I Walked with a Zombie (1943)

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!

The girl lays her fingers on the boy's eyes, and then takes
his shoulders and turns him around three times, Evidently
this is absolute guarantee of an enormous income tax to be
paid at St. Sebastian.  The woman and her son retire happily,
pleased and grinning.  Finally, exhausted, the girl possessed
of the god, Shango, sinks to her knees and then falls
fainting to the floor. Two colored men come in, carry her
away.  A great cry rises from the voodoo worshippers.

			WORSHIPPERS
	Damballa!  Damballa!  Damballa!
	Damballa!

The drums find a new rhythm.  The Houngan retires to one
corner of the altar; the Sabreur to the other.  Two young
girls, their beguine dresses slashed and torn, dance in from
either side.  This is a wild and an impassioned dance, a
dance to Damballa.  There is no singing, only an occasional
call from the crowd, "Come to us, Damballa!" The dancers
reach the climax of their dance and strike a plastic pose
before the altar, each kneeling on one knee, their arms held
to their breasts, their foreheads butted together.  Although
not a muscle moves, one can almost feel the tension of these
two bodies.  One of the rada drummers comes up and crouches
down holding a small drum almost under the chins of the two
girls.

The other drummers stop playing and he begins to beat a quick
staccato rhythm that grows faster and faster.  In this
playing, as in the pose of the girls, there is tremendous
tension.  By now all cries have ceased. Everyone is silent,
waiting.  Then suddenly, from behind the closed and curiously
painted door of the inner Houmfort, a voice speaks.  A voice
that is light, pleasant and authoritative.

			VOICE
		(muffled by the door)
	Where are my people?  Let them
	bring me the rice cakes -- let them
	dance and be happy --

There is a great ecstatic shout from the voodoo worshippers.

			VOODOO WORSHIPPERS
		(shouting)
	Damballa!  Damballa!

The Sabreur dances forward, sword in his left hand and a
little plate with rice cakes, in his right.  He kneels down
and places the plate near the door jamb.  A line forms at the
door.  Betsy leading Jessica by the hand takes her place with
the rest.  She is third in the line of suppliants.  She can
see the whole procedure.  The suppliant places his forehead
against the forehead of the god painted on the door, and
speaks.  The first suppliant is a weary-looking field hand
who shuffles to the door and speaks in such a low tone that
his words cannot be heard.  The second suppliant is an old
woman, thin and work-worn.  She speaks sincerely and humbly
and Betsy, directly behind her, hears her words.

			OLD WOMAN
	Damballa -- my son don't take care
	of me.

			VOICE OF DAMBALLA
	Tell him his own little son will
	grow big.  He, himself, will grow
	old.  The son learns from the
	father. One day your son may stand
	here to complain that his boy does
	not take care of him.

The old woman turns away, comforted -- hopeful.  Betsy looks
at her.  She can see tears in the old woman's eyes. With
Jessica's hand in hers, Betsy takes her place at the door. 
She puts her forehead against the crudely painted forehead of
the god.  She talks to the door.

			BETSY
	Damballa! This woman is sick.

The door swings open slowly. The feeble light of the outer
Houmfort does not penetrate the darkness of the inner temple.
A hand reaches out from the darkness and takes Betsy's hand
and draws her in. The Houngan follows Betsy into the temple.
The door shuts behind him. Jessica remains outside, standing
before the door.

INT. INNER HOUMFORT - NIGHT

A match flares and a hand brings it forward to light an oil
lamp which flares brightly, revealing a little room of
whitewashed boards, bare except for a table on which stands a
small iron tripod from which an iron pot is suspended.
Although there is no fire under the pot, the steam rises from
this receptacle and water boils and bubbles in it.
It is the Houngan who has lit the lamp and, on the other side
of the table is Mrs. Rand. Her face is serious and unsmiling.

			BETSY
		(starting forward around
		the table)
	Mrs. Rand.

			MRS. RAND
	Wait. Don't draw any conclusions.
	Let me explain.

			BETSY
	But, Mrs. Rand --

			MRS. RAND
	I knew you'd come. And I knew I'd
	have to come up here and talk to
	you. I couldn't let you go back
	without any word. I came to tell
	you again -- Jessica cannot be
	cured.

			BETSY
	But how did you get here? What
	are you doing here?

			MRS. RAND
	I asked you to let me explain. It's a
	long story.  And not an easy one --

EXT. THE HOUMFORT - NIGHT

Jessica stands patiently where Betsy had left her. The
Sabreur and two Mam-Lois stand near her looking at her and
talking. We cannot hear what they say. The drumming and the
song of joy for the coming of Damballa continue over the
scene. Suddenly, as if he had arrived at some decision, the
Sabreur, holding his sword stiffly in front of him, starts
toward Jessica with little mincing steps.

INT. INNER HOUMFORT -- NIGHT

Mrs. Rand, as if continuing with something she has been
talking about for a long time --

			MRS. RAND
	-- and when my husband died I felt
	helpless. They disobeyed me --
	things went from bad to worse. All
	my husband's dreams of good health,
	good sanitation, good morals for
	these sweet and gentle people
	seemed to die with him.
		(pauses)
	Then, almost accidentally, I
	discovered the secret of how to
	deal with them. There was a girl
	with a baby -- again and again I
	begged her to boil the drinking
	water. She never would. Then I told
	her the god, Shango, would be
	pleased and kill the evil spirits
	in the water if she boiled it. She
	boiled the water from then on.

