Page 35

The train screeches to a stop at the edge of the platform.

BACK TO:

EXT. KHALID’S HOUSE - COURTYARD - NIGHT

Khalid and Mustafa, on the stone stoop outside Mustafa’s diwan.

MUSTAFA

Everything which happened before my meeting her

was a premonition; everything I did after I killed her

was an apology, not for killing her, but for the lie that

was my life.

FADE TO:

FLASH BACK STARTS:

INT. THE HALL IN CHELSEA - NIGHT

We just see the far side as the CAMERA SHOOTS across. A door, and a long passageway leading to the entrance hall.

MUSTAFA (V.O.)

I was twenty-five when I met Jean Morris at a party in

Chelsea.

OVERSHOT comes SOUND of laughter from the hall. Slowly, the CAMERA Follows there. In the hall the faint lamp-light shows, Mustafa sits, with two girls and a glass two-thirds empty. It seems, he is telling lewd things to them as we see them laughing. Suddenly, they break off, distracted by the SOUND of the door opening. Jean Morris’s figure under the faint lamp-light, pauses on the doorway for a while. Mustafa gazes at her. She COMES IN with wide strides, placing the weight of her body on the right foot so that her buttocks incline left-wards. She pauses and gives Mustafa a look of arrogance, coldness. SMASH CUT on Mustafa’s face. He is about to say something. The CAMERA FOLLOWS as Jean Morris moves away. Mustafa looks at the two girls with him.

MUSTAFA

Who’s that female?

FLASH BACK ENDS.

BACK TO:

EXT. MUSTAFA’S HOUSE - COURTYARD - NIGHT

Khalid and Mustafa, on the stone stoop outside Mustafa’s diwan.

MUSTAFA

London was emerging from the war and the oppressive

atmosphere of the Victorian era. I got to know the pubs

of Chelsea, the clubs of Hampstead, and the gatherings

of Bloomsbury. I would read poetry, talk of religion and

philosophy, discuss paintings, and say things about the

spirituality of the East. I would do everything possible to

entice a woman to my bed. Then I would go after some

new prey. My soul contained not a drop of sense of fun -

just as Mrs. Robinson had said. The women I enticed to my

bed included girls from the Salvation Army, Quaker societies

and Fabian gatherings. When the Liberals, the Conservatives,

Labours, or the Communists, held a meeting, I would saddle

my camel and go.

FADE TO:

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Page 36

FLASH BACK STARTS:

INT. PARTY IN CHELSEA - NIGHT

A HIGH ANGLE of the hall, reveals those different colors of lights. There are at least hundreds guests, music, laughing, dancing and many tables cover with food and wine. Mustafa walks through the crowd. The CAMERA FOLLOWS him, PAUSES as he pauses beside Jean Morris and tells something we can’t hear. The CAMERA is CLOSED ON JEAN’s face now, recording her anger, her rage. JEAN MORRIS You’re ugly, I’ve never seen an uglier face than yours. SMASH CUT on Mustafa’s face. He is about to say something but the CAMERA TURNS on time to catch a brief glimpse of her walking away.

MUSTAFA (V.O.)

At that instant, drunk as I was, I swore I would one day

make her pay for that.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. MUSTAFA’S BEDROOM - IN LONDON - MORNING

We just see as the CAMERA SHOOTS CLOSE ON MUSTAFA sleeping on his bed. There is a brief silence except the SOUND of a ceiling fan buzzing.

MUSTAFA (V.O.)

What was it that attracted Ann Hammond to me?

Suddenly, Mustafa’s eyes snap open. He rubs his temples and turns on the bed. He starts, startles gazes at someone sleeping beside him. PULLING BACK slowly, we see that he is looking at Ann Hammond in her eighteen, sleeps beside him in the bed.

MUSTAFA (V.O.)

Her father was an officer in the Royal Engineers, her

mother from a rich family in Liverpool. She proved an

easy prey.

PULLING BACK further, reveal that we are in a bedroom with pink curtains. The carpeting is of a warm greenness. The bed spacious, with swansdown cushions, placed in certain corners; on the walls are large mirrors.

MUSTAFA (V.O.)

She yearned for tropical climes, cruel suns, purple horizons.

In her eyes I was a symbol of all her hankerings. I am South

that yearns for the North and the ice. Ann Hammond spent

her childhood at a convent school. Her aunt was the wife of a

Member of Parliament. In my bed I transformed her into a harlot.

