American Gods (2017–…): Season 1, Episode 7 - A Prayer for Mad Sweeney - full transcript

Her brief reunion with Shadow over far too quickly, Laura turns to an unlikely travel companion to find her way back to life, and back to Shadow. Mad Sweeney's long, winding, and often tragic past is explored.

Pins for the bones.

There's nothing to believe.

Threads for the muscles.

When you die, you rot.

Paint for the skin.

It's just stories, snake oil,

but worse,
because snakes are real.

Give me my fucking coin,
dead wife.

- Was it love?
- I suppose it is now.

I'm gonna reach up
under those ribs,

and I'm gonna pluck that coin
out of you like a berry.



Take us to Kentucky.

I'll tell you
where to find your jinn.

I'll tell you where to find
a whole murder of gods,

demi and otherwise,
every goddamn one of 'em.

Irish Red Ale.

Brewed it just like
the Franciscan monks

in Kilkenny in 1231.

The well water was poison.
This beer saved lives.

It's past six.

I still have the cheek
to do and the lips.

Well, he doesn't show
'til the afternoon.

We need the table. We got two
more coming in the morning.

A woman and a much
younger woman.

No call yet.



They pass within the hour.

- Lover's quarrel?
- Overdose.

We get so few lover's
quarrels these days.

You want help?

Mm-mm. You have
a story to tell.

Do I?

I can see it in your fingers.

It is fine fiction that America

was founded by pilgrims

seeking freedom to
believe as they wished,

that they came to the Americas,

spread and bred and
filled the empty land.

In truth, the American
colonies were as much

a dumping ground as an escape,

a forgetting place.

Lover's quarrel.
Shall I?

I've got it.
Go on.

Ibis and Jacquel.
Mm-hmm. Two females?

In the days when you
could be hanged

in a London prison
for the theft of 12 pennies,

the Americas became
a symbol of clemency.

Transportation, it was called.

For five years, for
10 years, for life,

you were sold to a captain
and would ride his ship

crowded tight as a slaver's.

Off the ship you were sold
as an indentured servant

to the one who would take
the cost of your skin out

in your labor.

But at least you were not
waiting to hang

in an English prison.

And when your years of
indenture were complete,

you were free to make
the best of your new world.

Of the New World.

Essie MacGowan?

I am reminded of the life
of Essie MacGowan.

As a young girl,
she was not a hard worker,

forever slipping off and away

to listen to stories and tales,

tales of the trouping faeries
and the shape-shifting púcas.

Of banshees wailing
in the night,

foretelling a death,

and best of all,
tales of the leprechauns.

You waiting for your Pa's
ship to come in, hmm?

Oh, well, he'll get
back soon enough.

Maybe a merrow in seal-skin's
got caught in his nets

and he's convinced her to give up
her plunder from the shipwrecks.

Ah, plenty of hidden fortune
to be had above the waves, hmm?

See that hill?

A fairy mound.

A door to the
world of the Aos Sí.

And if you're lucky, you might
catch a glimpse of the little folk

as they pass through
at twilight.

They're merry folk,
and full of music.

Oh, except for the leprechauns.

Oh, the leprechauns.

They are so busy
guarding their gold

that they've no time
for anything else at all.

Why do we leave them a gift?

Because we want their
blessings, so we better.

And when she was no
longer a young girl,

curved and billowed like
the swell of the green sea,

it was she who kept alive
the old practice,

and she who told the tales.

We leave a meal for
the fair folk

if we want their blessings.

We don't skimp, neither.

The cream from the milk, the
softest crumb you've got at hand.

For it's favor on one side of the
coin, and wrath on the other.

Ballybogs, no doubt,
they can be reasoned with.

Leprechauns, oh, they're
a different story altogether.

Help you with your
troubles one day,

and bite your eyes out the next.

It's true.
One night,

the kind that chills you
to your inner bones,

I was walking to the lighthouse

to bring me father
some pigeon stew and bread.

And that's when I heard it:

boom!

Boom!

Like a hammer.

"Who goes there?", I ask.

No answer.

I think about turning back,

then my curiosity
gets the better of me.

So I go towards it,

only the closer I get,

the farther away it goes.

Finally, I turned around

and I'd wandered so far
into the moors,

that I can't find me way back.

Three hours, I wandered
in the dark,

and not a thing familiar,

but then I remembered
what me gran told me

about the leprechaun.

So, I swallow my hunger
and I take my bread,

and I put it down
on a mossy stone,

and I lay down
to sleep beside it.

And then you'll
never believe it:

when I woke up,
the bread was gone.

