I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE

				Original Screen Play

					By

			 Curt Siodmak and Ardel Wray


	   Based on Scientific Information from Articles

					By

				   Inez Wallace


	The RKO trademark FADES OUT, to reveal a road lined with palm
	trees, spectrally long and straight like a vista in a Dali
	painting.  Along this road and from a far distance two tiny
	figures advance toward the camera.  Over this scene the TITLE
	and CREDITS are SUPERIMPOSED.  The two figures continue to
	advance, growing more discernible all the time.

	As the credits FADE, the two human figures advancing along
	the road are more clearly discernible.  Although they are not
	close enough to distinguish their faces, it can be seen that
	one of them is an enormously tall, cadaverous negro, clothed
	only by ragged, tight-fitting trousers and that the other is
	nurse, dressed in crisp white uniform and cap, with a dark
	cloak over her shoulders.


				BETSY
			(narrating)
		I walked with a zombie.
			(laughs a little, self
			consciously)
		It does seem an odd thing to say. 
		Had anyone said that to me a year
		ago, I'm not at all sure I would
		have known what a Zombie was. I
		might have had some notion -- that
		they were strange and frightening,
		and perhaps a little funny.  But I
		have walked with a Zombie

	As she speaks, the two figures advancing on the road come
	closer.

				BETSY'S VOICE
			(narrating)
		It all began in such an ordinary
		way --

	As she says this the long road and the advancing figures

							DISSOLVE

	EXT. HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT - OTTAWA - DAY - (STOCK)

	The Houses of Parliament seen through falling snow.  In the
	f.g. horse-drawn sleighs are passing.

				BETSY'S VOICE
			(narrating)
		I'd just finished working on a case
		in Ottawa...a little boy who'd
		broken both legs.  It was one of
		those cases with traction frames
		and constant care, nicely
		complicate with a pair of
		hysterical parents.  When he was
		all well I had to find another job. 
		That's a nurse's life for you. I
		went to the Registry.

	EXT. CORNER OF A BUILDING - DAY - (SNOW)

	At about the level of the second and third floors is one of
	those half-curved, elliptical signboards which lap around the
	corners of old-fashioned office buildings.  The CAMERA PANS
	DOWN this sign, from one firm name to another, stopping at
	the last name listed:

		   PARRISH AND BURDEN SUGAR CO., LTD.

				BETSY'S VOICE
			(narrating)
		They gave me an address in the
		business district.  I went there.

	INT. OFFICE -- DAY

	An office on the first floor, with a window opening into a
	courtyard.  Through this window snow can be seen falling.

	CLOSE SHOT of Mr. Richard Brindsley Wilkens, V.C.  He is a
	small, sharp-featured, precise little man with pincenez
	glasses, dressed in a dark business suit.  One of the coat
	sleeves is empty.  The explanation for the missing arm can be
	found in his coat lapel: the ribbon of the Victoria Cross. 
	His age indicates that he won it in the last war.  He has a
	tablet in front of him and as he speaks, marks down the
	answers to his questions.

				WILKENS
		You're single?

				BETSY
		Yes.

				WILKENS
		Where were you trained?

				BETSY
		At the Memorial Hospital -- here in
		Ottawa.

	Wilkens writes this down and then returns the pen to its desk
	holder.  He picks up a typewritten page from the blotter, and
	stares at it.

				WILKENS
			(fiddling with the paper
			unhappily)
		This last question's a little
		irregular, Miss Connell.  I don't
		quite know how to put it.  

	Wilkens straightens himself determinedly and puts down the
	paper.

				WILKENS (cont'd)
		Do you believe in witchcraft?

	Betsy bursts into laughter and we go to our first sight of
	her.  She is young, bright, alert and looks extremely
	attractive in her blue nurse's cape and round fur cape.

				BETSY
			(finally putting the leash
			on her laughter)
		They didn't teach it at Memorial
		Hospital.  I had my suspicions,
		though, about the Directress of
		Training.

				WILKENS
			(permitting himself a dry
			little smile)
		Very well.  That means that you
		have met all Mr. Holland's
		requirements.  Now, as to salary --
		it's quite good -- two hundred
		dollars a month.

				BETSY
			(pleased)
		That is good.  But I'd like to know
		more about the case.

				WILKENS
		I'm afraid I'm not able to tell you
		much. Only that the patient is a young
		woman -- the wife of a Mr. Paul
		Holland with whom we do
		considerable business.

				BETSY
		That will mean another interview,
		won't it?

				WILKENS
		No, this is quite final.  You see,
		Mr. Holland is a sugar planter.  He
		lives in St. Sebastian Island in
		the West Indies.

				BETSY
		The West Indies?

				WILKENS
			(he's been expecting this)
		A year's contract -- a trip with
		all expenses paid -- that's not so
		bad, you know.

				BETSY
		But it's so far away...

				WILKENS
		That's rather nice, isn't it?

	Wilkens glancing at the snow falling outside the windows.

				WILKENS (cont'd)
			(a little wistfully)
		Sit under a palm tree -- go
		swimming -- take sun baths.  Just
		like a holiday...

				BETSY
		Palm trees --

							FADE OUT

	FADE IN

	MONTAGE OF SHIPS

	A great Canadian luxury liner, a boat like the Empress of
	Canada, proceeds across the screen from left to right. 
	Another ship, a smaller passenger steamer, going in the same
	direction, takes her place as she DISSOLVES OFF; then a
	freighter, and finally a small white-hulled trading schooner
	comes onto the screen.

				BETSY'S VOICE
			(narrating)
		Boats grow smaller to reach out-of
		the-way ports.  Judging by the
		boats that took me to St. Sebastian
		-- it's far away and hard to get
		to. First, there was the great
		liner to Havana -- then a smaller
		steamer to Port au Prince -- a
		freighter to Gonave -- and from
		Gonave, one of the little island
		trading schooners that carry sugar
		and sisal, sponges and salt all
		over the Caribbean.

							DISSOLVE

	A SAIL -- NIGHT

	A gaff-headed sail against a night sky of stars.  The boat
	carrying the sail is evidently in a rolling sea.  The sail
	moves in rhythmic undulance against the sky.  We hear the
	chug-chug of a one-cylinder Diesel.

	EXT. SCHOONER -- WHEEL -- NIGHT

	Two men stand by the wheel of the schooner, their faces lit
	by the light from the binnacle.  Behind them the wake of the
	boat creams out, white and phosphorescent.  One of the men is
	obviously the skipper of the boat, dressed in sloppy white
	ducks, unshaven and with an officer's battered cap on his
	head.  The other is a slim, tall man dressed in flannel
	slacks and a light tweed coat.

				BETSY'S VOICE
			(narrating)
		The man for whom I'd come to work --
		Mr. Holland -- boarded the schooner
		at Gonave.  He was pointed out to
		me, and he must have known who I
		was -- yet he never spoke to me. 
		He seemed quiet and aloof. 
		Sometimes I wondered how we'd get
		on -- but there wasn't really time
		for to think about it -- there was
		so much to see.  I loved the trip.

	EXT. SCHOONER -- OPEN GALLEY ON DECK -- NIGHT

	Near the mainmast is a large box filled with sand and on this
	sand a charcoal fire has been laid.  A negro, dressed in
	dungarees, is cooking a large piece of meat.  Other negroes
	lounge on deck, their black faces fire-lit. 
	
	They are singing, and their singing is attuned to the rhythm
	of the chugging motor.

	EXT. OCEAN -- NIGHT -- (STOCK)

	The wake of the schooner.

	EXT. OCEAN -- FLYING FISH -- NIGHT -- (STOCK)

	Flying fish, like shooting stars, dart across dark waters.

	EXT. STAR-FILLED SKY -- NIGHT -- (STOCK)

	The stars seem very close and there is always movement in the
	sky, as if it were alive -- falling stars and comets, lively
	as the flying fish.

	EXT. DECK OF SCHOONER -- NIGHT

	Betsy is seated on the cabin top just abaft of the foremast. 
	She is looking out toward the sea and her expression is
	ecstatic.  She is completely lost in the beauty that she
	feels, sees and smells.

				BETSY'S VOICE
		I smelled the spicy smells coming
		from the islands -- I looked at those
		great glowing stars -- and I felt the
		warm wind on my cheeks and I breathed
		deep and every bit of me inside
		myself said, "How beautiful --"

	The CAMERA DRAWS BACK to SHOW a tall, masculine figure
	leaning against the foremast, behind Betsy.  This is Paul
	Holland.  As we see him, we hear his voice.

				HOLLAND
		It is not beautiful.

				BETSY
			(surprised but smiling)
		You read my thoughts, Mr. Holland.

				HOLLAND
		It's easy enough to read the
		thoughts of a newcomer. Everything
		seems beautiful because you don't
		understand.  Those flying fish --
		they are not leaping for joy. 
		They're jumping in terror.  Bigger
		fish want to eat them.
		That luminous water -- it takes its
		gleam from millions of tiny dead
		bodies. It's the glitter of
		putrescence.  There's no beauty
		here -- it's death and decay.

				BETSY
		You can't really believe that. 

	A star falls.  They both follow its flight with their eyes.

				HOLLAND
			(pointing to it)
		Everything good dies here -- even
		the stars.

	He leaves his position by the mast and walks aft.

	The group of negroes at the mainmast.  They have stopped
	singing and they sit about the charcoal brazier.  They are
	eating, tearing at the meat with cruel, greedy, animal
	gestures.  Holland walks past them on his way aft.

	Betsy is puzzled and a little alarmed by Holland's strange
	utterances and his queer behavior.  Over this shot of Betsy
	looking off at him, we hear her as narrator.

				BETSY
			(narrating)
		It was strange to have him break in
		on my thoughts that way.  There was
		cruelty and hardness in his voice. 
		Yet -- something about him I liked -- 
		something clean and honest --  but
		hurt -- badly hurt.