			BETSY
	But you didn't have to come up
	here.

			MRS. RAND
	Perhaps not.  But I did come here
	and I found it was so simple to let
	the gods speak through me. Once
	started, it seemed such an easy way
	to do good.  I should have known
	there was no easy way to do good,
	Betsy.

PAGE MISSING WHERE THE SABREUR CUTS JESSICA'S ARM AND SHE
DOES NOT BLEED.  THE WORSHIPPERS REALIZE SHE IS A "ZOMBIE".

			MRS. RAND (CONT'D)
	Betsy!  Get her away -- back to the
	Fort!  Do as I say -- they won't
	hurt you.

ANOTHER ANGLE - SHOOTING TOWARD the inner Houmfort. Betsy
runs out from the doorway, takes hold of Jessica's arm and
starts running with her.  There is a movement in the crowd as
if they were about to follow her.  From the doorway of the
inner Houmfort, the Houngan calls out:

			HOUNGAN
	Trouble.  Bad trouble.  Let her go.

The crowd subsides.

DISSOLVE

EXT. THE BANYAN TREE -- NIGHT

Betsy and Jessica pass quickly under the dead goat, on their
way home.

EXT. GARDEN AT FORT HOLLAND -- NIGHT

Betsy comes out of the tower door, closing it behind her very
quietly and cautiously.  She starts across the garden toward
her room.  From the shadows, Holland steps out barring her
way.

			HOLLAND
	Where have you been, Miss Connell?

There is a pause.  Holland stands looking at her, taking in
her bedraggled appearance.

			BETSY
		(wearily)
	I wanted to help you.

			HOLLAND
	Help me? How?

			BETSY
	I took Mrs. Holland to the
	Houmfort.  I thought they might
	cure her.

			HOLLAND
	You have deliberately endangered
	Mrs. Holland's life.  There's no
	telling what you may have started
	with this insanity.  Why did you do
	it?

			BETSY
		(in a low tone)
	I told you.

			HOLLAND
	Because you wanted to give my wife
	back to me?  Why should that mean
	anything to you?

			BETSY
		(not looking at him)
	You know why.  You saw it the other
	night at the piano.  You turned
	away from me.

			HOLLAND
		(putting his hand on her
		shoulder, looking into
		her face very closely)
	What I saw the other night, I
	didn't dare believe, Betsy --

Betsy tries to turn away from him.  He grips her shoulders
tightly.

			HOLLAND (cont'd)
	I thought I was looking at a woman
	who loved me and had compassion for
	me.  Yet you made that trip to the
	Houmfort to bring Jessica back to
	me --

			BETSY
	Yes.

Holland pulls her close to him, looks down into her eyes.

			HOLLAND
	You think I love Jessica and want
	her back. It is like you to think
	that -- clean, decent thinking. 

			BETSY
		(simply)
	She was beautiful.

			HOLLAND
	I hated her.

Betsy looks up at him, astounded by his words.

			HOLLAND (cont'd)
	Her selfishness made her empty and
	dead.  She was a possession, a
	beautiful possession to own and
	hold -- but I never had a moment's
	peace or happiness with her.

They stand there, close together, looking at each other. 
Suddenly Holland puts her arms around her.

			HOLLAND (cont'd)
	Betsy -- 

She lifts her face, with a smile of complete love and trust. 
Holland studies her face longingly, but does not kiss her.

			HOLLAND (cont'd)
	I should never have brought you
	here.

			BETSY
	There's no happiness for me
	anywhere else --

Holland shakes his head slowly, hopelessly.

			BETSY (cont'd)
		(pleading)
	Paul, I don't want you to be alone,
	unhappy --

Holland lets his arms drop from about her shoulders.

			HOLLAND
		(coldly)
	I may prefer it that way.

They stand looking at each other.  The garden is still with
the dead, heavy stillness of their hopelessness.  Then, from
the direction of the Houmfort, there is the sound of a single
conch blowing, loudly and insistent, a thinner, higher call
than we have heard before.

INT. LIVING ROOM -- FORT HOLLAND -- DAY

Mrs. Rand, in a simple afternoon dress, is seated on the
sofa.  Before her is a coffee table with a silver tea
service.  She is engaged in pouring tea.  Betsy is beside her
helping her.  Rand, in working clothes, is in an armchair
near the sofa with a highball in his hand.  Also seated, and
facing Mrs. Rand and Betsy, is Dr. Maxwell and Commissioner
Jeffries.  The latter is a dignified man of early middle-age. 
He is dressed in a light business suit.  At the window, at
the rear of the room, stands Holland, talking with a Priest. 
As the scene opens, Mrs. Rand fills a teacup and holds it up
toward Holland.  He comes toward her to pick up the cup, the
Priest walking with him.  As they walk, Holland speaks:

			HOLLAND
	But I assure you, Father Walters,
	Miss Connell had no idea of the
	consequences when she went there.

			DR. MAXWELL
	Paul, we're not trying to blame
	Miss Connell.  It isn't a question
	of blame.  It's a question of what
	we are to do with Jessica.  The
	commissioner is very concerned.

			JEFFRIES
	It has become a serious problem. 
	There's so much gossip, rumor and
	agitation about the whole thing.

			HOLLAND
	I know.  We've felt it at the mill. 
	The men could hardly keep their
	minds on their work.

			RAND
	Well, Jeffries, why come to us
	about it?  Why don't you go up to
	the Houmfort and put a stop to the
	drumming and dancing -- that's what
	causes all the trouble.

