brought to you by The Val Lewton Screenplay Collection
I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE
Original Screen Play
By
Curt Siodmak and Ardel Wray
Based on Scientific Information from Articles
By
Inez Wallace
The RKO trademark FADES OUT, to reveal a road lined with palm
trees, spectrally long and straight like a vista in a Dali
painting. Along this road and from a far distance two tiny
figures advance toward the camera. Over this scene the TITLE
and CREDITS are SUPERIMPOSED. The two figures continue to
advance, growing more discernible all the time.
As the credits FADE, the two human figures advancing along
the road are more clearly discernible. Although they are not
close enough to distinguish their faces, it can be seen that
one of them is an enormously tall, cadaverous negro, clothed
only by ragged, tight-fitting trousers and that the other is
nurse, dressed in crisp white uniform and cap, with a dark
cloak over her shoulders.
BETSY
(narrating)
I walked with a zombie.
(laughs a little, self
consciously)
It does seem an odd thing to say.
Had anyone said that to me a year
ago, I'm not at all sure I would
have known what a Zombie was. I
might have had some notion -- that
they were strange and frightening,
and perhaps a little funny. But I
have walked with a Zombie
As she speaks, the two figures advancing on the road come
closer.
BETSY'S VOICE
(narrating)
It all began in such an ordinary
way --
As she says this the long road and the advancing figures
DISSOLVE
EXT. HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT - OTTAWA - DAY - (STOCK)
The Houses of Parliament seen through falling snow. In the
f.g. horse-drawn sleighs are passing.
BETSY'S VOICE
(narrating)
I'd just finished working on a case
in Ottawa...a little boy who'd
broken both legs. It was one of
those cases with traction frames
and constant care, nicely
complicate with a pair of
hysterical parents. When he was
all well I had to find another job.
That's a nurse's life for you. I
went to the Registry.
EXT. CORNER OF A BUILDING - DAY - (SNOW)
At about the level of the second and third floors is one of
those half-curved, elliptical signboards which lap around the
corners of old-fashioned office buildings. The CAMERA PANS
DOWN this sign, from one firm name to another, stopping at
the last name listed:
PARRISH AND BURDEN SUGAR CO., LTD.
BETSY'S VOICE
(narrating)
They gave me an address in the
business district. I went there.
INT. OFFICE -- DAY
An office on the first floor, with a window opening into a
courtyard. Through this window snow can be seen falling.
CLOSE SHOT of Mr. Richard Brindsley Wilkens, V.C. He is a
small, sharp-featured, precise little man with pincenez
glasses, dressed in a dark business suit. One of the coat
sleeves is empty. The explanation for the missing arm can be
found in his coat lapel: the ribbon of the Victoria Cross.
His age indicates that he won it in the last war. He has a
tablet in front of him and as he speaks, marks down the
answers to his questions.
WILKENS
You're single?
BETSY
Yes.
WILKENS
Where were you trained?
BETSY
At the Memorial Hospital -- here in
Ottawa.
Wilkens writes this down and then returns the pen to its desk
holder. He picks up a typewritten page from the blotter, and
stares at it.
WILKENS
(fiddling with the paper
unhappily)
This last question's a little
irregular, Miss Connell. I don't
quite know how to put it.
Wilkens straightens himself determinedly and puts down the
paper.
WILKENS (cont'd)
Do you believe in witchcraft?
Betsy bursts into laughter and we go to our first sight of
her. She is young, bright, alert and looks extremely
attractive in her blue nurse's cape and round fur cape.
BETSY
(finally putting the leash
on her laughter)
They didn't teach it at Memorial
Hospital. I had my suspicions,
though, about the Directress of
Training.
WILKENS
(permitting himself a dry
little smile)
Very well. That means that you
have met all Mr. Holland's
requirements. Now, as to salary --
it's quite good -- two hundred
dollars a month.
BETSY
(pleased)
That is good. But I'd like to know
more about the case.
WILKENS
I'm afraid I'm not able to tell you
much. Only that the patient is a young
woman -- the wife of a Mr. Paul
Holland with whom we do
considerable business.
BETSY
That will mean another interview,
won't it?
WILKENS
No, this is quite final. You see,
Mr. Holland is a sugar planter. He
lives in St. Sebastian Island in
the West Indies.
BETSY
The West Indies?
WILKENS
(he's been expecting this)
A year's contract -- a trip with
all expenses paid -- that's not so
bad, you know.
BETSY
But it's so far away...
WILKENS
That's rather nice, isn't it?
Wilkens glancing at the snow falling outside the windows.
WILKENS (cont'd)
(a little wistfully)
Sit under a palm tree -- go
swimming -- take sun baths. Just
like a holiday...
BETSY
Palm trees --
FADE OUT
FADE IN
MONTAGE OF SHIPS
A great Canadian luxury liner, a boat like the Empress of
Canada, proceeds across the screen from left to right.
Another ship, a smaller passenger steamer, going in the same
direction, takes her place as she DISSOLVES OFF; then a
freighter, and finally a small white-hulled trading schooner
comes onto the screen.
BETSY'S VOICE
(narrating)
Boats grow smaller to reach out-of
the-way ports. Judging by the
boats that took me to St. Sebastian
-- it's far away and hard to get
to. First, there was the great
liner to Havana -- then a smaller
steamer to Port au Prince -- a
freighter to Gonave -- and from
Gonave, one of the little island
trading schooners that carry sugar
and sisal, sponges and salt all
over the Caribbean.
DISSOLVE
A SAIL -- NIGHT
A gaff-headed sail against a night sky of stars. The boat
carrying the sail is evidently in a rolling sea. The sail
moves in rhythmic undulance against the sky. We hear the
chug-chug of a one-cylinder Diesel.
EXT. SCHOONER -- WHEEL -- NIGHT
Two men stand by the wheel of the schooner, their faces lit
by the light from the binnacle. Behind them the wake of the
boat creams out, white and phosphorescent. One of the men is
obviously the skipper of the boat, dressed in sloppy white
ducks, unshaven and with an officer's battered cap on his
head. The other is a slim, tall man dressed in flannel
slacks and a light tweed coat.
BETSY'S VOICE
(narrating)
The man for whom I'd come to work --
Mr. Holland -- boarded the schooner
at Gonave. He was pointed out to
me, and he must have known who I
was -- yet he never spoke to me.
He seemed quiet and aloof.
Sometimes I wondered how we'd get
on -- but there wasn't really time
for to think about it -- there was
so much to see. I loved the trip.
EXT. SCHOONER -- OPEN GALLEY ON DECK -- NIGHT
Near the mainmast is a large box filled with sand and on this
sand a charcoal fire has been laid. A negro, dressed in
dungarees, is cooking a large piece of meat. Other negroes
lounge on deck, their black faces fire-lit.
They are singing, and their singing is attuned to the rhythm
of the chugging motor.
EXT. OCEAN -- NIGHT -- (STOCK)
The wake of the schooner.
EXT. OCEAN -- FLYING FISH -- NIGHT -- (STOCK)
Flying fish, like shooting stars, dart across dark waters.
EXT. STAR-FILLED SKY -- NIGHT -- (STOCK)
The stars seem very close and there is always movement in the
sky, as if it were alive -- falling stars and comets, lively
as the flying fish.
EXT. DECK OF SCHOONER -- NIGHT
Betsy is seated on the cabin top just abaft of the foremast.
She is looking out toward the sea and her expression is
ecstatic. She is completely lost in the beauty that she
feels, sees and smells.
BETSY'S VOICE
I smelled the spicy smells coming
from the islands -- I looked at those
great glowing stars -- and I felt the
warm wind on my cheeks and I breathed
deep and every bit of me inside
myself said, "How beautiful --"
The CAMERA DRAWS BACK to SHOW a tall, masculine figure
leaning against the foremast, behind Betsy. This is Paul
Holland. As we see him, we hear his voice.
HOLLAND
It is not beautiful.
BETSY
(surprised but smiling)
You read my thoughts, Mr. Holland.
HOLLAND
It's easy enough to read the
thoughts of a newcomer. Everything
seems beautiful because you don't
understand. Those flying fish --
they are not leaping for joy.
They're jumping in terror. Bigger
fish want to eat them.
That luminous water -- it takes its
gleam from millions of tiny dead
bodies. It's the glitter of
putrescence. There's no beauty
here -- it's death and decay.
BETSY
You can't really believe that.
A star falls. They both follow its flight with their eyes.
HOLLAND
(pointing to it)
Everything good dies here -- even
the stars.
He leaves his position by the mast and walks aft.
The group of negroes at the mainmast. They have stopped
singing and they sit about the charcoal brazier. They are
eating, tearing at the meat with cruel, greedy, animal
gestures. Holland walks past them on his way aft.
Betsy is puzzled and a little alarmed by Holland's strange
utterances and his queer behavior. Over this shot of Betsy
looking off at him, we hear her as narrator.
BETSY
(narrating)
It was strange to have him break in
on my thoughts that way. There was
cruelty and hardness in his voice.
Yet -- something about him I liked --
something clean and honest -- but
hurt -- badly hurt.