							FADE OUT

	FADE IN

	EXT. VILLAGE OF ST. SEBASTIAN -- DAY

	St. Sebastian is a drab little West Indian village.  The
	shacks and houses of wood, lath and plaster seem to be
	falling apart.  Over the doorway of one of the buildings --
	evidently an administrative office -- hangs an American flag,
	indicating the government of the island.  The hard-packed
	dirt in the roadway is overgrown with weeds.  Everywhere, and
	moving indolently, are the little, badly nourished negroes,
	some of them tending stalls and sidewalk vending booths,
	others walking idly.  Betsy, followed by a black sailor with
	her suitcases, comes down the gangway.  Parallel to this
	gangway is another. 

	Up the second gangway, in file, black stevedores with bundles
	of sugar cane and small bales of sisal hemp on their heads,
	go up to the boat. 

	On the dock, Betsy makes her way through a group of clamorous
	children, vendors and beggars.  As the black sailor puts her
	luggage into an umbrella-topped surrey drawn by a gaunt mule,
	she stops, delighted, before a great basket filled with
	enormous white flowers.  The man seated beside the basket
	seems to be asleep, his face hidden by the drooping brim of a
	straw hat.  Betsy picks up one of the blooms, smells it and
	then looks at the vendor.

				BETSY
		How much is this?

	The vendor wakens and lifts his head, revealing a face
	bloated and scarified by yaws, a hideous nightmare face. 
	Betsy, startled, steps back, letting the flower drop.  Paul
	Holland, passing her, looks at this little tableau of horror
	and disgust.

				HOLLAND
			(in passing)
		You're beginning to learn.

	Betsy looks after him as he walks away into the village.

							DISSOLVE

	EXT. ROAD TO FORT HOLLAND -- DAY -- (PROCESS)

	An umbrella-topped surrey, drawn by a gaunt mule and piloted
	by an old coachman in dirty white singlet, a top hat with a
	cockade on his graying hair, is making its way along a dusty
	road between fields of sugar cane.  In the distance, the sea
	is visible and above it the great billowing white clouds of
	the Caribbean.  Betsy, seated on the back seat of the
	carriage, is bending forward to listen to the old man.

				COACHMAN
		Times gone, Fort Holland was a
		fort...now, no longer.  The
		Holland's are a most old family,
		miss.  They brought the colored
		people to the island-- the colored
		folks and Ti-Misery.

				BETSY
		Ti-Misery?  What's that?

				COACHMAN
		A man, miss -- an old man who lives
		in the garden at Fort Holland -
		with arrows stuck in him and a
		sorrowful, weeping look on his
		black face.

				BETSY
			(incredulous)
		Alive?

				COACHMAN
			(laughing, softly)
		No, miss.  He's just as he was in
		the beginning -- on the front part
		of an enormous boat.

				BETSY
			(understanding and amused)
		You mean a figurehead.

				COACHMAN
			(warming up to his
			orating)
		If you say, miss.  And the enormous
		boat brought the long-ago Fathers
		and the long-ago Mothers of us all 
		- chained down to the deep side
		floor. 

				BETSY
			(looking at the endless
			fields and the richly
			clouded blue sky)
		But they came to a beautiful place,
		didn't they?

				COACHMAN
			(smiling and nodding as
			one who accepts a
			personal compliment)
		If you say, miss.  If you say.

							DISSOLVE

	EXT. FORT HOLLAND -- DAY

	The jugheaded mule slowly pulls the carriage into the scene. 
	This beast comes to a somnolent stop without the coachman so
	much as touching the reins.  As the man climbs down and
	starts to take the luggage out of the carriage, Betsy looks
	through the wrought-iron gate into the garden. 
  
	Fort Holland is a one-story house built around the garden,
	with low covered porches to give shade and breezeway.  At the
	open end of the U is a great gate much like the wrought-iron
	gates of New Orleans.  Through this Betsy can see the garden
	and its profusion of verdure: azalea, bougainvillea, roses --
	much like California planting; no exotic orchids or man
	eating Venus Jugs -- just ordinary, pretty, semi-tropic
	flowers and shrubs.

	The separate rooms are open to the garden, but have jalousies
	of thin wood to give privacy when needed.  At one corner
	stands a big, stone tower, obviously a relic of some previous
	building.  The walls of the house have been built right up to
	and around the tower so that it has become part of the
	building itself.  On the garden side of the tower is the
	fountain. The most outstanding feature of this spring or
	fountain, which flows from a crevice in the stones of the
	tower, is that instead of falling directly into the cistern
	it falls first onto the shoulders of the enormous teakwood
	figurehead of St. Sebastian. From the shoulders of the saint
	it drips down in two runnels over his breast.  The wooden
	breast of the statue is pierced with six long iron arrows.
	The face is weathered and black.  Only a few bits of white
	paint still cling to the halo above his head.  Betsy and the
	coachman come up to the grillwork of the gate.  Betsy looks
	around the garden, while the old coachman reaches up and
	pulls a bell rope suspended from the gate.  As the bell
	begins to ring, he pushes the gate open.  Betsy walks
	through.

	INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT

	This is a small but lovely room with white plastered walls. 
	As in the rest of the house, the furniture is not the usual
	tropical porch furniture, but is neat, serviceable
	furnishings such as an well-to-do family established for a
	long time in any given place would acquire.  There is a nice
	four-poster bed with pineapple carving, a dressing table with
	a little Chippendale chair before it, and a maple rocker so
	old it has turned a hard, brown color that softly reflects
	the highlights in the room.  On the wall is a little mirror
	in a carved Spanish frame.  There are no pictures or other
	ornaments.  A woven grass rug lies on the floor.  Betsy is
	seated before the dressing table, putting the last touches to
	her hair.  She has changed her clothes and is wearing a
	simple, linen dress.  There is a discreet rap on the
	jalousied door which separates the room from the garden. 
	Betsy crosses the room and opens the door.  A colored man in
	a butler's white jacket stands there.  This is Clement.

				CLEMENT
		Miss Connell -- it's dinner.

				BETSY
		Thank you, Clement.

	He stands aside and lets her step through, goes ahead of her
	and precedes her down the garden path.

	EXT. GARDEN AT FORT HOLLAND -- NIGHT

	Betsy and Clement pass the fountain.  The figure of St.
	Sebastian gleams wetly in the rays of the candlelight.  On
	the covered porch in front of the living room, a dinner
	service has been set out on a long mahogany table.  As she
	comes forward, Betsy sees a handsome young man waiting for
	her.  This is Wesley Rand.  The table by which he stands is
	set for two and lit by candelabra in great glass hurricane
	lamps.  The table is laid with white linen, and the
	candlelight gleams on silver and cut-glass arranged in the
	most formal manner.  The table itself is a beautiful mahogany
	structure with elaborate carving, and the four chairs which
	surround it are massive Victorian pieces.  A fifth chair
	stands by the wall.  Rand steps down into the garden and
	extends his hand to Betsy.

				RAND
		Miss Connell -- I'm Wesley Rand. 
		Paul asked me to introduce myself.

	They shake hands and he takes her elbow to guide her to the
	table. 

				RAND (CONT'D)
			(as they walk)
		It seems we are having dinner by
		ourselves, Miss Connell.  But I may
		as well introduce everyone to you,
		anyway.
			(points to the chair at
			the head of the table)
		There -- in the master's chair,
		sits the master -- my half-brother
		Paul Holland.  But you've already
		met him.

				BETSY
		Yes -- on the boat.

				RAND
		And that chair --
			(indicates the chair drawn
			back against the wall)
		is the particular property of Mrs.
		Rand -- mother to both of us and
		much too good for either of us. 
		Too wise, in fact, to live under
		the same roof. She prefers the
		village dispensary.

				BETSY
			(interested and a little
			surprised)
		Is she a doctor?

				RAND
		No -- she just runs the place. 
		She's everything else -- amazing
		woman, mother.  You'll like her.

				BETSY
		I like her already.

				RAND
		And that --
			(points to another chair)
		is my chair.  And this --
			(draws back a chair for
			Betsy)
		is Miss Connell -- who is
		beautiful.

				BETSY
		Thank you.  But who sits there?
			(indicating a chair at her
			left)

				RAND
		My brother's wife.

	There is a little pause.  Rand stands for a very brief
	moment, looking at the empty chair and then, almost as if
	pulling himself together, takes hold of his own chair and
	moves it down the table nearer to Betsy.

				RAND (cont'd)
			(as he moves the chair)
		Here, here, this isn't at all cozy --
		it makes me seem aloof and I'm
		anything but that.

	They smile at each other.  Betsy looks around the table and
	out toward the garden.

	FROM BETSY'S VIEWPOINT, as we see the garden.  The CAMERA
	PANS AROUND to show one aspect of its beauty after another
	and finally COMES TO REST ON a lighted window.  On the
	shutters can be seen the shadow of a man seated at a desk,
	obviously working.

				BETSY'S VOICE
			(over pan)
		We had a lovely dinner.  Somehow as
		we sat there, I couldn't help
		thinking of all the stories I had
		read in the magazines, stories in
		which people had dinner on a
		terrace with moonlight flooding a
		tropical garden.  It seemed a
		little unreal.  -- Then we had
		coffee.

	EXT. THE PORCH -- NIGHT

	Betsy and Rand are seated in easy chairs with a small coffee
	table before them.  On it are a coffee urn, a bottle of
	brandy, cups and glasses.  Behind them is the lighted window
	where we have seen the shadow of Paul Holland.  From this
	angle the shadow can no longer be seen.  As if part of a
	general conversation that has been going on for some time.

				BETSY
		-- But, you're an American?

				RAND
		I went to school in Buffalo.  Paul
		went to school in England.

				BETSY
		I wondered about your different
		accents.  I'm still wondering about
		your names -- Rand and Holland.

				RAND
			(making mockery of his own
			explanation)
		We're half-brothers.  Paul is
		mother's first child.  When his
		father died, she married my father.
		Dr. Rand, the missionary.  And you
		know what they say about
		missionaries' children.

	Far off somewhere a drum begins to beat, slowly and sullenly. 
	Betsy turns in the direction of the sound.  Rand watches her,
	grinning.

