Original Screen Play


                               Curt Siodmak and Ardel Wray

                       Based on Scientific Information from Articles


                                       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.

                         I walked with a zombie.
                             (laughs a little, self
                         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

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

               As she says this the long road and the advancing figures



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

                                   BETSY'S VOICE
                         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
                         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.

                         You're single?


                         Where were you trained?

                         At the Memorial Hospital -- here in

               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.

                             (fiddling with the paper
                         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

                                   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.

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

                             (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.

                         That is good.  But I'd like to know
                         more about the case.

                         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.

                         That will mean another interview,
                         won't it?

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

                         The West Indies?

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

                         But it's so far away...

                         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...

                         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
                         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.


               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
                         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.


               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.

                         It is not beautiful.

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

                         You can't really believe that. 

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

                             (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.

                         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


               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.

                         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.

                             (in passing)
                         You're beginning to learn.

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


               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.

                         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.

                         Ti-Misery?  What's that?

                         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.


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

                             (understanding and amused)
                         You mean a figurehead.

                             (warming up to his
                         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

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

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


               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

               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.

                         Miss Connell -- it's dinner.

                         Thank you, Clement.

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


               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.

                         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

                                   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,
                             (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.

                         Yes -- on the boat.

                         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.

                             (interested and a little
                         Is she a doctor?

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

                         I like her already.

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

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

                         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

               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.

                         -- But, you're an American?

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

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

                             (making mockery of his own
                         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,

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

               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.

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

               Rand picks up the brandy bottle.

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

                         Mr. Holland?

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

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

                             (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.

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

                             (leisurely sips at his
                         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.

                             (still watching Rand)
                         Have the servants made you

                         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.

                             (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

                         Can't I take it for you?

                             (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.


               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

               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.


               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.


               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.



               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.


               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.


               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

                         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)
                         Mrs. Holland?


               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

                         Mrs. Holland?

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

                                   BETSY (cont'd)
                             (embarrassed; trying to
                         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.


               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

               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.


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

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

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

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

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

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

                             (with a slight smile)
                         Thank you, Clement.

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


               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


               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.

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

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


               EXT. FOUNTAIN -- NIGHT

               Holland and Betsy come out of the tower.

                         Why was the maid crying?

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

                         A figure of St. Sebastian.

                         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.

                         Good morning, miss.

                             (starting to rouse from
                         Thank you for waking me.

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

               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

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

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

                         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.

                             (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.

                             (while she's pouring the
                         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.

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

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

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

                         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

                         What's this?

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

                         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.



               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.

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

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

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

                             (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

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

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

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

                         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

                         A mental case?

                         I'm sorry...

                             (again the impersonal
                         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.


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

                         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.

                         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 --

                         She can never be cured?

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

                         Is this disease common in the

                                   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.

                         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

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

                             (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.


               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.

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

                         Mrs. Holland must have been
                         beautiful ---

                         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

                         I suppose so.  Yes.

                         And charming?

                         I've never given it much thought.

                         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


               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

                                   RAND'S VOICE

               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

                         Where do you think you're going?

                         It's my day off.

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

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

                         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

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

                         By a curious coincidence, it's my
                         day off, too.

                                                       DISSOLVE OUT

               DISSOLVE IN


               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.

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

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

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

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

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

                         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.

                         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.

                         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 --

                             (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

                                   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
                         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.

                             (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

                                   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.

                         All right.

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

                             (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.

                             (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.

                         Don't let it bother you so, Wes.

                         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)

                         I wish I hadn't heard --

                         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.

                         That doesn't sound like him.

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

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

                             (ignoring her, speaking a
                              little drunkenly)
                         One of these days he'll start on
                         you, the way he did on her.  
                         "You think life's beautiful, don't
                         you, Jessica?  You think you're
                         beautiful, don't you, Jessica?" 
                         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


               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
                         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.

                         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.

                         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

                                   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.

                         I'm afraid so.

                                   MRS. RAND

               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

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

                         Yes, ma'am.

                         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

                         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.

                         Oh, Mrs. Rand --

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

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

                         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.