FADE OUT
FADE IN
EXT. VILLAGE OF ST. SEBASTIAN -- DAY
St. Sebastian is a drab little West Indian village. The
shacks and houses of wood, lath and plaster seem to be
falling apart. Over the doorway of one of the buildings --
evidently an administrative office -- hangs an American flag,
indicating the government of the island. The hard-packed
dirt in the roadway is overgrown with weeds. Everywhere, and
moving indolently, are the little, badly nourished negroes,
some of them tending stalls and sidewalk vending booths,
others walking idly. Betsy, followed by a black sailor with
her suitcases, comes down the gangway. Parallel to this
gangway is another.
Up the second gangway, in file, black stevedores with bundles
of sugar cane and small bales of sisal hemp on their heads,
go up to the boat.
On the dock, Betsy makes her way through a group of clamorous
children, vendors and beggars. As the black sailor puts her
luggage into an umbrella-topped surrey drawn by a gaunt mule,
she stops, delighted, before a great basket filled with
enormous white flowers. The man seated beside the basket
seems to be asleep, his face hidden by the drooping brim of a
straw hat. Betsy picks up one of the blooms, smells it and
then looks at the vendor.
BETSY
How much is this?
The vendor wakens and lifts his head, revealing a face
bloated and scarified by yaws, a hideous nightmare face.
Betsy, startled, steps back, letting the flower drop. Paul
Holland, passing her, looks at this little tableau of horror
and disgust.
HOLLAND
(in passing)
You're beginning to learn.
Betsy looks after him as he walks away into the village.
DISSOLVE
EXT. ROAD TO FORT HOLLAND -- DAY -- (PROCESS)
An umbrella-topped surrey, drawn by a gaunt mule and piloted
by an old coachman in dirty white singlet, a top hat with a
cockade on his graying hair, is making its way along a dusty
road between fields of sugar cane. In the distance, the sea
is visible and above it the great billowing white clouds of
the Caribbean. Betsy, seated on the back seat of the
carriage, is bending forward to listen to the old man.
COACHMAN
Times gone, Fort Holland was a
fort...now, no longer. The
Holland's are a most old family,
miss. They brought the colored
people to the island-- the colored
folks and Ti-Misery.
BETSY
Ti-Misery? What's that?
COACHMAN
A man, miss -- an old man who lives
in the garden at Fort Holland -
with arrows stuck in him and a
sorrowful, weeping look on his
black face.
BETSY
(incredulous)
Alive?
COACHMAN
(laughing, softly)
No, miss. He's just as he was in
the beginning -- on the front part
of an enormous boat.
BETSY
(understanding and amused)
You mean a figurehead.
COACHMAN
(warming up to his
orating)
If you say, miss. And the enormous
boat brought the long-ago Fathers
and the long-ago Mothers of us all
- chained down to the deep side
floor.
BETSY
(looking at the endless
fields and the richly
clouded blue sky)
But they came to a beautiful place,
didn't they?
COACHMAN
(smiling and nodding as
one who accepts a
personal compliment)
If you say, miss. If you say.
DISSOLVE
EXT. FORT HOLLAND -- DAY
The jugheaded mule slowly pulls the carriage into the scene.
This beast comes to a somnolent stop without the coachman so
much as touching the reins. As the man climbs down and
starts to take the luggage out of the carriage, Betsy looks
through the wrought-iron gate into the garden.
Fort Holland is a one-story house built around the garden,
with low covered porches to give shade and breezeway. At the
open end of the U is a great gate much like the wrought-iron
gates of New Orleans. Through this Betsy can see the garden
and its profusion of verdure: azalea, bougainvillea, roses --
much like California planting; no exotic orchids or man
eating Venus Jugs -- just ordinary, pretty, semi-tropic
flowers and shrubs.
The separate rooms are open to the garden, but have jalousies
of thin wood to give privacy when needed. At one corner
stands a big, stone tower, obviously a relic of some previous
building. The walls of the house have been built right up to
and around the tower so that it has become part of the
building itself. On the garden side of the tower is the
fountain. The most outstanding feature of this spring or
fountain, which flows from a crevice in the stones of the
tower, is that instead of falling directly into the cistern
it falls first onto the shoulders of the enormous teakwood
figurehead of St. Sebastian. From the shoulders of the saint
it drips down in two runnels over his breast. The wooden
breast of the statue is pierced with six long iron arrows.
The face is weathered and black. Only a few bits of white
paint still cling to the halo above his head. Betsy and the
coachman come up to the grillwork of the gate. Betsy looks
around the garden, while the old coachman reaches up and
pulls a bell rope suspended from the gate. As the bell
begins to ring, he pushes the gate open. Betsy walks
through.
INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT
This is a small but lovely room with white plastered walls.
As in the rest of the house, the furniture is not the usual
tropical porch furniture, but is neat, serviceable
furnishings such as an well-to-do family established for a
long time in any given place would acquire. There is a nice
four-poster bed with pineapple carving, a dressing table with
a little Chippendale chair before it, and a maple rocker so
old it has turned a hard, brown color that softly reflects
the highlights in the room. On the wall is a little mirror
in a carved Spanish frame. There are no pictures or other
ornaments. A woven grass rug lies on the floor. Betsy is
seated before the dressing table, putting the last touches to
her hair. She has changed her clothes and is wearing a
simple, linen dress. There is a discreet rap on the
jalousied door which separates the room from the garden.
Betsy crosses the room and opens the door. A colored man in
a butler's white jacket stands there. This is Clement.
CLEMENT
Miss Connell -- it's dinner.
BETSY
Thank you, Clement.
He stands aside and lets her step through, goes ahead of her
and precedes her down the garden path.
EXT. GARDEN AT FORT HOLLAND -- NIGHT
Betsy and Clement pass the fountain. The figure of St.
Sebastian gleams wetly in the rays of the candlelight. On
the covered porch in front of the living room, a dinner
service has been set out on a long mahogany table. As she
comes forward, Betsy sees a handsome young man waiting for
her. This is Wesley Rand. The table by which he stands is
set for two and lit by candelabra in great glass hurricane
lamps. The table is laid with white linen, and the
candlelight gleams on silver and cut-glass arranged in the
most formal manner. The table itself is a beautiful mahogany
structure with elaborate carving, and the four chairs which
surround it are massive Victorian pieces. A fifth chair
stands by the wall. Rand steps down into the garden and
extends his hand to Betsy.
RAND
Miss Connell -- I'm Wesley Rand.
Paul asked me to introduce myself.
They shake hands and he takes her elbow to guide her to the
table.
RAND (CONT'D)
(as they walk)
It seems we are having dinner by
ourselves, Miss Connell. But I may
as well introduce everyone to you,
anyway.
(points to the chair at
the head of the table)
There -- in the master's chair,
sits the master -- my half-brother
Paul Holland. But you've already
met him.
BETSY
Yes -- on the boat.
RAND
And that chair --
(indicates the chair drawn
back against the wall)
is the particular property of Mrs.
Rand -- mother to both of us and
much too good for either of us.
Too wise, in fact, to live under
the same roof. She prefers the
village dispensary.
BETSY
(interested and a little
surprised)
Is she a doctor?
RAND
No -- she just runs the place.
She's everything else -- amazing
woman, mother. You'll like her.
BETSY
I like her already.
RAND
And that --
(points to another chair)
is my chair. And this --
(draws back a chair for
Betsy)
is Miss Connell -- who is
beautiful.
BETSY
Thank you. But who sits there?
(indicating a chair at her
left)
RAND
My brother's wife.
There is a little pause. Rand stands for a very brief
moment, looking at the empty chair and then, almost as if
pulling himself together, takes hold of his own chair and
moves it down the table nearer to Betsy.
RAND (cont'd)
(as he moves the chair)
Here, here, this isn't at all cozy --
it makes me seem aloof and I'm
anything but that.
They smile at each other. Betsy looks around the table and
out toward the garden.
FROM BETSY'S VIEWPOINT, as we see the garden. The CAMERA
PANS AROUND to show one aspect of its beauty after another
and finally COMES TO REST ON a lighted window. On the
shutters can be seen the shadow of a man seated at a desk,
obviously working.
BETSY'S VOICE
(over pan)
We had a lovely dinner. Somehow as
we sat there, I couldn't help
thinking of all the stories I had
read in the magazines, stories in
which people had dinner on a
terrace with moonlight flooding a
tropical garden. It seemed a
little unreal. -- Then we had
coffee.
EXT. THE PORCH -- NIGHT
Betsy and Rand are seated in easy chairs with a small coffee
table before them. On it are a coffee urn, a bottle of
brandy, cups and glasses. Behind them is the lighted window
where we have seen the shadow of Paul Holland. From this
angle the shadow can no longer be seen. As if part of a
general conversation that has been going on for some time.
BETSY
-- But, you're an American?
RAND
I went to school in Buffalo. Paul
went to school in England.
BETSY
I wondered about your different
accents. I'm still wondering about
your names -- Rand and Holland.
RAND
(making mockery of his own
explanation)
We're half-brothers. Paul is
mother's first child. When his
father died, she married my father.
Dr. Rand, the missionary. And you
know what they say about
missionaries' children.
Far off somewhere a drum begins to beat, slowly and sullenly.