				RAND (CONT'D)
			(mocking her interest)
		The jungle drums -- mysterious -
		eerie.

	Betsy turns back to him and smiles.

				RAND (cont'd)
		That's a work drum at the sugar
		mill. St. Sebastian's version of
		the factory whistle.

	He finishes the little bit of liquor left in his brandy glass
	and gets up.

				RAND (CONT'D)
		As a matter of fact, it means the
		sugar syrup is ready to be poured
		off.  You'll have to excuse me.

				BETSY
		Of course.  It's been nice of you
		to spend this much time with me.

	Rand picks up the brandy bottle.

				RAND
			(pouring himself a drink)
		Don't worry.  I wasn't missed.  The
		only important man here is the
		owner.

				BETSY
		Mr. Holland?

				RAND
		Yes, the redoubtable Paul.  He has
		the plantation, and I, as you must
		have noticed, have all the charm.

				BETSY
		I don't know.  He spoke to me last
		night on the boat. I liked him very
		much.

				RAND
			(pouring another drink)
		Ah, yes, our Paul, strong and
		silent and very sad -- quite the
		Byronic character. Perhaps I ought
		to cultivate it. 

	The drum sounds again.

				BETSY
			(smiling and pointing off)
		Perhaps you ought to get on to the
		mill.

				RAND
			(leisurely sips at his
			drink)
		It'll wait.

	The work drum sounds for the third time.  Rand who has
	finished his drink, reaches for the bottle again.  At this
	moment the jalousies behind them open and Holland comes out. 
	Rand puts down the bottle and straightens up.  Holland stands
	watching him. 

				RAND (CONT'D)
			(to Holland)
		I was just going to the mill.
			(nods to Betsy)
		Good night, Miss Connell.

	Betsy nods and smiles to him.  Rand starts toward the gate.

				HOLLAND
			(still watching Rand)
		Have the servants made you
		comfortable?

				BETSY
		Yes, thank you.

	Clement comes from the house carrying a large, silver tray
	covered with a napkin.  He comes up to Holland and holds the
	tray before him, lifting the corner of the napkin to present
	the food under it for inspection.

				HOLLAND
			(looking at the food)
		It seems very nice, Clement.  I'll
		take it to Mrs. Holland.

	He starts to take the tray.  Betsy rising, also reaches for
	it.

				BETSY
		Can't I take it for you?

				HOLLAND
			(taking tray)
		No, thank you.  Tomorrow's time
		enough for you to begin work.

	He goes off with the tray.  Betsy picks up a coffee cup.

	LONG SHOT of tower.  Holland enters the tower and closes the
	door behind him.

							DISSOLVE

	INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT

	Betsy, dressed in a trim negligee and slippers, is getting
	ready for the night.  She plumps up the cushion, tests the
	softness of the mattress and then, yawning, turns out the
	Aladdin kerosene lamp which lights the room.  Level rays of
	moonlight filter through the rattan blinds into the room. 
	Betsy crosses the room and peers out through the rattan
	strips into the garden.

	EXT. THE GARDEN -- NIGHT

	AS BETSY SEES IT.  Lights are on in the living room.  This
	light, barred and diffused by the strip-blinds, softly
	illuminates the garden.  The black shadows of trees and
	shrubbery loom over the paths.  Through these shadows a
	woman, dressed in filmy white, walks stiffly, her arms
	hanging immobile, close to her slim body.  She is blonde and
	as far as the light will reveal, she seems beautiful.  She
	makes the circuit of the garden, pacing slowly along the
	paths.  Betsy watches her.  Then, from the living room, a
	man's voice calls out to her.

				HOLLAND'S VOICE
		Jessica.

	The woman at once turns toward the living room, mounts the
	porch and enters through a door held open for her.

	INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT

	Betsy turns back into the room.  She has crossed over to the
	bed and is removing her negligee when the sound of hesitant
	notes on the piano attract her attention.  In her nightgown
	she goes back to the window and peers through the cracks
	between the laths.

	INT. A CORNER OF THE LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

	From where she stands, Betsy can see the big, square,
	rosewood piano.  A lamp had been lit beside it and the light
	from this lamp falls on the blonde hair and gleaming
	shoulders of the woman who had walked in the garden.  Her
	face cannot be seen.  Her fingers move strangely over the
	keyboard, now and again striking a hesitant note, but making
	no music, only an occasional dissonance.

	INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT

	Betsy, still watching through the slit in the jalousie,
	endeavors to get a better view of the living room.  She
	changes her position and looks out again through the blinds.

	INT. ANOTHER CORNER OF THE LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

	As seen from Betsy's NEW ANGLE.  Paul Holland is seated in a
	low armchair.  His eyes are fixed on the woman at the piano. 
	She continues to strike odd notes on the piano.

	INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT

	Betsy leaves the window, crosses to the bed and lies down. 
	Then, sighing, she makes herself comfortable on the pillow,
	settling herself for sleep.  Outside the nightjars whistle
	softly, the cicadas twitter and the Hammer tree frogs make
	drowsy, somnolent little croaks:  it is a tropic lullaby of
	bird, batrachian and insect sound.  The faint, groping notes
	on the piano continue.

							DISSOLVE

	EXT. THE FIGURE OF ST. SEBASTIAN -- NIGHT -- (MOONLIGHT)

	In the moonlight, the pin-cushioned figure of St. Sebastian
	broods over the dark water in the cistern.  Above the
	constant sound of the water flowing over the saint's
	shoulders can be heard the sound of a woman crying,
	mournfully and as if from deep-seated sadness.

	INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT

	Betsy is asleep.  The sound of the woman's weeping is
	persistent in the room.  Finally, it has its effect.  The
	young nurse stirs restlessly, then wakes.  She listens, gets
	up, then listens again.

	EXT. THE TOWER DOOR -- NIGHT -- (MOONLIGHT)

	INT. BETSY'S ROOM -- NIGHT

	It is obvious to her this piteous keening comes from the
	direction of the tower.  It is in this direction she had seen
	Holland carry the tray of food to her patient.  She pulls on
	her slippers and negligee and leaves the room.

	EXT. THE FIGURE OF ST. SEBASTIAN -- NIGHT

	Betsy crosses in front of the fountain and goes to the small
	postern door of heavy, iron-bound oaks which leads into the
	ruin.  The sound of weeping continues.  She tries the door. 
	It opens and she goes in, leaving it open behind her.

	INT. THE GROUND FLOOR OF THE TOWER -- NIGHT

	Betsy comes hesitantly in and looks around her.  She can
	still hear the sound of a woman's crying.  It seems to come
	from above her.  A circling flight of shallow stone steps
	lead upward into the dark.  To one side of them, but almost
	hidden from her in the darkness, is another door leading back
	into the house.  She hesitates a moment and then, slowly,
	begins to climb the stairs.

	INT. TOWER -- SECOND FLOOR -- NIGHT

	Betsy comes up to the level of the second floor.  It is in
	pitch blackness.  High above her is a narrow slit through
	which a single shaft of white moonlight drives sharply into
	the well-like darkness of the room.  Very slowly, almost as
	if feeling her way on the stone floor with her slippered
	feet, she crosses the room.  Then, one hand groping along the
	rough, stone wall, she begins to circle the room, searching
	for some doorway, or an ascending flight of stairs.

	Above her in the massive rafters of the tower, bats stir and
	squeak.  One bat, dropping from his perch, sweeps past her
	with a rushing of air against the taut membranes of his
	wings, then flies laboriously up and out through the narrow
	slit high in the wall.  Betsy stands stock still, frightened. 
	Then she resumes her groping progress.  A rat squeals and
	slithers across the floor.  Again she stops.  Then, more as a
	request for guidance than as a cry for help, she calls out
	softly.

				BETSY
			(calling)
		Mrs. Holland!  Mrs. Holland!

	There is no answer.  She gropes forward a few more steps,
	then stops again and again calls, a little louder now.

				BETSY (CONT'D)
			(calling)
		Mrs. Holland?

	INT. FIRST FLOOR OF THE TOWER -- NIGHT

	A white-robed female figure comes out from under the stairs,
	walking slowly, her movements drift-like as if walking in
	deep sleep.  She begins slowly to climb the stairs.

	INT. TOWER -- SECOND FLOOR -- NIGHT

	Betsy is still groping her way around the circling walls of
	the tower.  The shaft of moonlight strikes down between her
	and the stairs.  Through it she sees the drifting, diaphanous
	whiteness of the other woman as she comes up from the dark
	stairwell.

				BETSY
		Mrs. Holland?

	There is no answer.  The other woman continues to walk toward
	her.

				BETSY (cont'd)
			(embarrassed; trying to
			explain)
		Mrs. Holland -- I didn't mean to
		get you up --

	The white woman keeps walking toward her with the same
	entrance tread.  Betsy takes a step forward to meet her.  The
	two women come together in such a way that the white-clad
	woman stops directly in the shaft of moonlight.

	CLOSEUP of Jessica.  This is the face of the dead; bloodless,
	cold-lidded, eyes open and unseeing, washed white with the
	pallor of the moonlight, framed in lank, lifeless tresses of
	blonde hair.

				BETSY (cont'd)
			(a frightened questioning
			whisper over the closeup)
		Mrs. Holland -- ?

	Without expression, Jessica moves toward her.

	MED. CLOSE SHOT -- Jessica and Betsy.  Jessica comes toward
	Betsy, who takes a step back.  They are out of the moonlight
	now, but the pale face of the woman seems to glow in the
	darkness.  She keeps advancing toward Betsy.  Betsy screams --
	shrill and piercing.

	INT. THE RAFTERS OF THE TOWER -- NIGHT

	Betsy's cry echoes back and forth between the stone walls of
	the tower.  The bats hanging from the rafters are roused and
	begin to fly, squeaking and mewling.

	INT. TOWER -- SECOND FLOOR -- NIGHT

	The flight of bats wheels and banks around the figures of the
	two women.  Betsy screams wordlessly and the shrill, piercing
	sound of her outcry lances back at her from the echoing
	walls.

