You Have to Do It

- What would you say you've taught her?
- Nothing.  She's unteachable.
- Everyone is teachable, John.  Everybody can learn.
- She can't.  She doesn't.  She doesn't learn.
- So you don't...
- 'Hills Like White Elephants.'  She liked that.  She seemed to respond--
- Did she?
- Yes.
- So you see?  Teachable.
- I guess.
- And she's sure?
- Yes.
- How sure?
- How sure do you need to be?
- You're sure she's not--?
- No.  I mean, she wouldn't.  She's not.  I don't want to say--
- --Smart enough.
- Right.
- Well...yes.
- It's better if we just say what needs to be said.
- Agreed.
- So she is?
- Yes.
- And she's...
- She's...

     . . . . .

- Yes?
- Determined.
- I see.
- To, you know.
- I see.
- And if she did--
- That shouldn't--I mean, as far as we're concerned, that wouldn't.
- I know
- I mean, I'm not sure I could move on from that.
- Nobody would expect you to.
- I think I've been pretty, you know, about all this as is.
- Of course, you've been.
- I mean, I know I broke your wrist.
- And toe.
- I stepped so hard.
- Yes.
- It felt good.
- I'm--well, glad isn't--
- There are things I can, sort of, deny.  I can deny things.  But how do you deny something that's actually tangible.  Nothing that's been done is tangible--yet.  I didn't see anything.  I have no evidence.  I can pretend.  I can't pretend if--
- Right.
- So...
- ...?
- So you have to do it.
- I can't.
- John--
- I can't, Sophia.  Really.  I can't.  I--what am I supposed to--?
- You just explain, I mean, to her--this is--this is a terrible situation.
- I think everyone's aware--
- I guess not.
- --that this is--
- I guess not, John.  I guess not everyone's aware because otherwise this would already be taken care of, and it's not.  You need.  To talk.  To her.
- What if--
- What if what?  She--
- No.  Not that.  What if--I mean...
- What, John?
- What if you talked to her?

    . . . . .

- Are you--are you asking me--?
- Sophia--
- John--
- She respects you, Sophia.
- Are you kidding me?
- Sophia, she does.  She really does.
- John, I'm not--
- Sophia--
- You're her teacher.
- So are you.
- I was.  I was her teacher.  I taught her Wuthering Heights, you're teaching her subtext.  I can't--
- That's--
- Clearly I made no impression.
- I hate to say this.
- Say what?
- Maybe it's not respect, but it's--
- It's clearly not respect.
- Fear.  She--or intimidation.
- Fear?  She fears me?
- You--
- I mean, that would be all right, and it's all right to say, and we're being direct, but clearly, John, it's not true.
- It is true.
- John--
- Sophia, she'll listen to you.  What choice will she have?
- You want me to ask her--
- You're the one who wants it
- You don't want it?
- I--
- Do you want her to have it?
- No, it's--I mean--
- Please try to be more eloquent.  Stop stuttering.  Just speak.
- I wouldn't mind her having it but I'm not sure how much contact I could have with it.
- Because you'd be a terrible father?
- Because of you.
- I detect blame.
- No blame.
- I swear I detect blame, John.  I can feel the blame rolling off that.  Rolling off 'Because of you.'
- Am I incorrect?
- It wouldn't be because of me as much as it would be because you fucked a sixteen-year-old when you were married to me.  That's what it would be because of.
- You're right.
- Just keep saying that, John.  Just keep practicing saying 'You're right.'  That's really all you need to know how to say from here on in.
- Fine.  You're right.  I'm wrong.  I'm awful.  Terrible.  I'm a monster.  And you're right.  And you're a saint.  And you should just leave me.  All of it.  All of it is true.  But I can't talk to her, and that's also true.  I can't ask her to kill my child.
- Oh for godsakes, John--
- I can't, Sophia.
- You sound like a bishop.  Like a raving lunatic.  It's barely a lentil at this point.
- I can't ask her to do that.
- So I have to ask her is what you're saying.
- It's not your child, so...
- I'm sort of afraid that you don't see how that sentence is insensitive.
- I--
- What with our situation.  Our previous situation.  My situation.  And the situation we now find ourselves in.
- I--
- I'm worried that it's not just about you cheating, or you needing something, something I didn't have, or that you just like young, fresh skin, John.  I'm worried that you're not just a pedophile or a statutory rapist or whatever else you are, but that, on top of everything else, you're completely unaware of when you're being a hurtful cunt to your wife.
- Men can't be cunts.
- I disagree.  I would venture to say that whoever invented the word 'cunt' and thought it could only be applied to women probably never dreamed up a scenario like this one.
- Sophia--
- And I'm also fairly sure if that person--that man, a man, right?  It would be a man--I'm pretty sure if that man met you, John, he'd happily label you a 'cunt' and not think twice about it.
- You have to do it.
- John--
- No joking this time.  If you say 'No,' it's a 'No,' but if you say 'No,' you do need to know--
- Is this about to be a tale of how I'll be punished if I don't instruct your girlfriend to abort her child?
- It's not a punishment, it's just what will happen.
- That's usually what a punishment is.  The natural progression of a series of screw-ups made by other people insensitive to the feelings of others.
- She'll keep it.  If you don't talk to her and I don't talk to her, she'll keep it, and if she keeps it, and she has it, I won't be able to ignore it.
- But if she--
- I can live with knowing it was never here.  That it never really existed outside of being, you know, what you said--
- A lentil.
- Right.
- Right.
- But if it's born.  If it comes into this world, then...I can't pretend it's not there.  I can't say I won't see it.  I can't say that won't affect me in some way.
- So those are the choices?  Have the talk.  The unbearable talk.  The unspeakably awkward and humiliating talk or...what?  Lose you?
- I wouldn't say--
- You wouldn't.
- You could be--
- What?  The stepmother to the thing that ruined my marriage?
- It's not ruined.
- Not yet.
- Sophia--
- But close.
- Sophia--
- I'll talk to her.
- You--you mean--
- Don't worry.  I'll do it.  I'll talk to her.  She'll, uh, she'll reconsider.
- But if she--
- She will.  Like you said, she's scared of me.  She should be.  I'm a woman clinging to nothing but common sense.  The sharpest weapon of them all.  Somebody said that, I think.  I can't imagine I thought that up on my own.
- I love you.
- Fuck off.
- I--
- Fuck off and I love you, and I can't believe I love you after you've asked me to do this, but I guess I must love you because I am going to do this and that makes me hate myself even more than I hate you. Yes, I'll talk to her.  Yes, she'll reconsider.  She'll be better off for it.  Not because she won't have a child, but because she won't have any connection to you once it's done.  In that way, at least, in some way, this is, this talk--is--it's...sort of...not completely selfish of me.
- Sophia--
- Or you, or--FUCK!
- I--
- Just let me swear and be coarse and unwomanly for a second, all right?
- I--
- Fuck you, you whore-fucking man.
- Okay.
- And I love you.
- Right.
- I'll talk to her.
- Thank you.
- But John?
- Yes.
- It's going to be a long time before...
- Before what?
- Before we talk again.  Like this.  Directly.  Really talk, you know?  It's going to be a very long time.
- I understand.
- Oh John, I don't think you do.  As a matter of fact, I think there's an awful lot you don't understand.
- I...maybe.
- But I guess we'll just have to hope you're teachable, right?  What do you think, John?  Are you teachable?