And there was the lighthouse,
the one I'd been looking for.

It was only a spit away.

So you see, the faerie folk
may be small,

don't let that fool ya.

They can make real
trouble unminded.

Intelligence has never been
uncommon among women.

And beauty is had by all of 17.

But Essie possessed
a rare token of ambition.

She had paid close
attention to the tales.

She knew what the moment wanted.

It was all the money
she had in the world.

There were many silks
and lace she coveted,

and she'd never once been full

of white bread or syllabub.

But she knew one does not
ask favors of a leprechaun

without a kindness of gold.

It was first time for neither,

a fact neither felt
worthy of mention,

for this sensation
was new to both.

Gonna forget me, aren't you?

You go off to Oxford,

gonna meet some society lady.

Gonna forget all about me.

It had been a gift from his
grandfather to his grandmother

when they had courted,

and Bartholomew placed
it in her hand

with the promise to marry her
upon his return at Christmas.

But, as Essie warned,

the Fair Folk are a fickle lot.

Me pa told the merrow

that he wouldn't give
her back her seal-skins

until she took him to
the land under the waves,

shows 'em where
she stowed the treasure.

It was easier for
the mistress of the house

to believe Essie capable
of being a thief

than seducing her
son's affections.

"Did you give this
to her freely?"

his mother asked.

The answer required was
implicit in the question.

"You must hang for this,
girl," said the judge.

Perhaps noticing her age
or her eyes, he paused.

"However, as charity
breeds charity,

I offer an alternative."

Essie was sentenced to
seven years transportation.

She was transported on
a ship called the Neptune

under the command of
one Captain Clark.

Headed for the Carolinas

where she would serve
her sentence.

Though hunger gripped
her belly with both hands,

she never neglected
to leave a small crumb

for the leprechauns.

As luck would have it,

Essie conceived an alliance
with the Captain,

and prevailed upon him to
return her with him to London

where no man knew her.

The journey back,
when the human cargo

had been exchanged for tobacco,

was a happy time for
the sea-faring lovers,

who were as
butterflies courting,

in constant contest as to who
could be the most grateful,

each insistent their life
had been saved by the other.

Upon their return to London,
the captain opened his home

to his new bride.

Eight weeks later, the Neptune,

its human cargo, replenished,
readied to set sail again.

The captain swore to carve
the most from the wind

and return to
Essie's hands faster

than any man has ever
crossed an ocean.

Her world branded
Essie MacGowan a thief.

So a thief she became.

"'Tatanka Ska', a white buffalo"

believed sacred by the Lakota,

was born here on the ranch
of Derek Arnold Jr.,

on June 10th, 2008.

Thousands came in
pilgrimage to see it.

Sadly, both Derek and the calf

were killed by
a lightning strike

"a year to the day
after its birth."

What you get for putting
a god in a petting zoo.

Why'd we stop?

I need to pray.

You just prayed!

How many times a day
is this gonna be?

Tell me you don't do
the full load.

I do.

I pray five times a day.

- Oh, God is great.
- I'm having a piss.

You can join if you like.

I can show you.

I'm just watching.

So do you love God?

Or are you in love with God?

Hmm.

I hadn't thought of it that way.

Yes, I suppose it's so.

I do love my God.

Fuck off.

I will eat you.

I'm on my way to Wisconsin,
per the arrangement,

which I have kept my end of.

He doesn't like it?

You tell that
one-eyed gowl...

You tell...

Fuck you.

That's what you tell him.

Talking to the birds?

Christ.

Can a man get a moment
alone with his prick?

I think we should let Salim go.

No, we should fucking not.

We can make our
own way from here.

From here is from nowhere.

I got business
after your business.

Pack up the rug, back in the
car, we got ground to cover.

We're near enough, we
don't need him anymore.

I'm only taking this
detour for you.

You and that coin in your belly

are the only reasons I'm not driving
straight to House On The Rock.

Christ.

Think a girl on the way
to her own resurrection

might be keen on getting
there as soon as possible.

No, no, no!

House On The Rock, Wisconsin.

That's where they're going.

That's where they're
all gonna be.

Why would you do that?

I'm releasing him. You are
released from your bargain.

Fuck off.
Go find your man.

Your God, your jinn.

You are an unpleasant creature.

Hello?

Can I, uh, help you
with something, ma'am?

Yes, I've always wanted
to steal a car.

So I'm gonna steal yours.

Uh, well, it's not mine,
it's my boss's.

Okay, well, then,
I'm stealing his.