Betsy turns in the direction of the sound. Rand watches her,
grinning.
RAND (CONT'D)
(mocking her interest)
The jungle drums -- mysterious -
eerie.
Betsy turns back to him and smiles.
RAND (cont'd)
That's a work drum at the sugar
mill. St. Sebastian's version of
the factory whistle.
He finishes the little bit of liquor left in his brandy glass
and gets up.
RAND (CONT'D)
As a matter of fact, it means the
sugar syrup is ready to be poured
off. You'll have to excuse me.
BETSY
Of course. It's been nice of you
to spend this much time with me.
Rand picks up the brandy bottle.
RAND
(pouring himself a drink)
Don't worry. I wasn't missed. The
only important man here is the
owner.
BETSY
Mr. Holland?
RAND
Yes, the redoubtable Paul. He has
the plantation, and I, as you must
have noticed, have all the charm.
BETSY
I don't know. He spoke to me last
night on the boat. I liked him very
much.
RAND
(pouring another drink)
Ah, yes, our Paul, strong and
silent and very sad -- quite the
Byronic character. Perhaps I ought
to cultivate it.
The drum sounds again.
BETSY
(smiling and pointing off)
Perhaps you ought to get on to the
mill.
RAND
(leisurely sips at his
drink)
It'll wait.
The work drum sounds for the third time. Rand who has
finished his drink, reaches for the bottle again. At this
moment the jalousies behind them open and Holland comes out.
Rand puts down the bottle and straightens up. Holland stands
watching him.
RAND (CONT'D)
(to Holland)
I was just going to the mill.
(nods to Betsy)
Good night, Miss Connell.
Betsy nods and smiles to him. Rand starts toward the gate.
HOLLAND
(still watching Rand)
Have the servants made you
comfortable?
BETSY
Yes, thank you.
Clement comes from the house carrying a large, silver tray
covered with a napkin. He comes up to Holland and holds the
tray before him, lifting the corner of the napkin to present
the food under it for inspection.
HOLLAND
(looking at the food)
It seems very nice, Clement. I'll
take it to Mrs. Holland.
He starts to take the tray. Betsy rising, also reaches for
it.
BETSY
Can't I take it for you?
HOLLAND
(taking tray)
No, thank you. Tomorrow's time
enough for you to begin work.
He goes off with the tray. Betsy picks up a coffee cup.
LONG SHOT of tower. Holland enters the tower and closes the
door behind him.
DISSOLVE
INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT
Betsy, dressed in a trim negligee and slippers, is getting
ready for the night. She plumps up the cushion, tests the
softness of the mattress and then, yawning, turns out the
Aladdin kerosene lamp which lights the room. Level rays of
moonlight filter through the rattan blinds into the room.
Betsy crosses the room and peers out through the rattan
strips into the garden.
EXT. THE GARDEN -- NIGHT
AS BETSY SEES IT. Lights are on in the living room. This
light, barred and diffused by the strip-blinds, softly
illuminates the garden. The black shadows of trees and
shrubbery loom over the paths. Through these shadows a
woman, dressed in filmy white, walks stiffly, her arms
hanging immobile, close to her slim body. She is blonde and
as far as the light will reveal, she seems beautiful. She
makes the circuit of the garden, pacing slowly along the
paths. Betsy watches her. Then, from the living room, a
man's voice calls out to her.
HOLLAND'S VOICE
Jessica.
The woman at once turns toward the living room, mounts the
porch and enters through a door held open for her.
INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT
Betsy turns back into the room. She has crossed over to the
bed and is removing her negligee when the sound of hesitant
notes on the piano attract her attention. In her nightgown
she goes back to the window and peers through the cracks
between the laths.
INT. A CORNER OF THE LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT
From where she stands, Betsy can see the big, square,
rosewood piano. A lamp had been lit beside it and the light
from this lamp falls on the blonde hair and gleaming
shoulders of the woman who had walked in the garden. Her
face cannot be seen. Her fingers move strangely over the
keyboard, now and again striking a hesitant note, but making
no music, only an occasional dissonance.
INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT
Betsy, still watching through the slit in the jalousie,
endeavors to get a better view of the living room. She
changes her position and looks out again through the blinds.
INT. ANOTHER CORNER OF THE LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT
As seen from Betsy's NEW ANGLE. Paul Holland is seated in a
low armchair. His eyes are fixed on the woman at the piano.
She continues to strike odd notes on the piano.
INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT
Betsy leaves the window, crosses to the bed and lies down.
Then, sighing, she makes herself comfortable on the pillow,
settling herself for sleep. Outside the nightjars whistle
softly, the cicadas twitter and the Hammer tree frogs make
drowsy, somnolent little croaks: it is a tropic lullaby of
bird, batrachian and insect sound. The faint, groping notes
on the piano continue.
DISSOLVE
EXT. THE FIGURE OF ST. SEBASTIAN -- NIGHT -- (MOONLIGHT)
In the moonlight, the pin-cushioned figure of St. Sebastian
broods over the dark water in the cistern. Above the
constant sound of the water flowing over the saint's
shoulders can be heard the sound of a woman crying,
mournfully and as if from deep-seated sadness.
INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT
Betsy is asleep. The sound of the woman's weeping is
persistent in the room. Finally, it has its effect. The
young nurse stirs restlessly, then wakes. She listens, gets
up, then listens again.
EXT. THE TOWER DOOR -- NIGHT -- (MOONLIGHT)
INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT
It is obvious to her this piteous keening comes from the
direction of the tower. It is in this direction she had seen
Holland carry the tray of food to her patient. She pulls on
her slippers and negligee and leaves the room.
EXT. THE FIGURE OF ST. SEBASTIAN -- NIGHT
Betsy crosses in front of the fountain and goes to the small
postern door of heavy, iron-bound oaks which leads into the
ruin. The sound of weeping continues. She tries the door.
It opens and she goes in, leaving it open behind her.
INT. THE GROUND FLOOR OF THE TOWER -- NIGHT
Betsy comes hesitantly in and looks around her. She can
still hear the sound of a woman's crying. It seems to come
from above her. A circling flight of shallow stone steps
lead upward into the dark. To one side of them, but almost
hidden from her in the darkness, is another door leading back
into the house. She hesitates a moment and then, slowly,
begins to climb the stairs.
INT. TOWER -- SECOND FLOOR -- NIGHT
Betsy comes up to the level of the second floor. It is in
pitch blackness. High above her is a narrow slit through
which a single shaft of white moonlight drives sharply into
the well-like darkness of the room. Very slowly, almost as
if feeling her way on the stone floor with her slippered
feet, she crosses the room. Then, one hand groping along the
rough, stone wall, she begins to circle the room, searching
for some doorway, or an ascending flight of stairs.
Above her in the massive rafters of the tower, bats stir and
squeak. One bat, dropping from his perch, sweeps past her
with a rushing of air against the taut membranes of his
wings, then flies laboriously up and out through the narrow
slit high in the wall. Betsy stands stock still, frightened.
Then she resumes her groping progress. A rat squeals and
slithers across the floor. Again she stops. Then, more as a
request for guidance than as a cry for help, she calls out
softly.
BETSY
(calling)
Mrs. Holland! Mrs. Holland!
There is no answer. She gropes forward a few more steps,
then stops again and again calls, a little louder now.
BETSY (CONT'D)
(calling)
Mrs. Holland?
INT. FIRST FLOOR OF THE TOWER -- NIGHT
A white-robed female figure comes out from under the stairs,
walking slowly, her movements drift-like as if walking in
deep sleep. She begins slowly to climb the stairs.
INT. TOWER -- SECOND FLOOR -- NIGHT
Betsy is still groping her way around the circling walls of
the tower. The shaft of moonlight strikes down between her
and the stairs. Through it she sees the drifting, diaphanous
whiteness of the other woman as she comes up from the dark
stairwell.
BETSY
Mrs. Holland?
There is no answer. The other woman continues to walk toward
her.
BETSY (cont'd)
(embarrassed; trying to
explain)
Mrs. Holland -- I didn't mean to
get you up --
The white woman keeps walking toward her with the same
entrance tread. Betsy takes a step forward to meet her. The
two women come together in such a way that the white-clad
woman stops directly in the shaft of moonlight.
CLOSEUP of Jessica. This is the face of the dead; bloodless,
cold-lidded, eyes open and unseeing, washed white with the
pallor of the moonlight, framed in lank, lifeless tresses of
blonde hair.
BETSY (cont'd)
(a frightened questioning
whisper over the closeup)
Mrs. Holland -- ?
Without expression, Jessica moves toward her.
MED. CLOSE SHOT -- Jessica and Betsy. Jessica comes toward
Betsy, who takes a step back. They are out of the moonlight
now, but the pale face of the woman seems to glow in the
darkness. She keeps advancing toward Betsy. Betsy screams --
shrill and piercing.
INT. THE RAFTERS OF THE TOWER -- NIGHT
Betsy's cry echoes back and forth between the stone walls of
the tower. The bats hanging from the rafters are roused and
begin to fly, squeaking and mewling.