	CLOSEUP of Betsy.  Desperately frightened, her face agonized,
	she screams again, pressing her loosely clenched fists
	against the sides of her mouth.

	INT. SLIT IN WALL OF TOWER -- NIGHT

	Single file, the bats sweep out one by one through the
	loophole high up in the wall of the tower.  Betsy's scream
	continues to echo.

	INT. TOWER -- SECOND FLOOR -- NIGHT

	Jessica still continues to walk toward Betsy.  Betsy retreats
	from her, backs onto the stone stairs leading to the slit in
	the wall.  She orients herself quickly; starts to back up
	this narrow flight of steps.

	INT. TOWER STAIRWELL -- NIGHT

	Holland running up the steps of the tower.  He is pulling a
	light bathrobe over his pajamas and carrying a flashlight in
	his hand.  Behind him come Clement and a pretty, little negro
	maid, Alma.  Clement has dressed hurriedly.  He is
	barefooted; has on his trousers and a shirt, which is not
	tucked in at the waistband.  Alma, also barefooted, has on a
	thick, white cotton nightgown, a little bit too big for her. 
	Clement carries a lighted kerosene lamp in his hand.

	INT. SECOND FLOOR -- TOWER -- NIGHT

	Holland, Clement and Alma come up the stairs.  Clement's
	lantern, held high, illuminates the room, disclosing Jessica
	still walking and Betsy cowering away from her.

				HOLLAND
		Jessica!

	The woman stops and turns slowly toward him.  He speaks
	hurriedly to Alma.

				HOLLAND (CONT'D)
		Take Mrs. Holland to her room.

				ALMA
			(taking Jessica's arm)
		Come, Miss Jessica, come with Alma.

				BETSY
			(attempting to get a grip
			on herself.  Terribly
			ashamed)
		I heard someone crying -- a woman --

				HOLLAND
		A woman crying?  No one's been
		crying here.

				CLEMENT
		Mr. Paul -- yes, there was crying
		tonight. It was Alma.  Her sister
		was brought a'birthing.

				HOLLAND
			(with a slight smile)
		Thank you, Clement.

	He takes Betsy's elbow and starts toward the stairs.

	INT. FIRST FLOOR OF THE TOWER -- NIGHT

	Clement precedes Betsy and Holland down the stairs, holding
	the lantern high to give them light.  At the foot of the
	stairs he steps aside, standing near the door of Jessica's
	bedroom.  Betsy and Holland go outside to the garden. 
	Clement is about to follow them when the door to Jessica's
	bedroom opens a few inches.  Alma puts her head out
	cautiously.

				ALMA
			(whispering)
		Clement...

	Clement goes over to her.

				ALMA (cont'd)
		I'm going to stay with Miss Jessica
		-- in case the new Miss takes to
		roaming again.

				CLEMENT
			(in a low voice
			reprovingly)
		Don't you go crying anymore --
		that's what frightened Miss Betsy.

				ALMA 
		Well, she didn't soothe me any --
		hollering around in the tower!

				CLEMENT
		Shhh!

	EXT. FOUNTAIN -- NIGHT

	Holland and Betsy come out of the tower.

				BETSY
		Why was the maid crying?

				HOLLAND
		I'm not sure I can make you
		understand.
			(gestures toward the
			fountain statue)
		You know what this is?

				BETSY
		A figure of St. Sebastian.

				HOLLAND
		Yes.  But it was once the
		figurehead of a slave ship.  That's
		where our people came from -- from
		the misery and pain of slavery. For
		generations they found life a
		burden. That's why they still weep
		when a child is born -- and make
		merry at a burial.

	Clement, the lantern still in his hand, passes close behind
	them.  For a moment they turn and look at his black, still
	face, underlit by the rays of the lantern.  It reflects all
	the sadness of slave people and slave ways.  He goes by, the
	lantern light fading off in the distance, as he walks down
	the path.

				HOLLAND (CONT'D)
		I've told you, Miss Connell, this
		is a sad place.

							FADE OUT

	FADE IN

	INT. BETSY'S BEDROOM - DAY

	The birds in the garden are singing loudly and cheerfully and
	the sun pours in wide streaks through the jalousies.  At the
	foot of Betsy's bed Alma stands.  She has lifted the covers
	and holds Betsy's big toe between thumb and forefinger.  She
	shakes it gently.  Betsy wakes.

				ALMA
		Good morning, miss.

				BETSY
			(starting to rouse from
			bed)
		Thank you for waking me.

				ALMA
		I didn't want to frighten you out
		of your sleep, Miss.  That's why I
		touched you farthest from your
		heart. 

	Betsy starts to get up and Alma protests.

				ALMA (CONT'D)
		Don't get up, Miss.  I brought your
		breakfast.  Just like I do for Miss
		Jessica.

	She turns to reveal right and left-handed coffee pots behind
	her on a tray.  Also on the tray is an enormous, puffed-up
	brioche.

				BETSY
		But I'm Miss Jessica's nurse, Alma. 
		You don't have to do that for me.

				ALMA
		I know, miss.  But I like to do it. 
		I like to tend for Miss Jessica and
		I want to tend for you.  You settle
		right back, now, and I'll mix you
		your coffee.

				BETSY
			(pulling the pillow up
			behind her to make
			herself comfortable)
		Thank you, Alma.

	Alma takes a cup and places it on the little table near the
	bed.  She takes up the two coffee pots and simultaneously,
	with a deft movement, pours the hot milk and the hot coffee
	into the cup.  She sweetens it and creams it and passes it to
	Betsy, questioning Betsy with upraised sugar tongs and cream
	pitcher before each move.

				ALMA
			(while she's pouring the
			coffee)
		Miss Jessica used to say this is
		the only way for a lady to break
		her fast -- in bed, with a lacy
		cushion to bank her head up. If
		you'd only seen her, Miss Connell.
		She looked so pretty.

				BETSY
		She must have been beautiful.  What
		happened to her, Alma?

				ALMA
		She was very sick and then she went
		mindless, Miss.

				BETSY
			(reassuringly)
		We'll see if we can't make her
		well, Alma, you and I.

				ALMA
		I do my best.  Every day I dress
		her just as beautifully as if she
		was well.  It's just like dressing
		a great, big doll. 

	As she talks, Alma picks up the plate with the brioche and
	places it at the bedside.  She puts a knife and fork on the
	plate.  Betsy sets down her coffee cup and picks up the
	plate.

				BETSY
		What's this?

				ALMA
		A puff-up, I call it.  But Miss
		Jessica always says "brioche."

				BETSY
		Looks like an awful lot of
		breakfast -- I don't know whether
		I'll be able to get away with it.

	She puts her fork into it and the whole, enormous structure
	of the pastry falls into tiny bits.  Both she and Alma burst
	into peals of laughter.

							DISSOLVE

	INT. FORT HOLLAND LIVING ROOM AND OFFICE -- DAY

	This room is fairly long with jalousied doors and windows
	like the other rooms in the house.  It is tastefully
	furnished and there is a large square rosewood piano in one
	corner of the room.  The rather formal elegant furniture
	shows up nicely against the white-washed plaster walls.  At
	one end is a raised portion with a low railing surrounding
	it.  Here Holland has his office.

	There is a trestle table with a straight chair behind it,
	typewriter on a stand, and a small wooden filing cabinet with
	an old-fashioned letter-press on top of it.  There is a
	surveyor's map of the plantation on one wall, and on the
	other a Geodetic Survey chart of the island of St. Sebastian. 
	(For 75c, we can purchase the U.S. Geodetic chart of Anacapa
	Island, engraved by Whistler, possibly the most beautiful map
	ever drawn.  We can use this for the map of our fictitious
	island.)  Holland is seated at the table with a ledger open
	before him.  He has obviously been working.  Betsy sits in a
	chair drawn up to one corner of the table.  She is in her
	nurse's uniform.

				HOLLAND
		I made it clear in my letter to the
		company.  This is not a position
		for a frightened girl.

				BETSY
			(quietly, but on the
			defensive)
		I am not a frightened girl.

				HOLLAND
		That's hard to believe, after what
		happened last night.

				BETSY
			(before he can continue)
		If I were as timid as you seem to
		think, Mr. Holland, I wouldn't have
		gone into the tower in the first
		place.

				HOLLAND
		And what is so alarming about the
		tower, Miss Connell?

				BETSY
			(not so sure of herself)
		Nothing -- really.  But you must
		admit it's an eerie sort of place -- 
		so dark --

				HOLLAND
			(smiling faintly)
		Surely nurses aren't afraid of the
		dark?

				BETSY
			(indignantly)
		Of course not!  

	Holland waits --- looking at her a little quizzically.

				BETSY (cont'd)
		But frankly, it was something of a
		shock to see my patient that way,
		for the first time.  No one had
		told me Mrs. Holland was a mental
		case.

				HOLLAND
		A mental case?

				BETSY
		I'm sorry...

				HOLLAND
			(again the impersonal
			employer)
		Why should you be?  My wife is a
		mental case.  Please keep that in
		mind, Miss Connell -- particularly
		when some of the foolish people of
		this island start talking to you
		about Zombies.

	Paul rises and walks around the desk.  Betsy also stands.

				HOLLAND (cont'd)
		You will find slave superstition a
		contagious thing.  Some people let
		it get the better of them.
			(breaks off and looks at
			her intently)
		I don't think you will.

				BETSY
		No.

	Holland gets up and crosses to the jalousied door.  He holds
	it open for Betsy to precede him into the garden.

				HOLLAND
		Come along.  I'll introduce you to
		Dr. Maxwell and your patient. 