I don't know how much
is here, but you take that,

you tell your boss that you were
robbed, which you have been.

My boss is never gonna believe
me if I look like this.

No, you look fine.
You look great.

No, he means without
having a bit of a tussle.

He wants me to punch him.

Whoa, you could kill me.
Can she do it?

Trust me, you don't
want this one hitting you.

Malice draped in pretty
can get away with murder.

Essie MacGowan had no
incline to murder,

but she had long since
stopped thinking theft as sin.

Over the following years, Essie
became an accomplished shoplifter,

her wide skirts capable
of concealing

a multitude of sins.

Though the work was not honest,

she lived by her own labors

and owed thanks to no man.

She saved her thanks
for the creatures

she had been told of as a child

whose influence,
she was certain,

extended as far as London.

Unfortunately, the more
abundant the blessings,

the more we forget to pray.

"You are charged with
returning from transportation

and you are
charged with theft."

Essie was taken to
Newgate Prison

where it was only
a matter of time

until she would face
the gallows.

Don't eat what's in the bowl,

unless you like
shitting yourself dry.

Stick to the bread.

Pretty girl like you
don't belong here.

How do you know
what I look like?

I can hear a voice hadn't
had its fill of screaming.

Well, I most definitely
do not belong here.

I was just at the pub
for a cup of ale.

Good lad. I was even
gonna pay for it,

when some flange
cuts in front of me

like fucking
King fucking George.

So I give him a good chock,
just a warning.

And he topples head first
into a broken bottle.

Lost the eye, they tell me.

Plenty of flanges do
well with just one.

What of you, Miss,
you take an eye?

Lace.

Not too dear.

Reason to hope on
transportation, then.

I'm past that hope.

I had my opportunity.

Doesn't seem right,
just giving you the one.

Well, the world don't
operate on right.

That it doesn't.

To hell with them
and their gallows.

Give them a good, long
piss as you dangle.

Make a mess for
them to mop after.

So long as you don't go easy.

So, you sailed the boat
prior, then?

Made it far as Carolina.

Musha! The Americas!

How was it?

I don't know, didn't stay
long enough to see much

before heading back to London.

I didn't give it a chance.

Shame. I hear
there's chances there.

You could try a bribe.

Warden would free his own heart
from his chest for a bit of gold.

Just ran out.

Would I could give you
some of mine.

You've got gold?

Had. Quite a bit.

Held it in keeping.

Drank my share but delivered the
balance on time where it was meant.

To who?

The King.

We're in prison, love.

All we have to do is tell tales.

You've told your share, I wager.

I met an Indian woman there.

In the Americas.

She had an apple cart.

Sold pound cakes in the morning.

Skin like a brick.

I asked her name
and she said, "Susan."

A woman like her called "Susan"?

I said, "What name
were you born to?"

And she just said,
"I'm Susan now."

In the Americas, anyone can
be anything they insist upon.

New name, new life.

That's a place a body
could be happy.

What the fuck is happy?

Fucked if I know.

I think I knew when
I was a little girl.

Sitting on the shingle waiting for
me father's boat to return from sea.

Now I'd be content
to be content.

A home, a tree.

Someone kind enough to be by me.

Not too kind.

I've been living on my boots
and out of my pockets

long since I can remember.

You could get lucky.

You'd do all right there.

The fuck would I do
in the Americas?

Deliver gold to their king.

They don't have a king.

Not yet.

Everyone needs a king.

Is it this cold
in here every night?

The condemned never know
when the hangman

has coiled his noose.

I, uh...

I got this food myself,
from the kitchen.

Fresh bread, fresh fruit.

Meat pie.

Such a shame, to let you go
to waste at the gallows. Hmm.

The Warden of Newgate then
made three factual statements:

that it would be a good 12 weeks
before her case would be heard,

that she was, to his mind,
a very pretty thing,

and that there was a way
that she might, luck smiling,

escape the gallows yet.

Ah!

Ah! Ugh!

When her turn came, Essie
shocked no one

by pleading her belly.

The town matrons who
assessed such claims,

which were usually spurious,
were surprised

when they were forced to agree

Essie was indeed with child.

Her sentence of death
was once more commuted

to transportation,
this time for life.

In her days ever after,
she would have nightmares

of her time in that hold.

The Sea-Maiden landed
at Norfolk in Virginia,

and Essie's indenture was
bought by a tobacco farmer

named John Richardson,
for his wife had died

of fever a week
after giving birth

to his daughter,

and he had need of
a wet nurse and a maid

of all work upon
his small holding.

And along with her milk,
the children as they grew,

drank Essie's tales.