			JEFFRIES
		(shaking his head)
	No.  You're quite wrong.  Right
	here's the seat of the trouble. 
	Mrs. Holland has become an object
	of speculation and religious
	interest to these people.  It's
	revived all their old superstitions
	-- Zombies -- and that sort of
	nonsense.

			MRS. RAND
	I wouldn't worry too much,
	Commissioner.  It'll pass.  We've
	had this sort of thing before.

			DR. MAXWELL
	This is something else.  They're
	curious.  Curiosity and religious
	fervor make a strange and explosive
	mixture.

			MRS. RAND
	I'm quite sure nothing will happen,
	Doctor.

			JEFFRIES
	If I were as sure as you, Mrs.
	Rand, we wouldn't be here.  I'll
	tell you quite bluntly: for the
	peace of the island and possibly
	for her own safety, we've come to
	ask you to send Mrs. Holland away
	to St. Thomas.

			RAND
	To the asylum?

			JEFFRIES
	I believe there's a kinder name for
	it, Wesley. At St. Thomas, it's called the
	Institute for Mental Therapy.

			RAND
		(getting up)
	It doesn't matter what you call it. 
	I can tell you right now Jessica
	isn't going!

Dr. Maxwell looks first at him, then at Holland, then back to
Rand.

			DR. MAXWELL
	Fortunately, Wesley, this isn't a
	matter for your decision.

			RAND
	You mean to say Paul can send her
	away -- that he can hand her over
	to strangers -- who'll shut her up 
	- maybe mistreat her?  He hasn't
	that right!

			MRS. RAND
		(trying to calm him)
	Wesley!

			DR. MAXWELL
	I am afraid, Wesley, he has that
	right.  And I will have to urge him
	to use it.

			RAND
	I tell you he hasn't and he
	wouldn't dare use it if he had.

			JEFFRIES
	Why?

			RAND
	Because he drove Jessica insane --
	deliberately -- coldly!

They all look at Holland.  There is a long and awkward pause. 
Holland makes no move to deny by word or gesture his
brother's accusation.  Finally, however, he breaks the pause
by bringing the teacup to his lips.

			JEFFRIES
	That could be a serious accusation,
	Rand, if it weren't a foolish one.

			RAND
	Foolish?  Tell them how foolish it
	is, Paul -- tell them!

			HOLLAND
		(very calmly but with a
		little uncertainty)
	My guilt in this matter, if any,
	Wesley, is not the subject of this
	discussion.

			RAND
	But it is, Paul!  Because that's
	why you won't dare send Jessica
	away!

Holland empties his teacup. Carrying the teacup and saucer
very carefully, he walks across to the table in front of
Betsy, and sets it down.  Betsy looks at him.  It is on her
look, questioning and puzzled, that we

						DISSOLVE

INT. INNER HOUMFORT -- DAY

Although it is broad daylight, the Inner Houmfort is lit with
a rush light which burns weakly.  The ceremonial pot of
boiling water has been removed from the table and, in its
place, squatting cross-legged like a tailor, sits the
Sabreur. With one hand he holds upright a small, cheaply-made
bisque doll, with flaxen hair.  It is dressed in a little
white slip.  From under the table rim, two dark feminine
hands come up to put a white robe on the doll.  The moment
this garment has been draped on the little doll, a rada drum
begins to beat softly in a corner of the room.

THE CAMERA DRAWS BACK to reveal that one of the girls who
danced in the voodoo ceremony is kneeling before the table. 
It is her hands which have dressed the doll.  There are about
five people in the room, including the three drummers.  The
Sabreur makes magical passes over the doll.

						FADE OUT

FADE IN 

EXT. GATES OF FORT HOLLAND -- DAY

Betsy and Holland are standing in the gateway.  The CAMERA is
POINTED TOWARD the garden.  On the porch in the b.g. we can
see Mrs. Rand.

			BETSY
	I still can't believe it Paul --
	that you wouldn't say a word in
	your own defense.

			HOLLAND
	I have no defense.  So far as I
	know -- it is true.

			BETSY
	You can't believe that.  You don't
	know what viciousness it would take
	to drive a person mad.  You're not
	vicious or cruel, Paul.

			HOLLAND
	How do you know I'm not?  I was
	cruel to Jessica.  When I got to
	know her -- when I found out how
	empty and ungenerous she was, there
	was something about her --
	something smooth and false -- that
	made we want to hurt her.

			BETSY
	I can understand that.  Everyone
	feels that way about someone.

			HOLLAND
	No.  It's not just how I felt
	toward Jessica.  I've been cruel to
	even you.

Besty, smiling, shakes her head.

			HOLLAND (cont'd)
	The first night I saw you -- you
	were looking at the sea.  You were
	enchanted -- and I had to break
	that enchantment.  Do you
	understand, Betsy -- I had to break
	it!

Betsy is shaken by this, but she tries to put it aside.

			BETSY
	You wanted to warn me...

			HOLLAND
		(disregarding her words)
	The night you came to me in this
	room -- to comfort me, to help me --
	I turned you away.

			BETSY
	Don't, Paul -- don't doubt yourself
	-- don't make me doubt you.

			HOLLAND
	I remember words I said to Jessica 
	- words mixed like to poison -- to
	hurt her, to madden her.

			BETSY
		(desperately)
	That's past -- that's over and done
	with...