	INT. JESSICA'S BEDROOM - DAY

	It is a beautiful woman's bedroom, feminine but with no
	suggestion of the bagnic; elegant rather than seductive, and
	reflecting a playful yet sophisticated taste.  The furniture
	is Biedermeier.  There is a large bed, a trim chaise lounge,
	a little slipper chair and in one corner of the room, that
	hallmark of great vanity, a triple-screen, full-length
	mirror, also a Biedermeier style.  Before it is a tabouret,
	the surface of which is literally covered with expensive
	looking perfume bottles and cosmetic jars.  Mrs. Holland had
	evidently taken the tasks of beauty seriously enough to stand
	up to them.  There is one picture in the room.  It is
	Boecklin's "The Isle of the Dead," framed in a narrow frame
	of dark wood.  Near the open window stands a beautiful gilt
	parlour harp. (Size 22)  Behind it, arranged conveniently for
	playing, is a small Empire chair.  There is no other
	furniture near this arrangement, and the harp, the empty
	chair and wind-stirred glass curtains give a dual effect of
	elegance and loneliness.

	The CAMERA is FOCUSED on this harp as the scene opens.  The
	glass curtains blown by the wind, steal across the strings
	bringing forth tinkling notes.

	The CAMERA PANS RIGHT to reveal Betsy and Dr. Maxwell at Mrs.
	Holland's bedside.  Dr. Maxwell is a small, neat man with a
	charming voice and a pleasant but somewhat professional
	personality.  He is dressed in tropical whites and wears a
	cummerbund.  Alma is removing the breakfast tray and, as she
	passes Betsy on her way to the door, she makes a little
	curtsey.  Mrs. Holland is lying back against the pillows on
	her bed in a semi-reclining position. 
	
	In the daylight her emaciated, pale face and great, empty
	eyes are pitiful but no longer frightening.

				DR. MAXWELL
		I'm afraid it won't be easy for me
		to explain Mrs. Holland's illness,
		Miss Connell.  We have our own
		diseases here.  But, if you'll sit
		down --
			(indicates a chair)

	Betsy seats herself.  Dr. Maxwell takes a cigarette case from
	his pocket.  He takes a cigarette, holds it up.

				DR. MAXWELL (cont'd)
		To put it simply:  Mrs. Holland had
		one of those high fevers often found
		with our tropical maladies.  We might
		say that portions of the spinal cord
		and certain lobes of the mind were
		burned out by this fever.  The result
		is what you see -- a woman bereft of
		will power, unable to speak or even
		to act by herself.  She will obey
		simple commands.

				BETSY
		Does she suffer?

				DR. MAXWELL
		I don't know.  I prefer to think of
		her as a sleepwalker who can never
		be awakened -- feeling nothing,
		knowing nothing.  

	Betsy looks to Jessica.

				DR. MAXWELL (cont'd)
		There's very little we can do
		except keep her physically
		comfortable -- light diet -- some
		exercise --

				BETSY
		She can never be cured?

				DR. MAXWELL
		I've never heard of a cure.

				BETSY
		Is this disease common in the
		tropics?

				DR. MAXWELL
		Fortunately, not.  This is my first
		experience with it as a physician. 
		But I have seen half-witted field
		hands -- whom the other peasants
		call Zombies.  I am sure they
		suffer from a similar destruction
		of spinal nerves as the result of
		high fever.

	He crosses the room and clasps shut the black leather bag in
	which he carries his medicine kit.  Betsy rises and walks
	over to him.

				BETSY
		Could you give me the details of
		treatment and diet?

	Dr. Maxwell picks up a couple of sheets of typewritten paper
	which have been lying beside the bed.  He hands them to
	Betsy.

				DR. MAXWELL
		I prepared these for you last
		night, Miss Connell.

				BETSY
			(taking the papers)
		Thank you.

	He picks up his bag and walks toward the door.  Betsy walks
	with him.  At the door, he half turns and says:

				DR. MAXWELL
		I'll be by in a day or so, Miss
		Connell, and see how you are
		getting on.

	Betsy nods and then turns back into the room.  She walks up
	to the bed and stands looking at Jessica, then down at the
	list of typewritten instructions.  Evidently the list calls
	for her to carry out some detail of the regime, for she puts
	it down and starts out of the room in a businesslike fashion.

							DISSOLVE 

	EXT. FOUNTAIN -- DAY

	Holland is standing by the fountain as Betsy comes out of the
	door of the tower and starts to cross the garden.  He turns
	toward her.  She stops and smiles.

				HOLLAND
		You didn't find your patient so
		frightening in the daylight, did
		you?

				BETSY
		Mrs. Holland must have been
		beautiful ---

				HOLLAND
			(coldly)
		Many people thought her beautiful. 

	Betsy is about to pass on when he asks abruptly:

				HOLLAND (CONT'D)
		Tell me, Miss Connell. Do you
		consider yourself pretty?

	Betsy is a little taken aback by this, but she recovers
	herself.

				BETSY
		I suppose so.  Yes.

				HOLLAND
		And charming?

				BETSY
		I've never given it much thought.

				HOLLAND
		Don't.  It will save you a great
		deal of trouble and other people a
		great  unhappiness.

	Betsy is puzzled and interested.  She stands a moment and
	then starts off.

							FADE OUT

	FADE IN

	EXT. THE VILLAGE OF ST. SEBASTIAN -- DAY

	Betsy, out of her customary uniform and dressed in a light
	colored print dress and a straw picture hat, is walking
	slowly and a little aimlessly down one of the village
	streets.

				RAND'S VOICE
		Betsy!

	Betsy turns, as she hears her name, and sees Rand, mounted on
	a white saddle mule.  (The mule is one of those delicate,
	single footed saddle animals which they breed in Central
	America and the West Indies, very smart-looking and with good
	furniture.  The saddle should be particularly well-chosen. 
	Most West Indian planters use an English saddle with long
	stirrups.  Sometimes a machete in a leather scabbard hangs
	from the near side of the saddle.)  He maneuvers the mule
	between a cart and a vendor balancing two baskets on a pole
	over his shoulders, then brings the animal to a halt beside
	her.

				RAND
		Where do you think you're going?

				BETSY
		It's my day off.

				RAND
		But what in the world can you do
		with a day off in St. Sebastian?

				BETSY
			(a little ruefully)
		I was just beginning to wonder. 
		Aren't there shops, restaurants and
		things?

				RAND
		Well -- and things -- might be a
		better description of what you'll
		find.  I'd better come along and
		show you the town.

	Rand swings down off the mule and takes the reins to lead the
	animal.

				BETSY
			(very pleased)
		But don't you have to work?

				RAND
			(grinning)
		By a curious coincidence, it's my
		day off, too.

							DISSOLVE OUT

	DISSOLVE IN

	EXT. STREET CORNER - ST. SEBASTIAN -- DAY

	A Calypso singer with a guitar slung around his shoulder,
	lounges against the corner of a building, singing to a small
	audience of loiterers.  He has a derby hat in front of him
	with one or two coins in it.

	EXT. CAFE -- ST. SEBASTIAN -- DAY

	Around the corner from the Calypso singer is a cafe.  On the
	roadway in front of it, under a tattered awning, two or three
	tables have been set out.  At one of these sit Betsy and
	Rand.  At another, two white planters in work clothing are
	having a drink of beer.

	Behind them, leaning against the wall, stands the proprietor,
	a Negro in duck trousers and duck coat, with an apron tied
	around his middle.  Betsy has tea in front of her and Rand, a
	Planter's Punch.  As we see them, she is just laughing at
	something he has said.  He is finishing his drink.  Rand sets
	down his glass and gestures to the proprietor.

				RAND
			(very jovially to the
			proprietor)
		Bring me another, Ti-Joseph.  I
		have to keep the lady entertained.

				BETSY
		It must be hard work entertaining
		me if it requires six ounces of
		rum.

				RAND
		What in the world are you talking
		about?  Six ounces -- ?

				BETSY
		Higher mathematics.  Two ounces to
		a drink -- three drinks, six
		ounces.

				RAND
		How do you know there's two ounces
		in a drink?

				BETSY
		I'm a nurse.  I always watch people
		when they pour something.  I
		watched Ti-Joseph and it was
		exactly two ounces.

	At this moment a new Calypso song starts.

				SINGER
			(sings)
		There was a family that lived on the isle
		Of Saint Sebastian a long, long while  
		The head of the family was a Holland man
		And the younger brother, his name was Rand 

	Betsy's attention is caught by the song.  Rand evidently
	knows the song, because he begins talking at random, trying
	to distract her.

				RAND
		Listen, did I tell you that story
		about the little mule at the
		plantation -- the little mule and
		Clement?  Let me tell you.  It's
		one of the funniest stories --

				BETSY
			(putting a restraining
			hand on his arm)
		Wait. I want to listen.

	We hear the guitar music without singing, as the Calypso
	singer plays a few measures to bridge the first and second
	verses.  Ti-Joseph comes up to the table with Rand's drink. 
	Rand makes a motion to him indicating the corner around which
	the Calypso singer is standing.  Ti-Joseph gets the idea and
	goes off instantly.

	MED. CLOSE SHOT -- Calypso singer.

				CALYPSO SINGER
		 The Holland man, he kept in a tower  
		A wife as pretty as a big white flower
		She saw the brother and she stole his heart...

	Ti-Joseph comes in and, while the singer goes on with his
	song, whispers in his ear.  The Calypso singer stops
	immediately.  He looks frightened and guilty.  Ti-Joseph
	turns and goes around the corner to his cafe.  The Calypso
	singer addresses one of the people in the little group before
	him.

				CALYPSO SINGER (cont'd)
		Ti-Malice trip up my tongue -- What
		do you wish trouble on me for --
		You saw Mister Rand go in there. 
		Why don't you tell me?

	The colored man he is addressing just dumbly shakes his head.

				CALYPSO SINGER (cont'd)
		Apologize -- that's what I'll do. 
		Creep in just like a little fox and
		warm myself in his heart.
			(placatingly but to
			himself)
		Good Mister Rand!

	The other negro just dumbly shakes his head again.  The
	Calypso singer puts his idea instantly into action, starting
	off around the corner.

	EXT. CAFE -- DAY

	Rand has finished the drink which Ti-Joseph had just brought
	him and is motioning to Ti-Joseph to bring him another,
	making a gesture with the glass in his hand.