Quit it, you fucking baby.

We're not all hanger steaks.

Have at it.

Seeing as how my stomach
is sewn shut

and not connected
to the organs of digestion,

I think I will pass.

You'll be eating again
soon enough.

If your resurrection guy
can do it.

Can and will, for a favor.

Not for gold.

How much gold do you have?

How much is in a hoard?

What the fuck is a hoard?

Why do you have one?

I was a king, once.

Okay.

I was.

Then they made me a bird.

Then Mother Church came along
and turned us all into saints,

and trolls, and faeries.

General Mills did the rest.

So what's the appeal?

What's Wednesday selling
at this god-fest

that you've got to get a ticket?

War.

I went to war once.

Or was meant to.

Long time back.

On the eve of battle
I looked into the fire...

and I saw my death,
sure as Sunday.

I saw.

I knew I would die that day
if I stayed.

Put on my boots,

and dropped my sword,

and I flew.

I owe a battle.

You're following Wednesday so
that you can fight in his war

and die, and for that,
you run his errands?

I done worse than that.

Dying worked for me.

Everyone should try it
at least once.

Seems like you've walked the
earth a couple hundred years

in those boots already, so,
you're due.

The night of Samhain,
the spirits

can spill freely into our world,

but if you wear a
disguise, like that,

then they'll take you
for one of their own.

Horsies coming!

Yes, your daddy's home.

But we have to pay
special mind of who?

The lep...?

Prechaun.

Leprechaun, that's right.

So we just leave a small
ration from our harvest.

'Cause if they so choose,

they can lead you off the path
you've trod a thousand times before.

She told them all these things
and they believed because

she believed.

Sorry.

I just finished up, sir.

Well, goodnight,
Master Richardson.

Wait.

Master Richardson.

I never realized...

that you took me for...

Essie told him how
shocked and hurt she was,

a poor widow woman to be
asked to prostitute herself

for a man whom she
had so much respect for.

An indentured servant
could not marry,

so how could he think to torment

an ill-starred
transportee girl,

she could not fathom.

A poor transportee girl
who's got feelings for you.

Feelings that you
can't possibly return.

Essie...

John Richardson found himself
going down on one knee

and proposing an end
to her indenture.

Until he had taken
her hand in marriage,

Essie did not so much
as kiss Master Richardson.

But when he did, she did,

and from that day on,
she called him John.

They called their son the same.

When the children went off to
school to learn their letters,

Essie made sure
they each of them

carried a little salt
in one pocket,

a little bread in the other,

to make sure they came
safely home once more.

They always did.

John Richardson loved
her kindly.

They had been married a decade
when Essie swore she heard

a banshee keen in the night.

A week later,
the fever carried him off.

There were good days
and there were bad

in the usual balance,
but there were many.

The farm flourished under the
eye of the Widow Richardson,

as she was ever after known,
when not "Mum",

or, in time, "Gran".

Oh, thank you, my dear.

Of course, you must never
fall asleep by a stream.

No, for the alp-luachra
might crawl into your mouth

and make his home in your belly.

For that joint-eater will take
the good out of your supper

so no matter how much you eat,

after, you'll never
be full up, never.

Never.
Never.

Never.

Oh, oh.

Mother, that's enough.

There seemed no room
for the spirits of old

in Virginia, so Essie
no longer told her tales.

She kept them in her heart,

where they warmed her
like her father's stew

on a chill night in
Bantry Bay a lifetime ago.

Essie MacGowan?

Ugh... uh.

Ah!

Oh!

Tell him.

Tell him it's done.

Créd as co tarlaid
an cac-sa dam?

Nach lór rofhulangas?

Is lór chena, níam olc!

Níam!

Fuck!

Oh, f...

Fuck.

Don't look.

Ugh!

Come on.

Move it.

Essie MacGowan?

Do I know you?

You might say that you know me.

Oh, you're an Irishman.

That I am.

- A man of the mounds.
- Oh.

Or rather, that I was.

But now I'm here,
in this new world,

where nobody puts out ale or
milk for an honest fellow.

Or a loaf of bread
come harvest time.

If you are who I think you are,

I have no quarrel with you.

Nor I with you.

Although it was you
that brought me here,

you and a few others like you.

Into this land with
no time for magic,

no place for faeries
and such folk.

I... you have done me
many a good turn.

Good and ill.

We're like the wind,
we blows both ways.

Aye.

Oh...

Will you take my hand,
Essie MacGowan?

She was still warm when
they found her,

although the life had
fled her body

and only half the
apples were peeled.