			HOLLAND
	I want you to be safe, Betsy.  I
	want to know you're away from this
	place -- home again, where nothing
	can harm you -- nothing and no one.

			BETSY
	You want that?

			HOLLAND
	Yes.

They stand looking at each other in silence.

						DISSOLVE

EXT. THE PORCH -- DAY

Mrs. Rand is seated in an easy chair, obviously enjoying an
interlude of leisure.  Clement comes from the house, bringing
her a bulky newspaper, still in its mail wrapper.

			CLEMENT
	Would you like to see the paper,
	Mrs. Rand?
		(proudly)
	This is our newest one.

			MRS. RAND
	Thank you , Clement!

She takes it and starts slitting the wrapper eagerly.

EXT. THE GARDEN AT FORT HOLLAND -- DAY

Betsy and Holland start across the garden to the porch.

EXT. THE PORCH -- DAY

Mrs. Rand seems them and waves a section of the paper in
welcome.

			MRS. RAND
	You're just in time.  Will you join
	me in the Sunday paper?

Betsy and Holland sink into porch chairs, looking grateful
for the shade.  Betsy takes off her hat and tosses it onto
the coffee table.

			HOLLAND
	Considering that the paper is three
	months old and this isn't Sunday --
	no thank you.

			BETSY
		(smiling)
	I guess I'll wait until I'm home,
	Mrs. Rand.

Mrs. Rand looks at a page of rotogravure section.

			MRS. RAND
		(casually)
	That's a long wait...

			HOLLAND
	I'm afraid not.  Betsy's leaving
	us, Mother.

Mrs. Rand puts down the paper and looks at them, startled.

			HOLLAND (cont'd)
	She's decided to go on the next
	boat.

			MRS. RAND
	Why, Betsy -- we can't lose you. 
	You mean too much to us here.

			BETSY
	That's sweet of you, Mrs. Rand.

			HOLLAND
	Betsy feels there is nothing she
	can do for Jessica...

PAGE MISSING

EXT. GARDEN AT FORT HOLLAND -- DAY

Rand and Dr. Maxwell come through the gate and walk up the
garden path.  As they do so, Mrs. Rand comes down the porch
steps.  Betsy and Holland follow her.

			MRS. RAND
	Dr. Maxwell -- it's nice to see
	you.

			RAND
		(grimly)
	Dr. Maxwell has very unpleasant
	news for us.

			HOLLAND
		(nervously)
	An accident at the mill?

			DR. MAXWELL
	No -- it's about Mrs. Holland.  A
	result of our discussion the other
	day, I'm afraid.

			HOLLAND
	What about her?

			DR. MAXWELL
	In view of all the circumstances,
	the commissioner has decided on a
	legal investigation.

			HOLLAND
	Investigation of what?

			DR. MAXWELL
	Of the nature of Mrs. Holland's
	illness.  And, of course, the
	events which led up to it.

			HOLLAND
	In other words, I'm on trial.

			DR. MAXWELL
	I did everything I could to
	forestall this, Paul.  I don't
	think there's any question of your
	innocence in the matter.  But
	there's been too much talk.  The
	thing's out of hand.

			HOLLAND
	Maybe it's better this way, Mother. 
	I'm glad you're going home, Betsy --
	you'll be out of the mess.

			RAND
	But she isn't.  She's been
	subpoenaed.

Holland turns to the Doctor, his face stricken.

			DR. MAXWELL
	Miss Connell's testimony will be
	very important.

			BETSY
		(quietly)
	I would have stayed anyway, Dr.
	Maxwell.

			RAND
	We're all in it.  There won't be a
	shred of pride or decency left for
	any of use.
		(violently)
	Say something, Paul!  You've always
	been good with words.  Put some
	together, now, and tell us that
	you're not responsible -- that
	every damnable bit of it doesn't
	rest squarely on your shoulders!

			MRS. RAND
	You're wrong, Wesley.  The guilt is
	mine -- all of it.

			RAND
		(bitterly)
	Are you going to lie for him,
	Mother?

			MRS. RAND
	Betsy, tell them about the
	Houmfort.  Tell them what you saw
	there.  

			BETSY
		(protestingly)
	Mrs. Rand...

			MRS. RAND
	You must, Betsy. They'll have to
	believe you.

			BETSY
		(reluctantly)
	Mrs. Rand was at the Houmfort that
	night.  But there's nothing wrong
	with that.  She's gone there for
	years -- trying to take care of
	those people,  to help them.

			RAND
	What do you mean?

			HOLLAND
	I don't understand...

			DR. MAXWELL
	I think I do.  
		(smiling)
	I've often talked a little voodoo
	to get medicine down a patient's
	throat.

			MRS. RAND
	It's more than that, Doctor.  I've
	entered into their ceremonies -
	pretended to be possessed by their
	gods...

They stare at her, dumbfounded.

			MRS. RAND (cont'd)
	But what I did to Jessica was worse
	than that.  It was when she going
	away with Wesley.  There was that
	horrible scene.

She turns to Rand.

			MRS. RAND (cont'd)
	You thought she loved you, didn't
	you?  She didn't.  She didn't love
	anyone except herself  -- her
	reflection in the mirror, the look
	she could bring into a man's eyes.

			RAND
	That isn't true.  You never
	understood her.