INT. TOWER -- SECOND FLOOR -- NIGHT
The flight of bats wheels and banks around the figures of the
two women. Betsy screams wordlessly and the shrill, piercing
sound of her outcry lances back at her from the echoing
walls.
CLOSEUP of Betsy. Desperately frightened, her face agonized,
she screams again, pressing her loosely clenched fists
against the sides of her mouth.
INT. SLIT IN WALL OF TOWER -- NIGHT
Single file, the bats sweep out one by one through the
loophole high up in the wall of the tower. Betsy's scream
continues to echo.
INT. TOWER -- SECOND FLOOR -- NIGHT
Jessica still continues to walk toward Betsy. Betsy retreats
from her, backs onto the stone stairs leading to the slit in
the wall. She orients herself quickly; starts to back up
this narrow flight of steps.
INT. TOWER STAIRWELL -- NIGHT
Holland running up the steps of the tower. He is pulling a
light bathrobe over his pajamas and carrying a flashlight in
his hand. Behind him come Clement and a pretty, little negro
maid, Alma. Clement has dressed hurriedly. He is
barefooted; has on his trousers and a shirt, which is not
tucked in at the waistband. Alma, also barefooted, has on a
thick, white cotton nightgown, a little bit too big for her.
Clement carries a lighted kerosene lamp in his hand.
INT. SECOND FLOOR -- TOWER -- NIGHT
Holland, Clement and Alma come up the stairs. Clement's
lantern, held high, illuminates the room, disclosing Jessica
still walking and Betsy cowering away from her.
HOLLAND
Jessica!
The woman stops and turns slowly toward him. He speaks
hurriedly to Alma.
HOLLAND (CONT'D)
Take Mrs. Holland to her room.
ALMA
(taking Jessica's arm)
Come, Miss Jessica, come with Alma.
BETSY
(attempting to get a grip
on herself. Terribly
ashamed)
I heard someone crying -- a woman --
HOLLAND
A woman crying? No one's been
crying here.
CLEMENT
Mr. Paul -- yes, there was crying
tonight. It was Alma. Her sister
was brought a'birthing.
HOLLAND
(with a slight smile)
Thank you, Clement.
He takes Betsy's elbow and starts toward the stairs.
INT. FIRST FLOOR OF THE TOWER -- NIGHT
Clement precedes Betsy and Holland down the stairs, holding
the lantern high to give them light. At the foot of the
stairs he steps aside, standing near the door of Jessica's
bedroom. Betsy and Holland go outside to the garden.
Clement is about to follow them when the door to Jessica's
bedroom opens a few inches. Alma puts her head out
cautiously.
ALMA
(whispering)
Clement...
Clement goes over to her.
ALMA (cont'd)
I'm going to stay with Miss Jessica
-- in case the new Miss takes to
roaming again.
CLEMENT
(in a low voice
reprovingly)
Don't you go crying anymore --
that's what frightened Miss Betsy.
ALMA
Well, she didn't soothe me any --
hollering around in the tower!
CLEMENT
Shhh!
EXT. FOUNTAIN -- NIGHT
Holland and Betsy come out of the tower.
BETSY
Why was the maid crying?
HOLLAND
I'm not sure I can make you
understand.
(gestures toward the
fountain statue)
You know what this is?
BETSY
A figure of St. Sebastian.
HOLLAND
Yes. But it was once the
figurehead of a slave ship. That's
where our people came from -- from
the misery and pain of slavery. For
generations they found life a
burden. That's why they still weep
when a child is born -- and make
merry at a burial.
Clement, the lantern still in his hand, passes close behind
them. For a moment they turn and look at his black, still
face, underlit by the rays of the lantern. It reflects all
the sadness of slave people and slave ways. He goes by, the
lantern light fading off in the distance, as he walks down
the path.
HOLLAND (CONT'D)
I've told you, Miss Connell, this
is a sad place.
FADE OUT
FADE IN
INT. BETSY'S BEDROOM - DAY
The birds in the garden are singing loudly and cheerfully and
the sun pours in wide streaks through the jalousies. At the
foot of Betsy's bed Alma stands. She has lifted the covers
and holds Betsy's big toe between thumb and forefinger. She
shakes it gently. Betsy wakes.
ALMA
Good morning, miss.
BETSY
(starting to rouse from
bed)
Thank you for waking me.
ALMA
I didn't want to frighten you out
of your sleep, Miss. That's why I
touched you farthest from your
heart.
Betsy starts to get up and Alma protests.
ALMA (CONT'D)
Don't get up, Miss. I brought your
breakfast. Just like I do for Miss
Jessica.
She turns to reveal right and left-handed coffee pots behind
her on a tray. Also on the tray is an enormous, puffed-up
brioche.
BETSY
But I'm Miss Jessica's nurse, Alma.
You don't have to do that for me.
ALMA
I know, miss. But I like to do it.
I like to tend for Miss Jessica and
I want to tend for you. You settle
right back, now, and I'll mix you
your coffee.
BETSY
(pulling the pillow up
behind her to make
herself comfortable)
Thank you, Alma.
Alma takes a cup and places it on the little table near the
bed. She takes up the two coffee pots and simultaneously,
with a deft movement, pours the hot milk and the hot coffee
into the cup. She sweetens it and creams it and passes it to
Betsy, questioning Betsy with upraised sugar tongs and cream
pitcher before each move.
ALMA
(while she's pouring the
coffee)
Miss Jessica used to say this is
the only way for a lady to break
her fast -- in bed, with a lacy
cushion to bank her head up. If
you'd only seen her, Miss Connell.
She looked so pretty.
BETSY
She must have been beautiful. What
happened to her, Alma?
ALMA
She was very sick and then she went
mindless, Miss.
BETSY
(reassuringly)
We'll see if we can't make her
well, Alma, you and I.
ALMA
I do my best. Every day I dress
her just as beautifully as if she
was well. It's just like dressing
a great, big doll.
As she talks, Alma picks up the plate with the brioche and
places it at the bedside. She puts a knife and fork on the
plate. Betsy sets down her coffee cup and picks up the
plate.
BETSY
What's this?
ALMA
A puff-up, I call it. But Miss
Jessica always says "brioche."
BETSY
Looks like an awful lot of
breakfast -- I don't know whether
I'll be able to get away with it.
She puts her fork into it and the whole, enormous structure
of the pastry falls into tiny bits. Both she and Alma burst
into peals of laughter.
DISSOLVE
INT. FORT HOLLAND LIVING ROOM AND OFFICE -- DAY
This room is fairly long with jalousied doors and windows
like the other rooms in the house. It is tastefully
furnished and there is a large square rosewood piano in one
corner of the room. The rather formal elegant furniture
shows up nicely against the white-washed plaster walls. At
one end is a raised portion with a low railing surrounding
it. Here Holland has his office.
There is a trestle table with a straight chair behind it,
typewriter on a stand, and a small wooden filing cabinet with
an old-fashioned letter-press on top of it. There is a
surveyor's map of the plantation on one wall, and on the
other a Geodetic Survey chart of the island of St. Sebastian.
(For 75c, we can purchase the U.S. Geodetic chart of Anacapa
Island, engraved by Whistler, possibly the most beautiful map
ever drawn. We can use this for the map of our fictitious
island.) Holland is seated at the table with a ledger open
before him. He has obviously been working. Betsy sits in a
chair drawn up to one corner of the table. She is in her
nurse's uniform.
HOLLAND
I made it clear in my letter to the
company. This is not a position
for a frightened girl.
BETSY
(quietly, but on the
defensive)
I am not a frightened girl.
HOLLAND
That's hard to believe, after what
happened last night.
BETSY
(before he can continue)
If I were as timid as you seem to
think, Mr. Holland, I wouldn't have
gone into the tower in the first
place.
HOLLAND
And what is so alarming about the
tower, Miss Connell?
BETSY
(not so sure of herself)
Nothing -- really. But you must
admit it's an eerie sort of place --
so dark --
HOLLAND
(smiling faintly)
Surely nurses aren't afraid of the
dark?
BETSY
(indignantly)
Of course not!
Holland waits --- looking at her a little quizzically.
BETSY (cont'd)
But frankly, it was something of a
shock to see my patient that way,
for the first time. No one had
told me Mrs. Holland was a mental
case.
HOLLAND
A mental case?
BETSY
I'm sorry...
HOLLAND
(again the impersonal
employer)
Why should you be? My wife is a
mental case. Please keep that in
mind, Miss Connell -- particularly
when some of the foolish people of
this island start talking to you
about Zombies.
Paul rises and walks around the desk. Betsy also stands.
HOLLAND (cont'd)
You will find slave superstition a
contagious thing. Some people let
it get the better of them.
(breaks off and looks at
her intently)
I don't think you will.
BETSY
No.
Holland gets up and crosses to the jalousied door. He holds
it open for Betsy to precede him into the garden.
HOLLAND
Come along. I'll introduce you to
Dr. Maxwell and your patient.
