Then he takes out a document. Large black lettering on the
               front "Indictment Janjic & Others (27 July 1998)".

               He lies on the bed reading the document. He smokes a
               cigarette, turning the pages. He falls asleep, wakes up,
               lights another cigarette, turns on the television, flicks
               through the channels: an American sit-com; soft porn; an
               advert in dutch for floor-cleaner; a football match; the
               News. He stops on the News, showing the War Crimes
               Tribunal. An accused man is standing in the dock. Zulfo
               moves closer to the TV set in order to study the man's
               face. The item ends and Zulfo turns off the television.

               Zulfo stands up and walks over to the mirror. He looks at
               himself. Goes back to the bed, sits back down, picks up the
               remote and turns the television back on, finding the porn
               channel. He watches a woman with two men then switches it
               off again.

               He stands up. Walks to the window. Looks out on a quiet
               street. Goes back to the bed, sits down, picks up the
               cigarette packet. It's empty. He pulls his shoes on, his
               jacket, then leaves the room.

               EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT

               Zulfo walks from his hotel, crosses to the canal-side walk,
               heads towards a 24-hour corner shop.

               Zulfo leaves the corner shop, opening a packet of
               cigarettes. He follows the canal towards his hotel,
               smoking. He reaches his hotel, looks up at his lighted
               bedroom, looks down the street, then walks right past.

               As he walks, the street gets busier, all men, in pairs and
               alone. At the intersection with a small street two men are
               standing looking in a shop window. As Zulfo nears, they
               move on laughing. In the window is a very fat woman, late
               forties, dressed in leather bondage gear and black tights
               that squeeze out her fat pale thighs at the top. The window
               contains a display of whips and other equipment. Zulfo
               stares. The woman makes a face at him and he walks on, into
               the red light district.

               Men walk up and down, slowly and purposefully. Occasionally
               one stops to talk terms through a window. The women open
               small side-windows and smile and laugh with their clients.

               Zulfo sees a beautiful blonde woman, aged about 30, sitting
               on a chair in the window. She has pale skin and is wearing
               red lingerie. She's reading a book, apparently oblivious to
               her surroundings.

               Zulfo gets behind the streetlight on the opposite side of
               the road and watches her. Then he walks up to the next
               corner, turns around and watches her again.
               He comes back, crosses over to her side of the road and
               stops in front of her window. She looks up from her book,
               smiles, sees no interest, and goes back to reading.

               Zulfo walks past, stops, comes back, stops. She looks up
               again, stands up, walks to the window, slides the small
               window down.

                             (in english, with
                              eastern european
                         Are you coming in?

               Zulfo looks up and down the street, then back at her,
               starts to speak, then stops.

                         You speak english?

               Zulfo nods.

                         Shy boy, eh? Don't know what you
                         want? Sixty guilders, fuck and
                         suck. You coming in?

               Zulfo nods. The prostitute smiles, puts down her book and
               shuts the curtains. Moments later the door onto the street
               opens and she is standing there inviting him in. Zulfo
               steps into the dark corridor. She walks in front of him on
               high heels and turns into a small back room that's behind
               the room she sits in. The room is small. Lit by a soft red
               light. The bed is bare except for a sheet and a pillow.

               She slips out of her camisole and is wearing a red bra and
               pants. She puts her arms around Zulfo and starts removing
               his jacket.

                         Do you work here? Visiting?

               Zulfo nods again. He lets his jacket go.

                             (touching his face)
                         Quiet man. What's your name?

                             (moving away from her
                              and sitting on the bed)

                             (sitting down next to
                         Zulfo? Are you Turkish?


                             (running her hand up his
                         Bosnian. Is this your first time,

               Zulfo doesn't answer. Pulls away.

                         What's the problem?

                         You remind me of my wife. That's
                         why I came in.

                         Well, why aren't you with your

                         She's gone.

                         She left you?

                         She died. In the war.

                             (a beat)
                         Why are you here?

               Zulfo shrugs his shoulders.

                         I mean, in the Hague?

                         I'm a witness. To the men who
                         took her and raped her. And my

                         Your daughter too? Your daughter
                         is alive?

                         Not really.

               The prostitute gets up. Walks to the dressing table. Puts
               on a full-length silk dressing-gown. Picks up a packet of
               cigarettes. Walks back to the bed. Sits down. Offers Zulfo
               a cigarette. He accepts. She lights both cigarettes.

               A silence.

                         How old was she?