			MRS. RAND
		(disregarding his protest)
	That night, I went to the Houmfort. 
	I kept seeing Jessica's face --
	smiling -- smiling because two men
	hated each other -- because she was
	beautiful enough to take my family
	in her hands and break it apart. 
	The drums seemed to be beating in
	my head.  The chanting -- the
	lights --  everything blurred
	together.  And then I heard a
	voice, speaking in a sudden
	silence.  My voice.  I was
	possessed.  I said that the woman
	at Fort Holland was evil and that
	the Houngan must maker her a
	Zombie.

Dr. Maxwell has been studying Mrs. Rand with a curious,
intent expression.

			DR. MAXWELL
	And what happened then, Mrs. Rand?

			MRS. RAND
		(unsteadily)
	I hated myself.  I kept saying to
	myself over and over again that
	these people had no power; they had
	no strange drugs; that there is no
	such thing as a Zombie.

			DR. MAXWELL
	Ah -- that's where reason took
	hold.

			MRS. RAND
	Yes, I said it, and I made myself
	believe it. But when I got here,
	Jessica was already raging with
	fever.

			DR. MAXWELL
	Two things had happened, Mrs. Rand. 
	One was that your daughter-in-law
	had been taken ill with a fever. 
	The other thing -- completely
	disconnected -- was that you had
	wished her ill, because she had
	hurt your sons.

			MRS. RAND
		(protesting)
	But I had no thought of harming
	her.  It wasn't I...

			DR. MAXWELL
	You were possessed.  That is true --
	possessed by your subconscious
	mind.  You were in the Houmfort,
	surrounded by their symbols.  To
	them, nothing worse can happen to a
	person than to be made into a
	Zombie.  Your subconscious mind
	used their own words for evil.

			HOLLAND
	Dr. Maxwell is right, Mother.

			DR. MAXWELL
		(gently and kindly)
	Emotion tricks all of us, Mrs.
	Rand.  And you are a woman with a
	very strong conscience.  That
	conscience has been tormenting you. 
	The rest is coincidence.  There is
	no such thing as a Zombie.  The
	dead do not come back to life. 
	Death is final.

From the hills comes the sound of a single conch, loud and
thin.

The CAMERA PANS from the group around Mrs. Rand to the tower
door.  Jessica walks out of it and comes slowly past the
fountain.

EXT. HOUMFORT -- NIGHT

The CAMERA IS FOCUSED ON a little five-and-ten-cent store
doll about three inches high.  It is dressed in a crude
imitation of Jessica's loose, belted, white gown.  A thread
is tied around it and this thread leads off, taut.

The CAMERA PANS ALONG the thread to show us that the other
end of the thread, some twenty feet long, is held by a negro,
crouched near the altar.  Halfway between this man and the
doll, the Sabreur, his sword stuck in the mound before him,
straddles the thread, his hands clasped around the thread but
not touching it.  Carre-Four stands watching.

The conch is blowing its strange, magnetic call and the
negroes are chanting as they watch the Sabreur and the doll. 
The Sabreur makes motions as if he were pulling on the thread
but still does no touch it.  He makes these motions over and
over again.  The doll moves slowly.  Then suddenly stops. 
The Sabreur's most frantic efforts fail to move it.

OMITTED

EXT. THE GARDEN -- NIGHT

ANOTHER ANGLE -- Jessica comes slowly past the fountain.

			RAND'S VOICE
	Jessica!

She does not seem to hear but continues walking toward the
gate.  We hear the sound of running feet.  Holland and Betsy
run up to Jessica.  Holland takes her arm, but she continues
to walk forward.  He tries to hold her.  It is apparent he
cannot do so without the use of considerable force.

			BETSY
	Jessica!  Jessica!

She pays no attention but continues to move forward toward
the gate.  Betsy, realizing that is something outside of her
previous experiences with the woman, has the presence of mind
to run forward and slam shut the great wrought-iron gate. 
Jessica walks up against the gate and stands there, unable to
move any further.  They stand and look at her perplexed.

EXT. HOUMFORT -- NIGHT

The doll has stopped moving.  The Sabreur is exerting all his
force.  We can see the sweat soaking his white shirt.  The
others are chanting, louder now, swaying in rhythm with his
pulling movements.  The conch is being blown with a more
insistent and compelling note.  Still, the doll-figure
refuses to move.  The Sabreur stops.  The conches are
suddenly silenced.

EXT. GARDEN GATE -- NIGHT

In this sudden silence, Holland and Jessica look at each
other across the motionless figure of Jessica.

			HOLLAND
	The Houmfort -- they're trying to
	get her back there.

Betsy and Holland look at each other.  Then Betsy takes
Jessica's arm.

			BETSY
	Come with me, Jessica.

Obedient again, Jessica allows Betsy to turn her around and
lead her back to the open tower door.  As Betsy and Jessica
go into the bedroom, the door closes behind them.

						FADE OUT

FADE IN

EXT. THE HOUMFORT -- EARLY EVENING

CLOSE SHOT of an enormous black hand.  The fingers of this
hand are spread out limply.  On this hand stands the little
five-and-ten-cent store doll which represents Jessica.  From
beneath this hand, another smaller black hand comes in and
closes the great fingers around the doll.