				BETSY
			(evidently continuing what
			she has been saying)
		That's carrying free speech a
		little too far!  I wouldn't have
		listened, Wes, if I had realized --

	The Calypso singer comes in and stands humbly beside the
	table.

				CALYPSO SINGER
			(with a little bow in the
			Haitian manner; one hand
			in front of the stomach
			and the other hand at the
			small of his back)
		Mr. Rand? 

	Rand looks up at him.

				CALYPSO SINGER (cont'd)
		I've come to apologize.

				RAND
			(curtly)
		All right.

				CALYPSO SINGER
			(with another quaint bow)
		Just an old song I picked up
		somewhere. Don't know who did make
		it up.

				RAND
			(growing exasperated)
		All right. All right.

				CALYPSO SINGER
		Some of these singers on this
		island, they'd tattle-tale on
		anybody.  Believe me, Mister Rand,
		I never would sing that song if I'd
		known you were with a lady.

				RAND
			(jumping up, furious)
		Get out of here!

	He starts to rise.  Betsy restrains him.  The Calypso singer
	runs off a few feet, makes his little polite bow again, and
	the vanishes.  Rand stands practically shaking with rage. 
	Betsy forces him into a chair.

				BETSY
		Don't let it bother you so, Wes.

				RAND
		Did you hear what he sang?

	Betsy is spared the embarrassment of replying when Ti-Joseph
	brings the drink that Rand ordered.  Rand gulps thirstily at
	it, then looks at Betsy, half-defiantly, half-mockingly.

				RAND (cont'd)
		Shocked?

				BETSY
			(sincerely)
		I wish I hadn't heard --

				RAND
		Why?  Everybody else knows it. 
		Paul saw to that.  Sometimes I
		think he planned the whole thing
		from the beginning -- just to watch
		me squirm.

				BETSY
			(quietly)
		That doesn't sound like him.

				RAND
		That's right -- he's playing the
		noble husband for you, isn't he? 
		That won't last long.

				BETSY
		I'd like to go now, Rand.  Would
		you mind taking me home?

				RAND
			(ignoring her, speaking a
			little drunkenly)
		One of these days he'll start on
		you, the way he did on her.  
			(imitating)
		"You think life's beautiful, don't
		you, Jessica?  You think you're
		beautiful, don't you, Jessica?" 
			(bitterly)
		What he could do to that word
		"beautiful." That's Paul's great
		weapon -- words.  He uses them the
		way other men use their fists. 

	Rand finishes his drink.  Betsy watches him, her face deeply
	troubled.

							DISSOLVE 

	EXT. THE CAFE - NIGHT

	CAMERA IS FOCUSED ON a ragged, barefooted lamplighter.  He is
	lighting one of the crude kerosene street lamps of St.
	Sebastian with a long taper on the end of the stick.  When it
	finally lights up he lowers the glass chimney with another
	stick he carries.

	From the beach comes the sound of a guitar and a man singing. 
	It is very faint, at first, but as it comes closer we can
	recognize the voice of the Calypso singer and the melody he
	was singing when Rand interrupted him.

	The CAMERA PANS OVER to show Rand and Betsy still sitting in
	Ti-Joseph's sidewalk cafe.  Rand has slumped down in his
	chair, thoroughly drunk.  Ti-Joseph stands, arms folded,
	leaning in the darker shadows of the wall.  Betsy looks off
	in the direction of the singing, a little anxiously.

				CALYPSO SINGER
			(faint, but growing
			stronger)
		She saw the brother and she stole his heart
		And that's how the badness and the trouble start    
		Ah woe, ah me
		Shame and sorrow for the fam-i-ly

	Betsy leans over and touches Rand's arm.

				BETSY
		Wes.  Wesley -- it's time we were
		starting home.

	Rand makes some meaningless mumble of words.

				CALYPSO SINGER
		The wife and the brother, they want to go, 
		But the Holland man, he tell them "no."

	As Betsy stares nervously into the shadows beyond the street
	lamp, she sees the figure of the Calypso singer, moving
	slowly towards her as he sings.

				CALYPSO SINGER (cont'd)
		The wife fall down and the evil came 
		And it burned her mind in the fever flame.

	Betsy shakes Rand urgently.

				BETSY
		Please, Wes -- we've got to get
		back to Fort Holland.

	There is no movement, no sound from Rand.  Betsy looks at
	him, then looks over at Ti-Joseph.  There does not seem to be
	much help to be had in that direction.  Really frightened
	now, she turns back quickly to the approaching Calypso
	singer.  He never takes his eyes off her, as he walks slowly
	toward the cafe.  There is a strange menace in the way he
	sings.

				CALYPSO SINGER
		 Her eyes are empty and she cannot talk 
		And a nurse has come to make her walk. 
		The brothers are lonely and the nurse is young
		And now you must see that my song is sung. 

	The Calypso singer is now coming directly to the table. 
	Instinctively, Betsy rises and moves behind the table.

				CALYPSO SINGER (cont'd)
			(walking very slowly,
			singing very slowly)
		 Ah, woe, Ah me
		Shame --

	He stops abruptly.  In the silence footsteps are heard, light
	brisk footsteps coming down the street toward the cafe.  The
	Calypso singer looks away from Betsy for the first time. 
	As Betsy also turns, in great relief, to see who is coming,
	the Calypso singer moves quickly and silently out of the
	scene.  A middle-aged white woman, handsome and neatly
	dressed in a suit with a Norfolk jacket, appears in the
	entrance of the cafe.  She glances briefly in the direction
	which the Calypso singer has taken and then at Betsy and
	Rand.  She smiles in a friendly way at Betsy.

				MRS. RAND
		I think you need some help.

				BETSY
		I'm afraid so.

				MRS. RAND
		Ti-Joseph?

	The older woman looks over at Ti-Joseph.

				MRS. RAND (CONT'D)
		Ti-Joseph, get Mr. Rand on to his
		mule, please, and start him for
		home.

	Ti-Joseph comes down and starts to put his hands under Rand's
	armpits preparatory to helping him to his feet.

				TI-JOSEPH
		Yes, ma'am.

				BETSY
			(protesting)
		But he's in no condition to ride -- 
		I don't think he can even sit in
		the saddle.

				MRS. RAND
		Don't worry about a sugar planter. 
		Give him a mule and he'll ride to
		his own funeral.

	Ti-Joseph gets Rand to his feet and helps him stagger around
	the corner.  From around the corner we can hear Ti-Joseph
	bellowing.

				TI-JOSEPH
		Hey, boy!  Bring up that mule --
		that white mule, boy.

	Mrs. Rand turns to Betsy.

				MRS. RAND
		I really intended going out to the
		Fort and meeting you long before
		this, Miss Connell.  I'm Mrs.  
		Rand -- Wesley's mother.

				BETSY
			(dismayed)
		Oh, Mrs. Rand --

				MRS. RAND
			(interrupting)
		Come, come, don't tell me how sorry
		you are that I should meet you this
		way.
			(puts out her hand)
		I'm even a little glad that
		Wesley's difficulty brought us
		together.

	Betsy takes the older woman's hand and they shake hands.

				BETSY
		Believe me, Mrs. Rand, he doesn't
		do this often. This is the first
		time I've seen him --

				MRS. RAND
		Nonsense, child!  I know Wesley's
		been drinking too much lately.  I
		know a great deal more about what
		goes on at Fort Holland than you'd
		think.  I know all about you --
		that you're a nice girl, competent
		and kind to Jessica.  The Fort
		needs a girl like you. 
			(breaking her mood)
		But now we've got to get you back
		there.  I'll walk you back and stay
		over night.  It'll be a nice change
		for me.

	She takes Betsy's arm and they start off.

	The CAMERA DOLLIES WITH them as they cross the space under Ti
	Joseph's awning.

				BETSY
		Thank you, Mrs. Rand.  I think
		you're every bit as nice as Wes
		says you are.

				MRS. RAND
		So -- he says I'm nice.  He's a
		nice boy, too, Miss Connell, a very
		nice boy.  But I'm worried about
		his drinking. 

	She pauses in her speech, stops for a moment at the very edge
	of Ti-Joseph's domain and takes Betsy's arm.

				MRS. RAND (cont'd)
		You could do me a great favor.

				BETSY
			(eagerly)
		I'd love to.

				MRS. RAND
		Use your influence with Paul.  Ask
		him to take that whiskey decanter
		off the dinner table.

				BETSY
			(protesting)
		I've no influence with Mr. Holland.

				MRS. RAND
		Try it -- you may have more
		influence than you think.

							FADE OUT

	FADE IN

	EXT. GARDEN -- FORT HOLLAND -- DAY

	Holland is walking down the path from the office toward the
	gate.  He is carrying a piece of sugar cane in his hand and
	is followed by a negro laborer in working clothes, who has
	several other pieces of cane in his arms.  They are talking
	as they walk.

				HOLLAND
			(over his shoulder as they
			walk)
		No. It isn't a drought, Bayard. 
		The rains are just a little late,
		that's all.

				BAYARD
		I've seen the drought before, Mr.
		Holland. The cane's too dry -- it's
		dangerous that way -- it's the
		drought.

	Betsy comes across the garden with a tray of medicine bottles
	in her hands and several linen sheets folded over her arm. 
	She meets the two men at the path intersection.

				HOLLAND
		Good morning, Miss Connell.

				BETSY
		Good morning.

	He waves Bayard on and stops for a moment to speak with
	Betsy.

				HOLLAND
		I heard about your little
		misadventure yesterday, Miss
		Connell.  
			(with a smile)
		On your first "day off," too.

				BETSY
		Well, I had a good time up to a
		point.

				HOLLAND
			(sincerely)
		Wesley can be very entertaining.

				BETSY
			(encouraged by his tone)
		Yes, he can.  But I've been
		wondering -- you know if you could
		leave the whisky decanter off the
		table --

				HOLLAND
		It's always stood there, Miss
		Connell.  I can remember it in my
		grandfather's time and my father's. 
		I'm afraid it will have to remain.