                         Thirty five. My daughter was

                         The same age as mine.

                         You have a daughter? Here?

                         No, she's in the Czech republic.
                         I'm here for her. To keep her.
                         She lives with her grandmother. I
                         can't imagine anything happening
                         to her.

                         I couldn't stop it. My neighbour -
                         he used to be our friend, he used
                         to babysit for us - came in with
                         a gang. He apologised but said
                         they had to take us. We were
                         separated, put into prisons, but
                         the women were moved to houses of
                         the military policemen. They were
                         kept there as slaves, degraded,
                         and raped. A lot of them, like my
                         wife, became depressed and killed

                         And now? Now you will get

                         Justice? Maybe. The facts are
                         hard to prove without a living
                         witness. They tried to erase
                             (a beat; he looks around
                              the room)
                         I should go.

                             (putting her hand on his
                         What will you do?

                         Look after my daughter. I'm the
                         last witness. The trial ends in
                         four days. Then I'll go back.

               They both stand. Zulfo picks up his jacket.

                         Do you have to do this?

                         I do it.

                         What did you do before?

                         I worked in an architects office.

                         But you could do something else.
                         You could get married, or

                         Ha. That will save me.

               They leave the room. She opens the door onto the street for
               him. He turns and looks at her.

                         I didn't pay you.

                         You didn't buy anything.

                             (a small, bare smile,
                              for the first time)
                         What's your name?


                         Lisa, can I see you again?

                         Well, you know where I am.

                         No, I mean somewhere else. Not
                         here. I have one day off, in
                         three days, before the judgment.
                         We could meet somewhere, spend
                         the day together.

                         Well, since you're not a client,
                         maybe I can. I live in Rotterdam.
                         Meet me at Rotterdam Centraal at
                         ten on Thursday and I'll show you
                         the city.

               Zulfo walks away. A customer, waiting on the other side of
               the road, walks past him and straight up to the door.

                             (with gusto)
                         Ah, Lisa, I've been waiting just
                         for you...

               INT. HOTEL BEDROOM

               It's dark. Zulfo is on his bed, sitting up with his back to
               the wall, watching television. On the television, stock
               newsreel footage from the Bosnia conflict: a beautiful
               rural village being pounded by tanks; an old man sits dazed
               on the porch of a bougainvillea-draped, white-painted
               house, shelled out, with the roof missing; inside a room,
               nazi swastikas and slogans painted on the walls; hollow
               eyed men behind barbed wire; streams of refugees; the
               aftermath of a mortar attack on a city market-place, the
               dead strewn around; an ancient stone bridge across a fast
               flowing river crashes down, isolating the two halves of an
               old town.

               Zulfo turns off the TV. Fade to black. Silence.

               In the darkness, a long loud human scream that blends in
               with a train whistle.

               Cut to train carriage. Bright daylight. Zulfo sits by the
               window looking out at the pretty garden allotments, tidy
               houses, small boating lakes, as they flash past.

               The train wheels squeal and the beat slows as it pulls into
               Rotterdam Centraal.

               Zulfo exits the station and waits on the forecourt. He
               looks around for Lisa but she's not there.

               A woman with two children on a bike, a baby at the front
               and an infant on the back, stops at the traffic lights then
               pushes off.

               He goes back inside. Looks for her face amongst the crowd.

               He goes back outside. She's still not there. He lights a
               cigarette, smokes it, and throws it down.
               He turns and walks back inside towards the barriers, about
               to board his return train. As he does so, he turns around
               and sees her running towards him, waving.

               They walk towards each other. She is wearing blue jeans, a
               white jumper, and a short black leather jacket unzipped
               almost to the waist.

               INT. TRAIN STATION

                         I'm sorry. You thought I wasn't

                         No, I just thought something had

                         I had some trouble.


                             (a bit downcast)
                         Oh, nothing really, the men who
                         brought me here. Because I'm not
                         registered they can get rid of me
                         at any time. I have to be careful
                         and not let them know what I'm
                         But, here I am. Are you sure
                         you're okay to do this? The

                         No, it will be good to do it. To
                         stop me thinking. The judgment is

                         Okay! Let's go then.

                         Where are we going?

                         Oh, I'll show you the city, some
                         of the nice architecture and then
                         we'll walk across the bridge.

               EXT. CITY STREET

               Zulfo stands on the pavement as Lisa comes out a
               newsagent's holding a disposable camera. On the pavement
               outside is a news hoarding, "Judges Consider Bosnian

               She takes his picture standing in the middle of the empty
               space of the Schouwburgplein. They look up above the
               Megabioscoop and see blue skies.