The CAMERA PULLS BACK to show the exterior of the Houmfort. 
The light is fading.  The posts of the Houmfort and the
figures of several voodoo worshippers are outlined in
silhouette against the darkening sky.  A single rada drum is
being beaten in light, quick rhythm.  Someone sets fire to a
heaped-up bonfire of dry leaves.  The flames blazing up
illuminate the scene more clearly, so that we can see a small
group of voodoo adepts squatting on their heels in a ring
around the bonfire.  Near the bonfire stand Carre-Four and
the Sabreur, with the drummer crouched behind them.  The
Sabreur takes the doll from Carre-Four's hand and holds it a
foot or so away from him.  The great black hand reaches for
it.  Again the Sabreur takes the doll away and dances off
with mincing steps to a distance of a few yards.  Carre-Four
lumbers after him, his hand extended.  Again, the Sabreur
lets him take the doll.

CLOSE SHOT of Carre-Four's hand with the doll upon it.  From
underneath, the smaller hand of the Sabreur comes in and
closes the great black fingers over the little white doll.

						DISSOLVE

INT. MRS. HOLLAND'S BEDROOM -- NIGHT

The room is in darkness.  In the faint light from the barred
windows, we see Betsy sleeping on the chaise lounge.  A
shadow moves across her face.  Through the window, we see the
great, cadaverous figure of Carre-Four.  His hand closes
around the bars, his face presses against them.  Then he lets
go of the bars and slips out of sight.  His figure reappears
at the next window.  Again, he tries the bars and peers into
the room.  Again, he vanishes in the darkness.  We hear a
faint sound from the tower.  Betsy wakens.  Her eyes go
quickly to the bed, where the outline of Jessica's figure
reassures her.  There is another muffled, dragging sound from
the tower.  Betsy sits up, listens intently.  She gets up and
goes toward the door leading into the tower.  At the foot of
Jessica's bed, she stops to grab up Jessica's white negligee,
throwing it around her she continues to the door and opens it
slowly and cautiously.

INT. THE GROUND FLOOR OF THE TOWER -- NIGHT

Betsy steps into the lower tower room.  The thick blackness
of the place is faintly lit by the open door into Jessica's
windowed bedroom.  She stands at the foot of the circling
stone stairs, straining to see into the darkness above. 
Overhead, there is a sudden commotion of wings and shrilling 
- something has disturbed the bats.  Very slowly and
hesitantly, Betsy moves up a few steps.

The CAMERA PANS UP from Betsy, around the circling walls of
the stairs, to where the sharp blade of light from the slit
window of the tower strikes across the wall.  A big black
hand slides down the shaft of light.  The CAMERA PANS BACK to
Betsy.  She can see nothing, but she hears the dry,
whispering sound of the hand moving along the wall.  She
backs down the few steps and across to the tower door leading
to the garden.

EXT. THE GARDEN AT FORT HOLLAND -- NIGHT

Betsy slips out of the tower door.  She stands irresolutely
by the fountain, watching and listening.  She can see nothing
in the black patch of the open tower door.  She walks slowly
into the garden.  There is a faint sound behind her. 
Fearfully, Betsy looks back across her shoulder.  She sees a
shadow slip into the deeper shadows of the fountain, merge
with them.  Quickly she moves behind a tall shrub, looks
again toward the tower.  She sees nothing.

A CLOSE SHOT of the fountain shows the surface of the water
in the cistern broken by a spreading ring of ripples.  Taut
with fear, Betsy leaves the shadow of the tall shrub and
slips over to a bush nearer the living room porch.  As if in
answer to this move, a whispering rustle comes from the
screen of bamboo against the tower-wing of the house.  She
stares toward the bamboo.  She sees nothing.

A CLOSE SHOT of the bamboo shows the leaves trembling
slightly.  Betsy looks across the empty, defenseless space
between herself and the porch steps.  Steeling herself, she
moves into it, walking with the slowness of nightmare fear,
looking from side to side with the slightest possible move of
her head.  At the foot of the steps, she turns to look back
at the bamboo.  A distorted shadow slithers out from under
the stalks.  Her panic released, Betsy runs up the steps,
down the shadowy porch to the door of Holland's bedroom.

			BETSY
		(in a very low, choked
		cry)
	Paul...Paul...

She flings herself against the door, turns the handle, and
runs into the room, closes the door behind her.  Into the
space before the porch steps moves the great gaunt figure of
Carre-Four.  This is our first full sight of him in the
scene.  He is bare to the waist, wearing only a pair of dark,
ragged trousers.  He starts up the steps.

EXT. PORCH -- NIGHT

Betsy comes out of the door to Holland's bedroom, followed by
Holland who has put on a robe.  In a CLOSE SHOT, we see the
shock that springs into their two faces as they see Carre
Four facing them across the length of the porch, moving
toward them, a single slow step at a time.  As Carre-Four
sees Betsy's white-clad figure, his hands come up slowly from
his sides.

			HOLLAND
	You!  What are you doing here?

Carre-Four continues his slow, implacable move forward.  His
lifted hands start reaching outward.

			HOLLAND (cont'd)
	Get out of here.

Carre-Four comes on relentlessly, his great arms outstretched
toward Betsy, the enormous hands curving to seize her.  Fear
comes into Holland's face.  With a quick gesture, he presses
Betsy back and steps in front of her.

			HOLLAND (cont'd)
		(a little uncertainly)
	Get out of here --

Carre-Four is almost upon them.  His shoulders press forward
as he reaches out.

			MRS. RAND
		(quiet, with great
		authority)
	Carre-Four!

The single word freezes Carre-Four into immobility. 
Astounded, Betsy and Holland turn to see Mrs. Rand at the far
end of the porch -- her face and hair pale above a dark, coat
like robe.