				BETSY
		But for Wes -- it must be a
		temptation to him.  

				HOLLAND
		I've no sympathy with people who
		can't resist temptation.

				BETSY
		Still, I feel you should remove the
		decanter.  Wes is not an alcoholic
		yet, Mr. Holland. But as a nurse I can 
		tell you that it won't be long before he is.

				HOLLAND
			(coldly)
		I'm afraid the decanter will have
		to stay where it is.  I engaged
		you, Miss Connell, to take care of
		my wife, not my brother.  

	They look at each other for a moment, then Betsy turns and
	walks off without a word.  Holland turns to rejoin Bayard at
	the gate.

							DISSOLVE

	EXT. TERRACE -- DINING TABLE -- NIGHT

	It is a hot, windy night.  The bushes in the garden move
	violently with the gusts of wind.  Even protected as they are
	by the great glass hurricane lamps, the candle flames that
	light the table are agitated and stir restlessly.  Tonight
	there are four people at dinner, Holland, Rand, Betsy, in a
	simple print dress, and Jessica, in a lovely evening gown
	that leaves her shoulders and arms bare.  They have finished
	the first portion of their meal and Clement is taking off the
	soup plates.  Somewhere off in the hills there is the
	ululating sounds of a great sea conch being blown.

				BETSY
		You don't seem very disturbed by
		it.  I've always thought Voodoo was
		something to be scared of: the
		drums sounded in the hills and
		everybody was frightened.

				HOLLAND
		I'm afraid it's not very
		frightening.  They have their songs
		and dances and carry on and
		finally, as I understand it, one of
		the gods comes down and speaks
		through one of the people.

				RAND
		For some reason, they always seem
		to pick a night like this.  This
		wind even sets me on edge.

	He reaches out with his hand and then looks around the table. 
	It is obvious something is missing.  Both Betsy and Holland
	notice his half-gesture.  Betsy glances at Holland.  He
	smiles and nods.  

				RAND (CONT'D)
		Clement. 

	Clement, busy at the sideboard, looks around toward him.

				RAND (cont'd)
		You've forgotten the decanter.

				HOLLAND
		I think from now on, Wes, we'll try
		serving dinner without it.

				RAND
		Oh, I see.  The lord of the manor
		has decided to abolish one of the
		tribal customs.

	Holland makes no answer.  The conches blow wildly in the
	hills and a flurry of wind sweeps the garden.

				RAND (cont'd)
		An economy move, I suppose.  Or,
		perhaps, Paul, you decided on a
		finer moral standard for our happy
		little household, now that Miss
		Connell is with us.

	Holland still keeps his silence, although the muscles in his
	jaw twitch.

				RAND (cont'd)
		What are you trying to do, impress
		her?

				HOLLAND
		Let's drop it now, Wes.  We can
		talk about it later if you want.

	Rand glowers at him and makes no immediate answer.  A great
	gust of wind blows across the garden.  The candle flames
	level out in one direction and then the other.

				RAND
		But I want to talk now.  Why have
		you decided to take the whiskey off
		the table?  What's behind it?  What
		nice, sadistic little plot is
		brewing this time, Paul?

				HOLLAND
			(with a glance at Betsy)
		Let's not discuss it, Wes.

	The conches sound again in the hills, wildly and yet
	monotonously.

				RAND
			(with great sarcasm)
		Let's not quarrel before the
		ladies.  Let's be reserved and
		gentlemanly.
			(jumping to his feet)
		You were so gentlemanly when you
		drove Jessica insane -- so polite
		when you made her into that!

	He subsides in his chair, shaken, entirely out of control. 
	He doesn't look at Holland, nor at Betsy but at Jessica. 
	They sit there for a moment in complete silence.  Then
	Holland, obviously holding in his temper, rises and says:

				HOLLAND
		Miss Connell, I think it would be
		best if I had Clement bring the
		rest of your dinner to your room.

	He turns and goes into the living room.  Betsy also starts to
	rise.  Rand still stares at Jessica.

							DISSOLVE

	INT. BETSY'S BEDROOM -- NIGHT

	The room is in darkness.  Betsy stands leaning against one of
	the jalousies, looking out through the slit between two
	panels.  Over the scene comes the sad, masculine sorrow of
	the Liebestod.  It is being played well and forcefully on the
	piano in the living room.

	INT. LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

	From her window Betsy can see Holland playing the piano.

	INT. BETSY'S BEDROOM -- NIGHT

	Betsy stands watching him.  Then suddenly, as if compelled,
	she leaves the window, opens the jalousied door and goes
	quickly out into the garden.

	INT. LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

	Holland is still playing.  The sound of the door opening is
	heard.  It startles him and he turns toward the sound.  He
	sees Betsy and rises to face her as she steps into the room.

				BETSY
		I heard you playing. 

				HOLLAND
			(trying to hide behind
			brittleness)
		I often do.

				BETSY
			(disregarding his remark)
		I know what you went through
		tonight.  I kept thinking of what
		you said: that all good things died
		here, violently. 

				HOLLAND
		Why did you come in here?

				BETSY
		I don't know.  I wanted to help
		you. And now that I'm here, I don't
		know how.

	Holland comes close to her and looks down into her eyes.

				HOLLAND
			(with unexpected
			sincerity)
		You have helped me.  I want you to
		know I'm sorry I brought you here.
		When I thought of a nurse, I
		thought of someone hard and
		impersonal.

				BETSY
			(looking past him into the
			garden)
		I love Fort Holland.

				HOLLAND
		What you saw tonight -- two
		brothers at each other's throat and
		a woman driven mad by her own
		husband?  Do you love that?

				BETSY
		You didn't drive her mad.

				HOLLAND
		Didn't I?  I don't know.  That's
		the simple truth of it.  I don't
		know.

	Betsy shakes her head and moves closer to him.  Her face,
	upturned to his, is filled with pity.

				HOLLAND (cont'd)
		Before Jessica was taken ill, there
		was a scene.  An ugly scene.  I
		told her I wouldn't let her go,
		that I'd hold her by force if
		necessary.

	Betsy puts her hand on his arm, in an instinctive gesture of
	sympathy and comfort.  Holland looks down at her hand and
	then, searchingly, into her face.

				HOLLAND (cont'd)
		You wouldn't understand that kind
		of love.  You never knew Jessica as
		she was.  Beautiful, restless,
		willful -- living in a world with
		room for nothing but her own image
		and her own desires.

	Betsy gently draws her hand away.  She watches his face, lost
	in remembering.

				HOLLAND (cont'd)
		She promised so much -- warmth and
		sweetness...she promised --

	In the hills the conches blow wildly, echoing and answering
	each other from every direction.  For a brief moment, the
	noise is so loud Holland could not speak if he wanted to and
	then, when he can, and does, his voice has changed entirely. 
	It is cold.  It cuts between him and Betsy like a sword.

				HOLLAND (CONT'D)
		I think it may be best for all of
		us not to discuss this again. 
		Thank you -- I know you meant to be
		kind.

							DISSOLVE 

	EXT. FOUNTAIN -- NIGHT

	Betsy stands looking into the dark cistern.  The wind still
	blows and the conches are sounding from the hills.  But the
	noise of the water flowing over the shoulders of St.
	Sebastian can be heard above these other sounds.  The iron
	arrows in his breast glisten.

				BETSY
			(narrating)
		I don't know how their own love is
		revealed to other women -- maybe in
		their sweethearts' arms -- I don't
		know.  To me it came that night
		after Paul Holland almost thrust me
		from the room, and certainly thrust
		me from his life. I said to myself,
		"I love him."  And even as I said
		it, I knew he still loved his wife. 
		Then because I loved him, I felt I
		had to restore her to him -- to
		make her what she had been before --
		to make him happy.

	As the narrator's voice ceases, the CAMERA HOLDS ON that
	small, silent figure before the fountain.

							FADE OUT

	FADE IN

	INT. MRS. HOLLAND'S BEDROOM -- DAY

	Jessica is seated before the triptych mirror, facing it
	blankly.  At the other end of the room stand Betsy and Dr.
	Maxwell.  Paul, his back to the window, faces them.

				HOLLAND
		All that you say comes down to the
		same thing.  You are asking me to
		pass a sentence of life or death on
		my own wife.

				DR. MAXWELL
		Insulin shock treatment is an
		extreme measure, Mr. Holland.   
		But -- as Miss Connell pointed out
		when she suggested it -- this is an
		extreme case.

				HOLLAND
			(to Betsy)
		You admit that it is terribly
		dangerous. Why do you advise it?

				BETSY
		I've worked with it.  I've seen
		cures. It is at least a hope.

				DR. MAXWELL
		It's the very danger itself that
		makes the cure possible, Mr.
		Holland.  The insulin produces a
		state of coma, a stupor.  The
		patient is revived from the coma by
		a violent overwhelming nerve shock.
		That nerve shock can kill -- but it
		can also restore the damaged mind.

				HOLLAND
		I don't know -- I don't know--

				DR. MAXWELL
			(sympathetically)
		It is a hard decision to make --
		but yours is only a technical
		responsibility...

				HOLLAND
		Technical responsibility, real
		responsibility -- what difference
		does it make?
			(turns back to face them)
		 Jessica lives -- or she dies. 
		That's what we're talking about! 

	Betsy turns and looks across the room to where Jessica sits
	motionless before the mirror.

				BETSY
		You are wrong, Mr. Holland.

	She turns back to face him.

				BETSY (cont'd)
		It is not a question of life or
		death.  Your wife is not living. 
		She is in a world that is empty of
		joy or meaning.  We have a chance
		to give her life back to her. 

	Holland stares at her.  He turns to the window and stands for
	a moment with his back to the room.

							DISSOLVE 

	OMITTED

	INT. ARCHED DOORWAY OF MRS. HOLLAND'S BEDROOM -- NIGHT

	Through the doorway we see the enormous shadows of Betsy and
	Dr. Maxwell on the wall as they work over their patient. 
	We hear the murmur of their voices although we cannot hear
	what they are saying.  In the doorway itself, leaning against
	the wall looking toward the room expectantly, anxiously, is
	Holland, half hidden in the shadows of the arch.  The shadows
	on the wall straighten up.  We see Betsy in shadow drawing
	her hand wearily across her forehead.  Still in shadow, she
	turns toward the door, her shadow grows enormous as she comes
	toward the source of light.