INT. JESSICA'S BEDROOM - DAY
It is a beautiful woman's bedroom, feminine but with no
suggestion of the bagnic; elegant rather than seductive, and
reflecting a playful yet sophisticated taste. The furniture
is Biedermeier. There is a large bed, a trim chaise lounge,
a little slipper chair and in one corner of the room, that
hallmark of great vanity, a triple-screen, full-length
mirror, also a Biedermeier style. Before it is a tabouret,
the surface of which is literally covered with expensive
looking perfume bottles and cosmetic jars. Mrs. Holland had
evidently taken the tasks of beauty seriously enough to stand
up to them. There is one picture in the room. It is
Boecklin's "The Isle of the Dead," framed in a narrow frame
of dark wood. Near the open window stands a beautiful gilt
parlour harp. (Size 22) Behind it, arranged conveniently for
playing, is a small Empire chair. There is no other
furniture near this arrangement, and the harp, the empty
chair and wind-stirred glass curtains give a dual effect of
elegance and loneliness.
The CAMERA is FOCUSED on this harp as the scene opens. The
glass curtains blown by the wind, steal across the strings
bringing forth tinkling notes.
The CAMERA PANS RIGHT to reveal Betsy and Dr. Maxwell at Mrs.
Holland's bedside. Dr. Maxwell is a small, neat man with a
charming voice and a pleasant but somewhat professional
personality. He is dressed in tropical whites and wears a
cummerbund. Alma is removing the breakfast tray and, as she
passes Betsy on her way to the door, she makes a little
curtsey. Mrs. Holland is lying back against the pillows on
her bed in a semi-reclining position.
In the daylight her emaciated, pale face and great, empty
eyes are pitiful but no longer frightening.
DR. MAXWELL
I'm afraid it won't be easy for me
to explain Mrs. Holland's illness,
Miss Connell. We have our own
diseases here. But, if you'll sit
down --
(indicates a chair)
Betsy seats herself. Dr. Maxwell takes a cigarette case from
his pocket. He takes a cigarette, holds it up.
DR. MAXWELL (cont'd)
To put it simply: Mrs. Holland had
one of those high fevers often found
with our tropical maladies. We might
say that portions of the spinal cord
and certain lobes of the mind were
burned out by this fever. The result
is what you see -- a woman bereft of
will power, unable to speak or even
to act by herself. She will obey
simple commands.
BETSY
Does she suffer?
DR. MAXWELL
I don't know. I prefer to think of
her as a sleepwalker who can never
be awakened -- feeling nothing,
knowing nothing.
Betsy looks to Jessica.
DR. MAXWELL (cont'd)
There's very little we can do
except keep her physically
comfortable -- light diet -- some
exercise --
BETSY
She can never be cured?
DR. MAXWELL
I've never heard of a cure.
BETSY
Is this disease common in the
tropics?
DR. MAXWELL
Fortunately, not. This is my first
experience with it as a physician.
But I have seen half-witted field
hands -- whom the other peasants
call Zombies. I am sure they
suffer from a similar destruction
of spinal nerves as the result of
high fever.
He crosses the room and clasps shut the black leather bag in
which he carries his medicine kit. Betsy rises and walks
over to him.
BETSY
Could you give me the details of
treatment and diet?
Dr. Maxwell picks up a couple of sheets of typewritten paper
which have been lying beside the bed. He hands them to
Betsy.
DR. MAXWELL
I prepared these for you last
night, Miss Connell.
BETSY
(taking the papers)
Thank you.
He picks up his bag and walks toward the door. Betsy walks
with him. At the door, he half turns and says:
DR. MAXWELL
I'll be by in a day or so, Miss
Connell, and see how you are
getting on.
Betsy nods and then turns back into the room. She walks up
to the bed and stands looking at Jessica, then down at the
list of typewritten instructions. Evidently the list calls
for her to carry out some detail of the regime, for she puts
it down and starts out of the room in a businesslike fashion.
DISSOLVE
EXT. FOUNTAIN -- DAY
Holland is standing by the fountain as Betsy comes out of the
door of the tower and starts to cross the garden. He turns
toward her. She stops and smiles.
HOLLAND
You didn't find your patient so
frightening in the daylight, did
you?
BETSY
Mrs. Holland must have been
beautiful ---
HOLLAND
(coldly)
Many people thought her beautiful.
Betsy is about to pass on when he asks abruptly:
HOLLAND (CONT'D)
Tell me, Miss Connell. Do you
consider yourself pretty?
Betsy is a little taken aback by this, but she recovers
herself.
BETSY
I suppose so. Yes.
HOLLAND
And charming?
BETSY
I've never given it much thought.
HOLLAND
Don't. It will save you a great
deal of trouble and other people a
great unhappiness.
Betsy is puzzled and interested. She stands a moment and
then starts off.
FADE OUT
FADE IN
EXT. THE VILLAGE OF ST. SEBASTIAN -- DAY
Betsy, out of her customary uniform and dressed in a light
colored print dress and a straw picture hat, is walking
slowly and a little aimlessly down one of the village
streets.
RAND'S VOICE
Betsy!
Betsy turns, as she hears her name, and sees Rand, mounted on
a white saddle mule. (The mule is one of those delicate,
single footed saddle animals which they breed in Central
America and the West Indies, very smart-looking and with good
furniture. The saddle should be particularly well-chosen.
Most West Indian planters use an English saddle with long
stirrups. Sometimes a machete in a leather scabbard hangs
from the near side of the saddle.) He maneuvers the mule
between a cart and a vendor balancing two baskets on a pole
over his shoulders, then brings the animal to a halt beside
her.
RAND
Where do you think you're going?
BETSY
It's my day off.
RAND
But what in the world can you do
with a day off in St. Sebastian?
BETSY
(a little ruefully)
I was just beginning to wonder.
Aren't there shops, restaurants and
things?
RAND
Well -- and things -- might be a
better description of what you'll
find. I'd better come along and
show you the town.
Rand swings down off the mule and takes the reins to lead the
animal.
BETSY
(very pleased)
But don't you have to work?
RAND
(grinning)
By a curious coincidence, it's my
day off, too.
DISSOLVE OUT
DISSOLVE IN
EXT. STREET CORNER - ST. SEBASTIAN -- DAY
A Calypso singer with a guitar slung around his shoulder,
lounges against the corner of a building, singing to a small
audience of loiterers. He has a derby hat in front of him
with one or two coins in it.
EXT. CAFE -- ST. SEBASTIAN -- DAY
Around the corner from the Calypso singer is a cafe. On the
roadway in front of it, under a tattered awning, two or three
tables have been set out. At one of these sit Betsy and
Rand. At another, two white planters in work clothing are
having a drink of beer.
Behind them, leaning against the wall, stands the proprietor,
a Negro in duck trousers and duck coat, with an apron tied
around his middle. Betsy has tea in front of her and Rand, a
Planter's Punch. As we see them, she is just laughing at
something he has said. He is finishing his drink. Rand sets
down his glass and gestures to the proprietor.
RAND
(very jovially to the
proprietor)
Bring me another, Ti-Joseph. I
have to keep the lady entertained.
BETSY
It must be hard work entertaining
me if it requires six ounces of
rum.
RAND
What in the world are you talking
about? Six ounces -- ?
BETSY
Higher mathematics. Two ounces to
a drink -- three drinks, six
ounces.
RAND
How do you know there's two ounces
in a drink?
BETSY
I'm a nurse. I always watch people
when they pour something. I
watched Ti-Joseph and it was
exactly two ounces.
At this moment a new Calypso song starts.
SINGER
(sings)
There was a family that lived on the isle
Of Saint Sebastian a long, long while
The head of the family was a Holland man
And the younger brother, his name was Rand
Betsy's attention is caught by the song. Rand evidently
knows the song, because he begins talking at random, trying
to distract her.
RAND
Listen, did I tell you that story
about the little mule at the
plantation -- the little mule and
Clement? Let me tell you. It's
one of the funniest stories --
BETSY
(putting a restraining
hand on his arm)
Wait. I want to listen.
We hear the guitar music without singing, as the Calypso
singer plays a few measures to bridge the first and second
verses. Ti-Joseph comes up to the table with Rand's drink.
Rand makes a motion to him indicating the corner around which
the Calypso singer is standing. Ti-Joseph gets the idea and
goes off instantly.
MED. CLOSE SHOT -- Calypso singer.
CALYPSO SINGER
The Holland man, he kept in a tower
A wife as pretty as a big white flower
She saw the brother and she stole his heart...
Ti-Joseph comes in and, while the singer goes on with his
song, whispers in his ear. The Calypso singer stops
immediately. He looks frightened and guilty. Ti-Joseph
turns and goes around the corner to his cafe. The Calypso
singer addresses one of the people in the little group before
him.
CALYPSO SINGER (cont'd)
Ti-Malice trip up my tongue -- What
do you wish trouble on me for --
You saw Mister Rand go in there.
Why don't you tell me?
The colored man he is addressing just dumbly shakes his head.
CALYPSO SINGER (cont'd)
Apologize -- that's what I'll do.
Creep in just like a little fox and
warm myself in his heart.
(placatingly but to
himself)
Good Mister Rand!
The other negro just dumbly shakes his head again. The
Calypso singer puts his idea instantly into action, starting
off around the corner.
EXT. CAFE -- DAY
Rand has finished the drink which Ti-Joseph had just brought
him and is motioning to Ti-Joseph to bring him another,
making a gesture with the glass in his hand.