			MRS. RAND (cont'd)
	Carre-Four.  Go back.

Slowly, the giant figure obeys.  Carre-Four turns to face
her.  His hands relax, his arms fall to his sides again. 
In his blind fashion, Carre-Four moves back across the porch,
turns and goes down the steps to the garden.  Holland, who
has been watching this transfixed, starts after him.

			MRS. RAND (cont'd)
	Paul!

Holland pauses at the head of the stairs and turns to her.

			MRS. RAND (cont'd)
	Let him go.  Don't touch him, don't
	try to stop him!

Betsy has come down the porch behind Holland and she and Mrs.
Rand stand together.  All three of them look into the garden.

Carre-Four slips through the gates and is immediately lost to
sight in the darkness of the road beyond.

						FADE OUT

FADE IN

INT. BETSY'S BEDROOM -- DAY

As Betsy steps into her room, she sees Rand standing by one
of the windows.  In his face and his posture are complete
dejection, utter misery.

			RAND
	Betsy, can I talk to you a minute?

			BETSY
		(with quiet sympathy)
	Of course, Wes.

She waits, inquiringly.  Rand takes a few steps into the room
and turns to stare through the door, across the garden to
Jessica's room.

			RAND
	Does she suffer?  Does she know
	what she is?

			BETSY
	I don't know.
		(trying to ease the truth)
	I once asked Dr. Maxwell the same
	question.  He said he thought she
	was like a sleepwalker who would
	never waken.

			RAND
	She hated sleep.  She used to say
	it was a thief -- stealing away her
	life, an hour at a time...

			BETSY
		(trying to speak lightly)
	Not to a nurse.  Sleep is a cure.

Betsy crosses to the dressing table and takes a small cotton
stoppered bottle from a drawer.  She pulls out the cotton and
shakes two little pills into her hand.

			BETSY (cont'd)
		(going to Rand)
	In fact, I'm prescribing sleep for
	you right now.

She puts them into his hand.

			BETSY (cont'd)
	Be a good patient.  Take these and
	go to bed.

			RAND
		(suddenly)
	She's dead.  The dead ought to be
	buried.

			BETSY
		(gently)
	But she's not dead, Wes.

			RAND
		(violently)
	You know what she is!  That's death
	-- no mind, no senses -- no love,
	no hate, no feeling -- nothing!

			BETSY
	Please, Wes, do as I ask.  You must
	rest, you must sleep.

Rand turns his hand and lets the tablets fall to the floor.

			RAND
		(dully)
	She should have rest.
		(looking up at Betsy)
	She shouldn't have to walk and
	walk, in that black emptiness.
		(with realization)
	You could set her free. 
	You could give her rest.  You could
	give her rest.

Betsy, alarmed and troubled, puts her hand on his arm.

			BETSY
	Don't think of it, Wes.  I couldn't
	do that.

Rand turns and takes hold of her arm pleadingly, urgently.

			RAND
	You could do it.  You have drugs --
	it would be so quick -- a single
	injection.  If you won't do it for
	her sake, do it for Paul.

Betsy shakes her head.

			BETSY
	No, Wes.

			RAND
	Jessica was never any good for
	Paul.  You will be, you are.  And
	Mother -- seeing Jessica day after
	day -- never able to escape, never
	able to forget.  Please, Betsy --
	it's only merciful.

He looks into her eyes and sees the finality of her refusal
there.  His hand drops from her arm and he turns away.

			BETSY
		(with great pity)
	Her heart beats, Wes.  She
	breathes.  That's life -- I once
	took an oath to guard life.

Rand straightens up and takes a deep breath.

			RAND
	I know.  I shouldn't have asked it.

He starts slowly to the open door.

						DISSOLVE

EXT. HOUMFORT -- NIGHT

The Houngan and the Sabreur are working over the doll again. 
It begins to move.

EXT. GARDEN -- NIGHT

SHOOTING TOWARD the gates from behind Rand where he still
sits at the table.  Jessica, dressed in a white nightgown,
comes slowly out of the tower and moves toward the gates. 
Rand watches her.  The gate stops her progress.

EXT. THE HOUMFORT -- NIGHT

The doll has stopped despite the frenzied efforts of the
Sabreur and the wild chanting of the voodoo adepts.  Nothing
can make it move again.  There is a whispered consultation
between the Sabreur and the Houngan.  The Houngan lifts his
hand and the drums begin to beat a light rapid rhythm.

The Sabreur dances toward the doll, making a menacing move
with his saber.  When he reaches the little image, he puts
the point of his saber in the ground and draws from his
bodkin, a long needle.  With one swift movement, he stabs
this through the doll's back.

EXT. GARDEN -- NIGHT

As seen from Rand's ANGLE.  He rises slowly, drains the
liquor in his glass, walks forward to where Jessica stands at
the gate.  He looks at her for a long moment and then, as if
a resolve had formed in his mind, goes to the statue of St.
Sebastian, takes hold of one of the iron arrows.  He tugs at
it, but it refuses to come free.  He puts his foot up on the
wooden breast of the statue and gives a hard pull.  The long,
iron arrow comes out in his hand.  With this in his hand, he
walks to where Jessica stands.  He pulls back the latch bar
and throws the gates wide open.  Jessica moves out into the
darkness.  Rand follows her.

EXT. ROAD IN FRONT OF FORT HOLLAND -- NIGHT

SHOOTING TOWARD the gates.  Jessica, followed by Rand, walks
into the darkness.