	As Betsy comes under the arch, Holland moves to meet her. 
	She turns to him.

				HOLLAND
			(tensely)
		Well?

				BETSY
		She is alive, Mr. Holland -- that's
		all.

	There is a little pause.  Then Betsy looks at Holland, her
	eyes glistening with tears.  Betsy turns away slightly,
	closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself.  Holland
	puts his hands on her shoulders and turns her back to face
	him.

				HOLLAND
			(gently)
		Don't take it to heart, Betsy.

				BETSY
		I imagined this so differently...

	Holland takes his hand from her shoulders.

				HOLLAND
		I've been waiting here for hours,
		trying to imagine Jessica well
		again -- wondering what I'd feel. 
		I could see Jessica as she used to
		be, I could hear her say in that
		sweet mocking voice, "Paul,
		darling..."  The whole thing
		beginning all over again...

				BETSY
			(dully)
		And instead,  I came -- bringing
		you nothing.

				HOLLAND
			(slowly looking down at
			her)
		Instead -- you come, with sympathy,
		Betsy, and a generous heart. 
		Don't forget that.  Don't call it
		nothing.

	Betsy turns wearily and returns to the sick room.  Holland is
	about to follow her when he hears a low chuckle and turns to
	see who it is.

	INT. THE PASSAGE TO THE TOWER DOOR AS SEEN FROM JESSICA'S
	ROOM -- DAY

	A few feet from Holland, leaning against the wall, is Rand. 
	He has evidently been there some time.  He is not drunk, but
	it is obvious he has been drinking.  Holland walks down the
	short corridor toward him.

				RAND
		Very sad, very sweet.  The noble
		husband and the noble nurse
		comforting each other -- because
		the patient still lives.  I've been
		imagining too, Paul.  You didn't
		think of that, did you?  I saw
		Jessica coming across the garden, I
		heard her voice.  

	THERE ARE TWO PAGES MISSING AT THIS POINT WHERE PAUL AND
	WESLEY END THEIR CONVERSATION.  THE SCRIPT PICKS UP IN THE
	MIDDLE OF THE NEXT SCENE JUST AFTER ALMA'S SISTER HAS VISITED
	WITH HER BABY.

				BETSY
		I suppose not.

				ALMA
		Things so bad, nobody can help --
		not even Doctor Maxwell.

				BETSY
		Doctors and nurses can only do so
		much, Alma.  They can't cure
		everything.

				ALMA
		Doctors that are people can't cure
		everything.

				BETSY
			(with a puzzled look)
		What do you mean -- "doctors that
		are people"?

				ALMA
			(slowly, almost sing-song)
		There are other doctors...Yes,
		other doctors...Better doctors...

				BETSY
		Where?

				ALMA
		At the Houmfort.

				BETSY
			(shaking off the idea)
		That's nonsense, Alma.

				ALMA
		They even cure nonsense, Miss
		Betsy.  Mama Rose was mindless.  I
		was at the Houmfort when the
		Houngan brought her mind back. 

				BETSY
		You mean Mama Rose was like Mrs.
		Holland?

				ALMA
		No.  She was mindless but not like
		Miss Jessica.  But the Houngan
		cured her.

				BETSY
		Are you trying to tell me that the
		Houngan -- the voodoo priest --
		could cure Mrs. Holland?

				ALMA
		Yes, Miss Betsy.  I mean that.  The
		Houngan will speak to the rada
		drums and the drums will speak to
		Shango and Damballa. 

	The CAMERA MOVES IN to a CLOSE TWO SHOT of both women's
	faces,  Betsy looking thoughtfully at Alma and Alma returning
	the gaze with equal intensity.

				ALMA (CONT'D)
			(softly)
		Better doctors --

							DISSOLVE 

	INT. THE DISPENSARY - DAY

	This is a small, plainly furnished room with a plain table, a
	few bentwood chairs and a medicine cabinet and a few
	washbasins and water pitchers on a shelf.  Mrs. Rand is
	kneeling down at the side of the little, black pickaninny,
	rubbing ointment on a sore on his chest.  Betsy, in street
	clothes, watcher her.  Mrs. Rand finishes her work on the
	little boy's chest and begins to put his little shirt back on
	him.  An obeah bag tied around his neck on a string gets in
	her way as she tries to button the shirt.  She holds it up so
	that the little boy can see it.

				MRS. RAND
		Ti-Peter, how do you ever expect to
		get to Heaven with one foot in the
		voodoo Houmfort and the other in
		the Baptist church?  

	The little black boy looks at her with rolling eyes but does
	not answer.  She gives him a playful pat on the behind,
	starting him on his way to the door.

				MRS. RAND (CONT'D)
			(to Betsy, cheerfully)
		Some of this native nonsense. The
		Houngan has his prescription and
		Dr. Maxwell and I have ours.

				BETSY
		You've never said anything about
		voodoo before, Mrs. Rand.

				MRS. RAND
		Haven't I?  I suppose I take it for
		granted. It's just part of everyday
		life here.

				BETSY
		You don't believe in it?

				MRS. RAND
		A missionary's widow?  It isn't
		very likely, is it?

				BETSY
		I don't mean believe, like
		believing in a religion.  I mean,
		do you believe it has power?  Do
		you think it could heal a sick
		person?

				MRS. RAND
			(looking hard at Betsy for
			a moment)
		Frankly, my dear, I didn't expect
		anything like this from a nice
		level-headed girl.  What are you
		driving at?

				BETSY
		I heard the servants talking about
		someone called Mama Rose. They said
		she had been "mindless"...

				MRS. RAND
		Her son drowned.  She brooded until
		her mind was affected. All the
		Houngan did was coax her out of it
		with a little practical psychology.

	PAGES ARE MISSING AT THIS POINT AS BETSY AND
	JESSICA LEAVE FORT HOLLAND AND TRAVEL ACROSS THE SUGAR CANE
	FIELDS TO THE HOUMFORT

	EXT. THE HOUMFORT - NIGHT

	LONG SHOT.  The camera is behind Betsy and Jessica as they go
	toward the Houmfort through the sugar cane.  We see this
	voodoo temple as they go toward it.  It is a rickety
	structure of poles and laths, roofed over with a thin thatch
	of sugar cane and straw.  It forms a sort of rude pergola. 
	In the center of this structure is a small, cubicle hut, made
	of rough boards but neatly whitewashed.  From the rafters of
	the main structure hang crude chandeliers of tin which give
	light to the ceremonies.

	(Please see pages 28 to 31, Life Magazine, December 13, 1937. 
	All the details mentioned above are graphically illustrated,

	Near the little hut in the center of the Houmfort, stands an
	altar covered with a lace tablecloth and littered with a
	childish jumble of plates, candles, little colored stones and
	bottles.  Before this altar stands the Houngan, the high
	priest of the voodoo ceremonies, a small, stoop-shouldered
	man in a worn, white coat and trousers with ragged cuffs. 
	Several mild-looking negroes in white trousers and shirts sit
	in kitchen chairs on one side of the altar with rada drums
	between their knees.  Grouped around this altar in a loose
	semicircle are the worshippers, a group of mild-mannered,
	poorly-but-neatly-dressed negroes.  They seem to have made an
	effort to dress in their best and their best is very poor
	indeed.    As Betsy approaches, she can see familiar faces. 
	As she comes up they turn and look at her.  They are not
	hostile nor greatly surprised; just mildly curious.  Leading
	Jessica by the hand, Betsy takes her place at one end of the
	semicircle around the altar.  Her arrival has in no way
	interrupted the ceremonies.  The Houngan continues to chant
	before the altar, the rada drums beat and the crowd sings the
	chorus of the Shango song at the proper intervals.  It is all
	very decorous and decidedly religious in tone.  No sooner has
	Betsy taken her place with the others than the Shango ritual
	approaches its climax.  The Sabreur, a colored man dressed in
	white shirt and trousers, with a neat dark tie knotted under
	his collar, comes in, bearing a sabre in his right hand,
	holding it in stately, almost processional manner.  He
	advances to the altar, strikes it three times and at this
	signal two colored women dressed in white beguine dresses
	with square cut necks, an essential part of this religious
	costume, come forward.  One holds a white leghorn chicken and
	the other carries a white rooster. They come together to the
	altar and for a moment, the figures of the Houngan, the
	Sabreur and the two Mam-Lois hide the actual blood sacrifice
	from us.  Only the fact that the drumming and the singing
	reach a climactic pitch reveal that some Important portion of
	the ceremony has taken place.  Instantly the drumming and the
	singing stops.  A young colored girl jumps up from her seat
	among the worshippers and begins shivering and quaking,
	crying out wordlessly.  There is a cry from the people.

				THE PEOPLE
		Put the god in her! Put the god in
		her!

	The Houngan prances forward, followed by the Sabreur. The
	Houngan holds a little saucer in his hand with some dark
	liquid at the bottom of it.  He dips four fingers into this
	liquid while the girl quivers and writhes before him in
	religious ecstasy.  He marks her forehead with four strange
	marks, one with each finger.  The Sabreur, crying out the
	name of Shango, four times, points his sabre to the four
	directions of the compass. There is an immediate
	transformation in the girl.  Her frenzy ceases.  She seems to
	be filled with a jubilant calm and dances into the cleared
	space before the altar. Her words are no longer meaningless. 
	They have taken shape and form and, when she speaks, she
	speaks with great resonance as if her voice came from
	somewhere other than her own throat.  She is possessed by the
	god, Shango.

	One by one, people from among the group of devotees dance
	into the circle, go up to her and beg for favors. One woman
	leads a little boy up to her.  We hear her words as she calls
	out to the possessed girl:

				WOMAN
		Make him rich, Shango!  Make him
		rich!

	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