BETSY
(evidently continuing what
she has been saying)
That's carrying free speech a
little too far! I wouldn't have
listened, Wes, if I had realized --
The Calypso singer comes in and stands humbly beside the
table.
CALYPSO SINGER
(with a little bow in the
Haitian manner; one hand
in front of the stomach
and the other hand at the
small of his back)
Mr. Rand?
Rand looks up at him.
CALYPSO SINGER (cont'd)
I've come to apologize.
RAND
(curtly)
All right.
CALYPSO SINGER
(with another quaint bow)
Just an old song I picked up
somewhere. Don't know who did make
it up.
RAND
(growing exasperated)
All right. All right.
CALYPSO SINGER
Some of these singers on this
island, they'd tattle-tale on
anybody. Believe me, Mister Rand,
I never would sing that song if I'd
known you were with a lady.
RAND
(jumping up, furious)
Get out of here!
He starts to rise. Betsy restrains him. The Calypso singer
runs off a few feet, makes his little polite bow again, and
the vanishes. Rand stands practically shaking with rage.
Betsy forces him into a chair.
BETSY
Don't let it bother you so, Wes.
RAND
Did you hear what he sang?
Betsy is spared the embarrassment of replying when Ti-Joseph
brings the drink that Rand ordered. Rand gulps thirstily at
it, then looks at Betsy, half-defiantly, half-mockingly.
RAND (cont'd)
Shocked?
BETSY
(sincerely)
I wish I hadn't heard --
RAND
Why? Everybody else knows it.
Paul saw to that. Sometimes I
think he planned the whole thing
from the beginning -- just to watch
me squirm.
BETSY
(quietly)
That doesn't sound like him.
RAND
That's right -- he's playing the
noble husband for you, isn't he?
That won't last long.
BETSY
I'd like to go now, Rand. Would
you mind taking me home?
RAND
(ignoring her, speaking a
little drunkenly)
One of these days he'll start on
you, the way he did on her.
(imitating)
"You think life's beautiful, don't
you, Jessica? You think you're
beautiful, don't you, Jessica?"
(bitterly)
What he could do to that word
"beautiful." That's Paul's great
weapon -- words. He uses them the
way other men use their fists.
Rand finishes his drink. Betsy watches him, her face deeply
troubled.
DISSOLVE
EXT. THE CAFE - NIGHT
CAMERA IS FOCUSED ON a ragged, barefooted lamplighter. He is
lighting one of the crude kerosene street lamps of St.
Sebastian with a long taper on the end of the stick. When it
finally lights up he lowers the glass chimney with another
stick he carries.
From the beach comes the sound of a guitar and a man singing.
It is very faint, at first, but as it comes closer we can
recognize the voice of the Calypso singer and the melody he
was singing when Rand interrupted him.
The CAMERA PANS OVER to show Rand and Betsy still sitting in
Ti-Joseph's sidewalk cafe. Rand has slumped down in his
chair, thoroughly drunk. Ti-Joseph stands, arms folded,
leaning in the darker shadows of the wall. Betsy looks off
in the direction of the singing, a little anxiously.
CALYPSO SINGER
(faint, but growing
stronger)
She saw the brother and she stole his heart
And that's how the badness and the trouble start
Ah woe, ah me
Shame and sorrow for the fam-i-ly
Betsy leans over and touches Rand's arm.
BETSY
Wes. Wesley -- it's time we were
starting home.
Rand makes some meaningless mumble of words.
CALYPSO SINGER
The wife and the brother, they want to go,
But the Holland man, he tell them "no."
As Betsy stares nervously into the shadows beyond the street
lamp, she sees the figure of the Calypso singer, moving
slowly towards her as he sings.
CALYPSO SINGER (cont'd)
The wife fall down and the evil came
And it burned her mind in the fever flame.
Betsy shakes Rand urgently.
BETSY
Please, Wes -- we've got to get
back to Fort Holland.
There is no movement, no sound from Rand. Betsy looks at
him, then looks over at Ti-Joseph. There does not seem to be
much help to be had in that direction. Really frightened
now, she turns back quickly to the approaching Calypso
singer. He never takes his eyes off her, as he walks slowly
toward the cafe. There is a strange menace in the way he
sings.
CALYPSO SINGER
Her eyes are empty and she cannot talk
And a nurse has come to make her walk.
The brothers are lonely and the nurse is young
And now you must see that my song is sung.
The Calypso singer is now coming directly to the table.
Instinctively, Betsy rises and moves behind the table.
CALYPSO SINGER (cont'd)
(walking very slowly,
singing very slowly)
Ah, woe, Ah me
Shame --
He stops abruptly. In the silence footsteps are heard, light
brisk footsteps coming down the street toward the cafe. The
Calypso singer looks away from Betsy for the first time.
As Betsy also turns, in great relief, to see who is coming,
the Calypso singer moves quickly and silently out of the
scene. A middle-aged white woman, handsome and neatly
dressed in a suit with a Norfolk jacket, appears in the
entrance of the cafe. She glances briefly in the direction
which the Calypso singer has taken and then at Betsy and
Rand. She smiles in a friendly way at Betsy.
MRS. RAND
I think you need some help.
BETSY
I'm afraid so.
MRS. RAND
Ti-Joseph?
The older woman looks over at Ti-Joseph.
MRS. RAND (CONT'D)
Ti-Joseph, get Mr. Rand on to his
mule, please, and start him for
home.
Ti-Joseph comes down and starts to put his hands under Rand's
armpits preparatory to helping him to his feet.
TI-JOSEPH
Yes, ma'am.
BETSY
(protesting)
But he's in no condition to ride --
I don't think he can even sit in
the saddle.
MRS. RAND
Don't worry about a sugar planter.
Give him a mule and he'll ride to
his own funeral.
Ti-Joseph gets Rand to his feet and helps him stagger around
the corner. From around the corner we can hear Ti-Joseph
bellowing.
TI-JOSEPH
Hey, boy! Bring up that mule --
that white mule, boy.
Mrs. Rand turns to Betsy.
MRS. RAND
I really intended going out to the
Fort and meeting you long before
this, Miss Connell. I'm Mrs.
Rand -- Wesley's mother.
BETSY
(dismayed)
Oh, Mrs. Rand --
MRS. RAND
(interrupting)
Come, come, don't tell me how sorry
you are that I should meet you this
way.
(puts out her hand)
I'm even a little glad that
Wesley's difficulty brought us
together.
Betsy takes the older woman's hand and they shake hands.
BETSY
Believe me, Mrs. Rand, he doesn't
do this often. This is the first
time I've seen him --
MRS. RAND
Nonsense, child! I know Wesley's
been drinking too much lately. I
know a great deal more about what
goes on at Fort Holland than you'd
think. I know all about you --
that you're a nice girl, competent
and kind to Jessica. The Fort
needs a girl like you.
(breaking her mood)
But now we've got to get you back
there. I'll walk you back and stay
over night. It'll be a nice change
for me.
She takes Betsy's arm and they start off.
The CAMERA DOLLIES WITH them as they cross the space under Ti
Joseph's awning.
BETSY
Thank you, Mrs. Rand. I think
you're every bit as nice as Wes
says you are.
MRS. RAND
So -- he says I'm nice. He's a
nice boy, too, Miss Connell, a very
nice boy. But I'm worried about
his drinking.
She pauses in her speech, stops for a moment at the very edge
of Ti-Joseph's domain and takes Betsy's arm.
MRS. RAND (cont'd)
You could do me a great favor.
BETSY
(eagerly)
I'd love to.
MRS. RAND
Use your influence with Paul. Ask
him to take that whiskey decanter
off the dinner table.
BETSY
(protesting)
I've no influence with Mr. Holland.
MRS. RAND
Try it -- you may have more
influence than you think.
FADE OUT
FADE IN
EXT. GARDEN -- FORT HOLLAND -- DAY
Holland is walking down the path from the office toward the
gate. He is carrying a piece of sugar cane in his hand and
is followed by a negro laborer in working clothes, who has
several other pieces of cane in his arms. They are talking
as they walk.
HOLLAND
(over his shoulder as they
walk)
No. It isn't a drought, Bayard.
The rains are just a little late,
that's all.
BAYARD
I've seen the drought before, Mr.
Holland. The cane's too dry -- it's
dangerous that way -- it's the
drought.
Betsy comes across the garden with a tray of medicine bottles
in her hands and several linen sheets folded over her arm.
She meets the two men at the path intersection.
HOLLAND
Good morning, Miss Connell.
BETSY
Good morning.
He waves Bayard on and stops for a moment to speak with
Betsy.
HOLLAND
I heard about your little
misadventure yesterday, Miss
Connell.
(with a smile)
On your first "day off," too.
BETSY
Well, I had a good time up to a
point.
HOLLAND
(sincerely)
Wesley can be very entertaining.
BETSY
(encouraged by his tone)
Yes, he can. But I've been
wondering -- you know if you could
leave the whisky decanter off the
table --
HOLLAND
It's always stood there, Miss
Connell. I can remember it in my
grandfather's time and my father's.
I'm afraid it will have to remain.