INT. HOUMFORT -- NIGHT

The kettle of water, without a fire, is still boiling.  The
CAMERA MOVES AROUND the room to show that it is empty.  Then
MOVES UP ON a small shelf before which a candle is burning. 
On this shelf, a few inches above the candle flame, stands
the cheap little doll dressed like Jessica, with the needle
in its back.  Suddenly, the doll falls forward on its face.

EXT. SEASHORE -- DAY FOR NIGHT

Rand carrying Jessica's dead body in his arm, comes down to
the sand.

The surf.  Rand reverently places the body in the lapping
water of the surf.  The backward drag of an outgoing wave
draws it silently away from him.  He watches it go.

A returning wave, tall and forward curving, upthrusts the
body of Jessica so that we see it in the semi-transparency of
the wave.

MED. CLOSE SHOT of Rand.  The body comes floating to his
feet.

Rand carries the body a little further into the surf so that
the waves when they come in flow past his knees.  Again, the
outsurge takes the body away.

A returning wave brings Jessica's body back again.  (There is
a famous painting by Boecklin, called "And the Sea Gave Up
its Dead" which should somewhat influence the composition of
this scene.)

MED. CLOSE SHOT -- Rand.  He walks forward to secure the
returning body.  This time, he picks it up in his arms and
starts wading forward.

Rand is walking forward with the body in his arms.  The sea
is up to his hips.  The outgoing surge tugs at him.  He
struggles to regain his footing, misses and is drawn out to
sea.

EXT. SEA -- NIGHT -- (PROCESS)

The stars seem to have fallen to the surface of the sea.  We
see lights here and there, only a few feet from the water,
flaring and sparkling.

EXT. SEA -- FLOUNDER FISHERMAN -- NIGHT -- (PROCESS)

MED. LONG SHOT.  This is a closer shot of the scene and
identifies the lights.  There are torches held in the hands
of black fisherman, up to their knees in water, spearing
flounders by torch light.

EXT. SEA -- NIGHT -- (PROCESS)

CLOSEUP -- flounder fisherman.  He is moving slowly through
the shallow water his spear raised.  Suddenly, he makes a
darting strike with his spear.  With a cry of triumph, he
holds aloft a struggling flounder.  He disengages it from the
spear and puts it into the sack slung from his belt.

MED. CLOSE SHOT -- another fisherman.  He, too, is moving
stealthily forward, spear poised, torch held low. 
Something on the surface of the water near-by attracts his
attention and he lifts up his torch, the periphery of the
light widening as he holds it aloft.  The widening light
reveals the dead body of Jessica afloat on the surface of the
water, pallid and dreamlike, her wet, white garments clinging
like cerements.  The fisherman looks for a moment at the body
and then calls off to one of the other fishermen.

LONG SHOT -- flounder fishermen, their lights all converging
on a central light.

EXT. BEACH -- NIGHT

MED. CLOSE SHOT.  A group of flounder fishermen come out onto
the land.  They are carrying the bodies of Jessica and Rand. 
They start in the direction of Fort Holland.

EXT. GATES AT FORT HOLLAND -- NIGHT

The fishermen come in bearing their tragic burdens.  Rand's
body is carried on the shoulders of four fishermen.  Behind
walks Carre-Four and in his gigantic arms is the body of
Jessica; her wet hair and garments dripping from the great
arms of the still-living Zombie.  The upheld torches and
spears of the fishermen give a weird, processional feeling to
the group.

EXT. DINING TERRACE -- NIGHT

Holland, Betsy and Mrs. Rand stand watching the fishermen
bringing in the bodies of the dead.  Across the garden from
the fountain stands the little group of house servants also
watching.  The procession passes the fountain of St.
Sebastian and the CAMERA GOES IN to show the glistening sad
face of the saint.

						FADE OUT

FADE IN

EXT. STREET CORNER -- OTTOWA -- DAY

The CAMERA, as in the first portion of the script, PANS DOWN
the sign, pausing for a moment at the firm name of the
Parrish & Burden Sugar Company.  Then it CONTINUES ITS
DOWNWARD MOVEMENT to disclose a portion of the street itself, 
In the falling snow Betsy is standing with her back to the
camera, looking up at the sign.

			BETSY'S VOICE
		(narration)
	It was a sad time at Fort Holland. 
	Mother Rand was completely broken
	by the tragedy. But she's a woman of  
	courage. She's begun to build up her 
	life again at St. Sebastian -- It's a
	good life and a full one.  As for
	Paul and me -- it wasn't a simple
	problem for either of us.

A CLOSER SHOT of Betsy as she stands waiting.  She is dressed
in a fur-collared coat and has a little round fur cap on her
head.  She looks very attractive and very happy.  The door of
the office opens and Paul Holland comes out, muffling up his
overcoat.  Betsy takes a half step to meet him.  He takes her
arm with a well-used and familiar gesture.

			PAUL
	Sorry to keep you waiting, darling! 
	I thought I'd never get away. 
	Invoices and stock lists piling up
	all day long.  The balmy tropics
	were never like this.

			BETSY
		(giving his arm a little
		squeeze as they start
		walking toward the
		camera)
	I wouldn't have minded waiting.  I
	never mind waiting for you -- only
	we're dining with the Wilkins.  I
	don't want it said all over Ottowa
	that the Hollands are always late.

They pass the camera which HOLDS for a moment on the sign and
the falling snow, then we

						FADE OUT

THE END