               As they walk down a small road, two schoolteachers lead a
               class of young children along the narrow pavement. The
               children are excited and talkative. Zulfo and Lisa stop and
               turn to let them file past. One girl sees the camera in
               Zulfo's hand and says in dutch, "Hey, take our picture."
               When he doesn't respond, she repeats it in english and when
               Zulfo smiles, she says something else in dutch and the
               children all laugh.

               Outside the Netherlands Architecture Institute a group of
               Japanese tourists are having a guided tour. They all stand
               for photos. One of the Japanese offers to take a photo of
               Lisa and Zulfo. Zulfo looks embarrassed then Lisa takes his
               arm and they both smile.

               In Museumpark, they stand in front of the mirrored wall,
               its weathered and pitted mirrored surface flaking off.
               Zulfo takes a photo of them both in the mirror, the image
               broken up, reflecting them, the park behind, the institute
               building showing through the trees, blue skies and white
               clouds above.

               They reach the Erasmus Bridge and walk to the middle of the
               span. Lisa leans on the rail and looks west towards the

                         I come and stand here when I want
                         to forget everything. I just look
                         out to sea and forget there is a
                         land behind me. Forget about
                         people. I love to see the big
                         ships grow smaller and smaller
                         until they disappear.

                         This is an amazing bridge. It
                         seems to float, to defy gravity.
                         I would like to build a bridge
                         like this one day.

                             (turning to look at him)
                         Are you an architect?

                         No, an engineer.
                         Somebody else would have to
                         design it, but I could build it.
                         If I ever work again.

                             (turning, so her back is
                              against the rail)
                         You will. You might never forget,
                         but time does...

                             (interrupting her)
                         No. Without someone beside you.
                         What's the point?

                         There is always someone beside

                         But not always the person you are
                         made for.

                         Sometimes history keeps you
                             (a beat)
                         Sometimes you cannot build a

                         It's a nightmare.

                         What is?

                         History. If only we could wake
                         up, how beautiful life would be.
                         If every moment was like this.

               She touches his cheek with her hand. The sun is starting to
               go down on the wind-whipped sea. Fade to black.


               Zulfo stands amongst a group of people in legal dress. He
               is gesticulating. He shakes his head, then holds it in his
               hands, gesticulates again. A man places his hand on Zulfo's
               shoulder. They gather around him to try and calm him down.
               A Registrar in legal dress reads a statement to the press.

                         This afternoon the Trial Chamber
                         delivered its judgement in the
                         case of the Prosecutor versus
                         Zorlan Janjic. Janjic was found
                         not guilty of all crimes. The
                         Prosecutor has filed notice to

               INT. HOTEL BEDROOM - NIGHT

               Zulfo is sat on his bed smoking. There is a bottle of
               whisky, three-quarters empty, on the table next to him. He
               picks up a tumbler and drinks from it. On the floor next to
               the bed his suitcase is half-packed. On top of his clothes
               is the disposable camera.

               He looks down at the camera. Stands up. Puts his shoes and
               jacket on. Picks up his cigarettes from the table. He
               finishes the tumbler of whisky. While drinking from the
               tumbler he stares at the framed photos on the wall. One of
               them is of the Erasmus bridge, at night, lit up. He walks
               towards it, reaches out a finger and touches it.

               He walks to the door and exits.


               The same street where Zulfo met Lisa. It's Friday night and
               much busier. Groups of drunken men, locals and tourists,
               shout and laugh, eyeing the women, stopping and joking with

               Zulfo walks straight up the street to Lisa's window. The
               curtain is closed. He crosses to the other side of the
               street, beneath the street-lamp and watches her door,
               waiting for her to become free.

               He lights a cigarette and watches men entering and leaving
               the other doorways.

               Lisa's door opens. A young man, early twenties, comes to
               the doorway, turns around to say goodbye then leaves. The
               door is closed behind him. The man walks across the road to
               where a group of his friends is waiting. They are all
               English. They say, "Tell us then. What was she like? Was
               she as good as she looks?"

               Zulfo starts walking towards them, stops, turns back to the

               The curtain is pulled back. It's not Lisa. A black girl.

               Zulfo stops. Looks at the window on each side. Looks back
               up the road to reassure himself he's at the right window.