BETSY
But for Wes -- it must be a
temptation to him.
HOLLAND
I've no sympathy with people who
can't resist temptation.
BETSY
Still, I feel you should remove the
decanter. Wes is not an alcoholic
yet, Mr. Holland. But as a nurse I can
tell you that it won't be long before he is.
HOLLAND
(coldly)
I'm afraid the decanter will have
to stay where it is. I engaged
you, Miss Connell, to take care of
my wife, not my brother.
They look at each other for a moment, then Betsy turns and
walks off without a word. Holland turns to rejoin Bayard at
the gate.
DISSOLVE
EXT. TERRACE -- DINING TABLE -- NIGHT
It is a hot, windy night. The bushes in the garden move
violently with the gusts of wind. Even protected as they are
by the great glass hurricane lamps, the candle flames that
light the table are agitated and stir restlessly. Tonight
there are four people at dinner, Holland, Rand, Betsy, in a
simple print dress, and Jessica, in a lovely evening gown
that leaves her shoulders and arms bare. They have finished
the first portion of their meal and Clement is taking off the
soup plates. Somewhere off in the hills there is the
ululating sounds of a great sea conch being blown.
BETSY
You don't seem very disturbed by
it. I've always thought Voodoo was
something to be scared of: the
drums sounded in the hills and
everybody was frightened.
HOLLAND
I'm afraid it's not very
frightening. They have their songs
and dances and carry on and
finally, as I understand it, one of
the gods comes down and speaks
through one of the people.
RAND
For some reason, they always seem
to pick a night like this. This
wind even sets me on edge.
He reaches out with his hand and then looks around the table.
It is obvious something is missing. Both Betsy and Holland
notice his half-gesture. Betsy glances at Holland. He
smiles and nods.
RAND (CONT'D)
Clement.
Clement, busy at the sideboard, looks around toward him.
RAND (cont'd)
You've forgotten the decanter.
HOLLAND
I think from now on, Wes, we'll try
serving dinner without it.
RAND
Oh, I see. The lord of the manor
has decided to abolish one of the
tribal customs.
Holland makes no answer. The conches blow wildly in the
hills and a flurry of wind sweeps the garden.
RAND (cont'd)
An economy move, I suppose. Or,
perhaps, Paul, you decided on a
finer moral standard for our happy
little household, now that Miss
Connell is with us.
Holland still keeps his silence, although the muscles in his
jaw twitch.
RAND (cont'd)
What are you trying to do, impress
her?
HOLLAND
Let's drop it now, Wes. We can
talk about it later if you want.
Rand glowers at him and makes no immediate answer. A great
gust of wind blows across the garden. The candle flames
level out in one direction and then the other.
RAND
But I want to talk now. Why have
you decided to take the whiskey off
the table? What's behind it? What
nice, sadistic little plot is
brewing this time, Paul?
HOLLAND
(with a glance at Betsy)
Let's not discuss it, Wes.
The conches sound again in the hills, wildly and yet
monotonously.
RAND
(with great sarcasm)
Let's not quarrel before the
ladies. Let's be reserved and
gentlemanly.
(jumping to his feet)
You were so gentlemanly when you
drove Jessica insane -- so polite
when you made her into that!
He subsides in his chair, shaken, entirely out of control.
He doesn't look at Holland, nor at Betsy but at Jessica.
They sit there for a moment in complete silence. Then
Holland, obviously holding in his temper, rises and says:
HOLLAND
Miss Connell, I think it would be
best if I had Clement bring the
rest of your dinner to your room.
He turns and goes into the living room. Betsy also starts to
rise. Rand still stares at Jessica.
DISSOLVE
INT. BETSY'S BEDROOM -- NIGHT
The room is in darkness. Betsy stands leaning against one of
the jalousies, looking out through the slit between two
panels. Over the scene comes the sad, masculine sorrow of
the Liebestod. It is being played well and forcefully on the
piano in the living room.
INT. LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT
From her window Betsy can see Holland playing the piano.
INT. BETSY'S BEDROOM -- NIGHT
Betsy stands watching him. Then suddenly, as if compelled,
she leaves the window, opens the jalousied door and goes
quickly out into the garden.
INT. LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT
Holland is still playing. The sound of the door opening is
heard. It startles him and he turns toward the sound. He
sees Betsy and rises to face her as she steps into the room.
BETSY
I heard you playing.
HOLLAND
(trying to hide behind
brittleness)
I often do.
BETSY
(disregarding his remark)
I know what you went through
tonight. I kept thinking of what
you said: that all good things died
here, violently.
HOLLAND
Why did you come in here?
BETSY
I don't know. I wanted to help
you. And now that I'm here, I don't
know how.
Holland comes close to her and looks down into her eyes.
HOLLAND
(with unexpected
sincerity)
You have helped me. I want you to
know I'm sorry I brought you here.
When I thought of a nurse, I
thought of someone hard and
impersonal.
BETSY
(looking past him into the
garden)
I love Fort Holland.
HOLLAND
What you saw tonight -- two
brothers at each other's throat and
a woman driven mad by her own
husband? Do you love that?
BETSY
You didn't drive her mad.
HOLLAND
Didn't I? I don't know. That's
the simple truth of it. I don't
know.
Betsy shakes her head and moves closer to him. Her face,
upturned to his, is filled with pity.
HOLLAND (cont'd)
Before Jessica was taken ill, there
was a scene. An ugly scene. I
told her I wouldn't let her go,
that I'd hold her by force if
necessary.
Betsy puts her hand on his arm, in an instinctive gesture of
sympathy and comfort. Holland looks down at her hand and
then, searchingly, into her face.
HOLLAND (cont'd)
You wouldn't understand that kind
of love. You never knew Jessica as
she was. Beautiful, restless,
willful -- living in a world with
room for nothing but her own image
and her own desires.
Betsy gently draws her hand away. She watches his face, lost
in remembering.
HOLLAND (cont'd)
She promised so much -- warmth and
sweetness...she promised --
In the hills the conches blow wildly, echoing and answering
each other from every direction. For a brief moment, the
noise is so loud Holland could not speak if he wanted to and
then, when he can, and does, his voice has changed entirely.
It is cold. It cuts between him and Betsy like a sword.
HOLLAND (CONT'D)
I think it may be best for all of
us not to discuss this again.
Thank you -- I know you meant to be
kind.
DISSOLVE
EXT. FOUNTAIN -- NIGHT
Betsy stands looking into the dark cistern. The wind still
blows and the conches are sounding from the hills. But the
noise of the water flowing over the shoulders of St.
Sebastian can be heard above these other sounds. The iron
arrows in his breast glisten.
BETSY
(narrating)
I don't know how their own love is
revealed to other women -- maybe in
their sweethearts' arms -- I don't
know. To me it came that night
after Paul Holland almost thrust me
from the room, and certainly thrust
me from his life. I said to myself,
"I love him." And even as I said
it, I knew he still loved his wife.
Then because I loved him, I felt I
had to restore her to him -- to
make her what she had been before --
to make him happy.
As the narrator's voice ceases, the CAMERA HOLDS ON that
small, silent figure before the fountain.
FADE OUT
FADE IN
INT. MRS. HOLLAND'S BEDROOM -- DAY
Jessica is seated before the triptych mirror, facing it
blankly. At the other end of the room stand Betsy and Dr.
Maxwell. Paul, his back to the window, faces them.
HOLLAND
All that you say comes down to the
same thing. You are asking me to
pass a sentence of life or death on
my own wife.
DR. MAXWELL
Insulin shock treatment is an
extreme measure, Mr. Holland.
But -- as Miss Connell pointed out
when she suggested it -- this is an
extreme case.
HOLLAND
(to Betsy)
You admit that it is terribly
dangerous. Why do you advise it?
BETSY
I've worked with it. I've seen
cures. It is at least a hope.
DR. MAXWELL
It's the very danger itself that
makes the cure possible, Mr.
Holland. The insulin produces a
state of coma, a stupor. The
patient is revived from the coma by
a violent overwhelming nerve shock.
That nerve shock can kill -- but it
can also restore the damaged mind.
HOLLAND
I don't know -- I don't know--
DR. MAXWELL
(sympathetically)
It is a hard decision to make --
but yours is only a technical
responsibility...
HOLLAND
Technical responsibility, real
responsibility -- what difference
does it make?
(turns back to face them)
Jessica lives -- or she dies.
That's what we're talking about!
Betsy turns and looks across the room to where Jessica sits
motionless before the mirror.
BETSY
You are wrong, Mr. Holland.
She turns back to face him.
BETSY (cont'd)
It is not a question of life or
death. Your wife is not living.
She is in a world that is empty of
joy or meaning. We have a chance
to give her life back to her.
Holland stares at her. He turns to the window and stands for
a moment with his back to the room.
DISSOLVE
OMITTED
INT. ARCHED DOORWAY OF MRS. HOLLAND'S BEDROOM -- NIGHT
Through the doorway we see the enormous shadows of Betsy and
Dr. Maxwell on the wall as they work over their patient.