DISSOLVE TO:

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Page 37

INT. JEAN MORRIS’S FLAT - DAY

The CAMERA is CLOSE ON the bed where Jean Morris lies. In her face erupts a hint of frozen pain. Her eyes looking out in a fixed stare. PULL BACK to reveal a medical examiner who is pause beside the bed and looking down at the body then over at a police officer
beside him.

MEDICAL EXAMINER

She had gassed herself.

The police officer looks down at the foot of the bed. The CAMERA LOWERS to show a CLOSE VIEW of a small piece of paper lies on the
ground. He kneels down, picks up the paper, stands and unfolds it, and READS LOUDLY:

POLICE OFFICER

Mr. Sa’eed, may God damn you.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. OLD BAILEY - COURTROOM - DAY

ESTABLISHING: OLD BAILEY COURTROOM’S BUILDING.

CUT TO:

INT. OLD BAILEY - COURTROOM - DAY

CAMERA SHOOTS across. The judge’s bench stands against the rear wall. The Judicial Magistrate sits. To the left of the bench is the jury box. In the center two separate tables, one for the prosecuting attorney and the other for the defense attorney. The courtroom is packed with reporters and the type of spectators attracted to this type of spectacular trial.

MUSTAFA (V.O.)

The Public Prosecutor, sir Arthur Higgins, had a brilliant

mind. I knew him well, for he had taught me Criminal Law

at Oxford and I had seen him before, at grip on the accused

as they stood in the dock.

Slowly the CAMERA MOVES IN towards sir Arthur Higgins in his late forties, stands between the aisle and the judge’s bench.

MUSTAFA (V.O.)

Rarely Did anyone escape him. I saw men weeping and 

fainting after he had finished his cross examination; but

this time he was wrestling with a corpse.

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Page 141

INT. PUB IN CHELSEA - NIGHT

We just see the far side as the CAMERA SHOOTS across. Mustafa and Jean Morris sit on a table facing each others. A small pub with a few tables. Two tables engage by customers. The CAMERA MOVES IN towards their table. They stare at each others. HOLD for a beat.

JEAN MORRIS

You’re a savage bull that does not weary of the chase,

The CAMERA is CLOSE on Mustafa’s face recording the bright light emerges from his eyes.

JEAN MORRIS

I am tired of your pursuing me and of running before you.

Marry me.

FADE TO:

INT. REGISTRY OFFICE IN FULHAM - DAY

The CAMERA SHOOTS across the office. Mustafa, Jean Morris, afemale friend of jean, a male friend of Mustafa and the Registrar.
The CAMERA CLOSE On Jean Morris.

JEAN MORRIS

I Jean Winifred Morris accept this man Mustafa Sa’eed Othman

as my ...

Suddenly, Jean bursts into violent sobbing. Mustafa startles and stirs at her. The Registrar pauses, says to her kindly.

REGISTRAR

Come, come. I can understand how you feel. Just a few more

moments and it’ll all be over.

Jean continues to whimper.

JEAN MORRIS

I Jean Winifred Morris accept this man Mustafa Sa’eed Othman

as my lawfully wedded husband, for better and for worse, for

richer for poorer, in sickness and in health ...

REGISTRAR

Now I pronounce you both husband and wife.

Jean Morris once again breaks out sobbing. The Registrar walks towards her, pauses before her pats her on the shoulder, then
shakes hands wit Mustafa.

REGISTRAR

Your wife is crying because she’s so happy. I have seen many

women cry at their marriage, but I’ve never seen such violent

weeping. It seems she loves you very much. Look after her.

I’m sure you’ll both be happy.

Jean Morris continues crying as the CAMERA TAKES her and Mustafa out of the registry office.

CUT TO:

SYNOPSIS:

Tayeb Salih's novel Season of Migration to the North (1966) was written in Arabic - Mawsim al-Hiǧra ilā ash-Shamāl - translated to English by Denys Johnson-Davies. After many years of study in Europe, the young narrator of Season of Migration to the North returns to his village along the Nile in the Sudan, eager to make a contribution to the new postcolonial life of his country. Back home, he discovers a stranger among the familiar faces of childhood—the enigmatic Mustafa Sa’eed. Mustafa takes the young man into his confidence, telling him the story of his own years in London in the early part of the twentieth century, of his brilliant career as an economist, and of the series of fraught and deadly relationships with European women that led to a terrible public reckoning and his return to his native land. But what is the meaning of Mustafa’s shocking confession? Mustafa disappears without explanation, leaving the young man —whom he has asked to look after his wife—in an unsettled and violent no-man’s-land between Europe and Africa, tradition and innovation, holiness and defilement, and man and woman, from which no one will escape unaltered or unharmed.