               He walks over to the window and knocks aggressively. The
               black girl doesn't open at first. She's worried by his wild

                         Where's Lisa?

               The black girl shakes her head, she doesn't understand.
               Zulfo motions her to open the window. The black girl gets
               up and slides down the window.

                         Where is Lisa? She should be

                                   BLACK GIRL
                         Lisa has gone. She had some
                         trouble and has been sent back.

                         No! That's not true!

                                   BLACK GIRL
                         Yes, it's true. She left tonight,
                         on a plane.

               Zulfo steps back.

                                   BLACK GIRL
                         You come in with me. I will give
                         you a good time. You'll soon
                         forget Lisa.

               Zulfo backs off. Walks around in a half circle. Turns and
               walks back down the street, looking at the floor. He bumps
               into someone but doesn't notice. He gets to the end of the
               street and stands underneath the streetlight so that it
               shines in his eyes.

               Seen from the bright light, the street he has just come
               from is full of ghostly, ill-defined forms. Men milling
               around, entering and leaving.

               From an open door, the arm of a prostitute reaches out to a
               hesitant customer. She grabs his hand. They pull back and

               Suddenly Zulfo hallucinates. The street is full of military
               police, black-shirts. They are holding guns and rounding up
               the women. A black-shirt thug with a thick neck grabs a
               screaming woman by the wrist and tries to pull her from her
               doorway. She resists, holds the doorframe with her other
               hand and screams. The black-shirt beats her arm with a
               stick to make her let go and she tumbles into the street.

               Zulfo falls back against the street lamp. He uses his arms
               to push himself up and runs back into the street. The black
               shirt now has the woman by the hand and she is appealing to

               Zulfo leaps on the black-shirt and, putting his arm around
               his neck, drags him to the floor. He starts beating his
               head on the ground, shouting "Killer, rapist, killer,

               The woman screams. She tries to pull Zulfo off. A crowd of
               men rush over and restrain him. It's just the normal
               customers. They hold Zulfo down and make various
               exclamations, "Jesus, that guy is crazy", "He just ran up
               and jumped him, I saw it", "Called the guy a rapist and a
               killer", "Scary".

               A police car pulls up and two cops jump out. They tell the
               men to let Zulfo go and they take hold of Zulfo and put him
               in the car. They sit with the doors open and talk to
               witnesses. The black girl, dressed in a green silk robe,
               talks to them.

                                   BLACK GIRL
                         He seemed a bit crazy. He was
                         asking for Lisa and when I said
                         she was gone, he just walked off
                         and then a minute later I saw him
                         run up and start beating that

               An ambulance drives up the road and the medics get out and
               help the beaten man.

               I/E. POLICE CAR

                             (to Zulfo)
                         Who was Lisa? Your girlfriend?

               Zulfo ignores him

                                   COP (CONT'D)
                         Do you have your papers?

               Zulfo gives him his wallet. The cop opens it. Takes out his
               passport and visa papers. Sees "Bosnia". Looks at Zulfo for
               a while without speaking.

                             (calmly, turning the
                              paper toward Zulfo)
                         Okay. Is it to do with this?

               Zulfo nods and puts his hands over his eyes. The cop puts
               his hand on Zulfo's shoulder.
               The other policeman gets in the car. Shot of the car
               driving slowly through the crowded street. New customers
               are entering the street, laughing and shouting.

               INT. TRAIN - DAY

               Bright sunshine.

               An old train rattles along through verdant country side,
               steep wooded hills in the distance, a winding river. A
               young blonde girl, about sixteen, is sat looking out the
               window. She's the young girl from the photo in Zulfo's
               wallet, now older.

               The train goes over an old iron bridge. The wheels rattle.
               Shadow stripes traverse the girl's face for a few seconds.

               Close up of man's hands holding a set of photographs. The
               top one is Zulfo and Lisa arm in arm outside the
               architectural institute. The right hand moves the top photo
               to the bottom. Photo of Zulfo and Lisa in the mirrored
               wall, her smiling face partly obscured by the pitted
               surface of the mirror. He moves to the next photo. It's a
               close up of Lisa standing on the Erasmus bridge, her back
               to the rail, her arms up on the rail, smiling straight at
               the camera.

               The girl looks at Zulfo looking at the photo.

                                   ZULFO'S DAUGHTER
                         Who is that woman, dad? Was she a

               Zulfo looks at her. Smiles. Looks down at the photo. He
               touches the photo with his finger, touches Lisa's cheek.

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