We hear the murmur of their voices although we cannot hear
what they are saying. In the doorway itself, leaning against
the wall looking toward the room expectantly, anxiously, is
Holland, half hidden in the shadows of the arch. The shadows
on the wall straighten up. We see Betsy in shadow drawing
her hand wearily across her forehead. Still in shadow, she
turns toward the door, her shadow grows enormous as she comes
toward the source of light.
As Betsy comes under the arch, Holland moves to meet her.
She turns to him.
HOLLAND
(tensely)
Well?
BETSY
She is alive, Mr. Holland -- that's
all.
There is a little pause. Then Betsy looks at Holland, her
eyes glistening with tears. Betsy turns away slightly,
closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself. Holland
puts his hands on her shoulders and turns her back to face
him.
HOLLAND
(gently)
Don't take it to heart, Betsy.
BETSY
I imagined this so differently...
Holland takes his hand from her shoulders.
HOLLAND
I've been waiting here for hours,
trying to imagine Jessica well
again -- wondering what I'd feel.
I could see Jessica as she used to
be, I could hear her say in that
sweet mocking voice, "Paul,
darling..." The whole thing
beginning all over again...
BETSY
(dully)
And instead, I came -- bringing
you nothing.
HOLLAND
(slowly looking down at
her)
Instead -- you come, with sympathy,
Betsy, and a generous heart.
Don't forget that. Don't call it
nothing.
Betsy turns wearily and returns to the sick room. Holland is
about to follow her when he hears a low chuckle and turns to
see who it is.
INT. THE PASSAGE TO THE TOWER DOOR AS SEEN FROM JESSICA'S
ROOM -- DAY
A few feet from Holland, leaning against the wall, is Rand.
He has evidently been there some time. He is not drunk, but
it is obvious he has been drinking. Holland walks down the
short corridor toward him.
RAND
Very sad, very sweet. The noble
husband and the noble nurse
comforting each other -- because
the patient still lives. I've been
imagining too, Paul. You didn't
think of that, did you? I saw
Jessica coming across the garden, I
heard her voice.
THERE ARE TWO PAGES MISSING AT THIS POINT WHERE PAUL AND
WESLEY END THEIR CONVERSATION. THE SCRIPT PICKS UP IN THE
MIDDLE OF THE NEXT SCENE JUST AFTER ALMA'S SISTER HAS VISITED
WITH HER BABY.
BETSY
I suppose not.
ALMA
Things so bad, nobody can help --
not even Doctor Maxwell.
BETSY
Doctors and nurses can only do so
much, Alma. They can't cure
everything.
ALMA
Doctors that are people can't cure
everything.
BETSY
(with a puzzled look)
What do you mean -- "doctors that
are people"?
ALMA
(slowly, almost sing-song)
There are other doctors...Yes,
other doctors...Better doctors...
BETSY
Where?
ALMA
At the Houmfort.
BETSY
(shaking off the idea)
That's nonsense, Alma.
ALMA
They even cure nonsense, Miss
Betsy. Mama Rose was mindless. I
was at the Houmfort when the
Houngan brought her mind back.
BETSY
You mean Mama Rose was like Mrs.
Holland?
ALMA
No. She was mindless but not like
Miss Jessica. But the Houngan
cured her.
BETSY
Are you trying to tell me that the
Houngan -- the voodoo priest --
could cure Mrs. Holland?
ALMA
Yes, Miss Betsy. I mean that. The
Houngan will speak to the rada
drums and the drums will speak to
Shango and Damballa.
The CAMERA MOVES IN to a CLOSE TWO SHOT of both women's
faces, Betsy looking thoughtfully at Alma and Alma returning
the gaze with equal intensity.
ALMA (CONT'D)
(softly)
Better doctors --
DISSOLVE
INT. THE DISPENSARY - DAY
This is a small, plainly furnished room with a plain table, a
few bentwood chairs and a medicine cabinet and a few
washbasins and water pitchers on a shelf. Mrs. Rand is
kneeling down at the side of the little, black pickaninny,
rubbing ointment on a sore on his chest. Betsy, in street
clothes, watcher her. Mrs. Rand finishes her work on the
little boy's chest and begins to put his little shirt back on
him. An obeah bag tied around his neck on a string gets in
her way as she tries to button the shirt. She holds it up so
that the little boy can see it.
MRS. RAND
Ti-Peter, how do you ever expect to
get to Heaven with one foot in the
voodoo Houmfort and the other in
the Baptist church?
The little black boy looks at her with rolling eyes but does
not answer. She gives him a playful pat on the behind,
starting him on his way to the door.
MRS. RAND (CONT'D)
(to Betsy, cheerfully)
Some of this native nonsense. The
Houngan has his prescription and
Dr. Maxwell and I have ours.
BETSY
You've never said anything about
voodoo before, Mrs. Rand.
MRS. RAND
Haven't I? I suppose I take it for
granted. It's just part of everyday
life here.
BETSY
You don't believe in it?
MRS. RAND
A missionary's widow? It isn't
very likely, is it?
BETSY
I don't mean believe, like
believing in a religion. I mean,
do you believe it has power? Do
you think it could heal a sick
person?
MRS. RAND
(looking hard at Betsy for
a moment)
Frankly, my dear, I didn't expect
anything like this from a nice
level-headed girl. What are you
driving at?
BETSY
I heard the servants talking about
someone called Mama Rose. They said
she had been "mindless"...
MRS. RAND
Her son drowned. She brooded until
her mind was affected. All the
Houngan did was coax her out of it
with a little practical psychology.
PAGES ARE MISSING AT THIS POINT AS BETSY AND
JESSICA LEAVE FORT HOLLAND AND TRAVEL ACROSS THE SUGAR CANE
FIELDS TO THE HOUMFORT
EXT. THE HOUMFORT - NIGHT
LONG SHOT. The camera is behind Betsy and Jessica as they go
toward the Houmfort through the sugar cane. We see this
voodoo temple as they go toward it. It is a rickety
structure of poles and laths, roofed over with a thin thatch
of sugar cane and straw. It forms a sort of rude pergola.
In the center of this structure is a small, cubicle hut, made
of rough boards but neatly whitewashed. From the rafters of
the main structure hang crude chandeliers of tin which give
light to the ceremonies.
(Please see pages 28 to 31, Life Magazine, December 13, 1937.
All the details mentioned above are graphically illustrated,
Near the little hut in the center of the Houmfort, stands an
altar covered with a lace tablecloth and littered with a
childish jumble of plates, candles, little colored stones and
bottles. Before this altar stands the Houngan, the high
priest of the voodoo ceremonies, a small, stoop-shouldered
man in a worn, white coat and trousers with ragged cuffs.
Several mild-looking negroes in white trousers and shirts sit
in kitchen chairs on one side of the altar with rada drums
between their knees. Grouped around this altar in a loose
semicircle are the worshippers, a group of mild-mannered,
poorly-but-neatly-dressed negroes. They seem to have made an
effort to dress in their best and their best is very poor
indeed. As Betsy approaches, she can see familiar faces.
As she comes up they turn and look at her. They are not
hostile nor greatly surprised; just mildly curious. Leading
Jessica by the hand, Betsy takes her place at one end of the
semicircle around the altar. Her arrival has in no way
interrupted the ceremonies. The Houngan continues to chant
before the altar, the rada drums beat and the crowd sings the
chorus of the Shango song at the proper intervals. It is all
very decorous and decidedly religious in tone. No sooner has
Betsy taken her place with the others than the Shango ritual
approaches its climax. The Sabreur, a colored man dressed in
white shirt and trousers, with a neat dark tie knotted under
his collar, comes in, bearing a sabre in his right hand,
holding it in stately, almost processional manner. He
advances to the altar, strikes it three times and at this
signal two colored women dressed in white beguine dresses
with square cut necks, an essential part of this religious
costume, come forward. One holds a white leghorn chicken and
the other carries a white rooster. They come together to the
altar and for a moment, the figures of the Houngan, the
Sabreur and the two Mam-Lois hide the actual blood sacrifice
from us. Only the fact that the drumming and the singing
reach a climactic pitch reveal that some Important portion of
the ceremony has taken place. Instantly the drumming and the
singing stops. A young colored girl jumps up from her seat
among the worshippers and begins shivering and quaking,
crying out wordlessly. There is a cry from the people.
THE PEOPLE
Put the god in her! Put the god in
her!
The Houngan prances forward, followed by the Sabreur. The
Houngan holds a little saucer in his hand with some dark
liquid at the bottom of it. He dips four fingers into this
liquid while the girl quivers and writhes before him in
religious ecstasy. He marks her forehead with four strange
marks, one with each finger. The Sabreur, crying out the
name of Shango, four times, points his sabre to the four
directions of the compass. There is an immediate
transformation in the girl. Her frenzy ceases. She seems to
be filled with a jubilant calm and dances into the cleared
space before the altar. Her words are no longer meaningless.
They have taken shape and form and, when she speaks, she
speaks with great resonance as if her voice came from
somewhere other than her own throat. She is possessed by the
god, Shango.
One by one, people from among the group of devotees dance
into the circle, go up to her and beg for favors. One woman
leads a little boy up to her. We hear her words as she calls
out to the possessed girl:
WOMAN
Make him rich, Shango! Make him
rich!
Th