                         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.

                         I'd love to.

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

                         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.

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

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

               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.

                         Good morning, Miss Connell.

                         Good morning.

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

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

                         Well, I had a good time up to a

                         Wesley can be very entertaining.

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

                         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.

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

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

                         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.

                         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.


               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.

                         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.

                         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.

                         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, busy at the sideboard, looks around toward him.

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

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

                         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

                         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.

                         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?

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

               The conches sound again in the hills, wildly and yet

                             (with great sarcasm)
                         Let's not quarrel before the
                         ladies.  Let's be reserved and
                             (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:

                         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.


               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.

                         I heard you playing. 

                             (trying to hide behind
                         I often do.

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

                         Why did you come in here?

                         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.

                             (with unexpected
                         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

                             (looking past him into the
                         I love Fort 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?

                         You didn't drive her mad.

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

               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

               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


               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.

                         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.

                         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.

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

                         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.

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

                                   DR. MAXWELL
                         It is a hard decision to make --
                         but yours is only a technical

                         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.

                         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.




               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.


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

               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

                         Don't take it to heart, Betsy.

                         I imagined this so differently...

               Holland takes his hand from her shoulders.

                         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...

                         And instead,  I came -- bringing
                         you nothing.

                             (slowly looking down at
                         Instead -- you come, with sympathy,
                         Betsy, and a generous heart. 
                         Don't forget that.  Don't call it

               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.

               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.

                         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.  

               WITH HER BABY.

                         I suppose not.

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

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

                         Doctors that are people can't cure

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

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


                         At the Houmfort.

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

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

                         You mean Mama Rose was like Mrs.

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

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

                         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)
                         Better doctors --


               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.

                         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.

                         You don't believe in it?

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

                         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

                                   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?

                         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.


               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

               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:

                         Make him rich, Shango!  Make him

               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.

                         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

               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.

                             (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
                         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.

                         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.

                             (starting forward around
                              the table)
                         Mrs. Rand.

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

                         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

                         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.
                         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.

                         But you didn't have to come up

                                   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,


                                   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:

                         Trouble.  Bad trouble.  Let her go.

               The crowd subsides.


               EXT. THE BANYAN TREE -- NIGHT

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


               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

                         Where have you been, Miss Connell?

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

                         I wanted to help you.

                         Help me? How?

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

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

                             (in a low tone)
                         I told you.

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

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

                             (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

                                   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 --


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

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

                         She was beautiful.

                         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

                         There's no happiness for me
                         anywhere else --

               Holland shakes his head slowly, hopelessly.

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

               Holland lets his arms drop from about her shoulders.

                         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:

                         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.

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

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

                         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.

                             (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

                                   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

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

                         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.

                         To the asylum?

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

                             (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

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

                         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)

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

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


                         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.

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

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

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

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

               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


               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.

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

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

                         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.

                         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.

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

                         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

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

                         You wanted to warn me...

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

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

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

                         That's past -- that's over and done

                         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.

                         You want that?


               They stand looking at each other in silence.


               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.

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

                                   MRS. RAND
                         Thank you , Clement!

               She takes it and starts slitting the wrapper eagerly.


               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

                                   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.

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

                         I guess I'll wait until I'm home,
                         Mrs. Rand.

               Mrs. Rand looks at a page of rotogravure section.

                                   MRS. RAND
                         That's a long wait...

                         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

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

                         That's sweet of you, Mrs. Rand.

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

               PAGE MISSING


               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

                         Dr. Maxwell has very unpleasant
                         news for us.

                         An accident at the mill?

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

                         What about her?

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

                         Investigation of what?

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

                         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.

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

                         But she isn't.  She's been

               Holland turns to the Doctor, his face stricken.

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

                         I would have stayed anyway, Dr.

                         We're all in it.  There won't be a
                         shred of pride or decency left for
                         any of use.
                         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.

                         Are you going to lie for him,

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

                         Mrs. Rand...

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

                         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.

                         What do you mean?

                         I don't understand...

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

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

               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.

                         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

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

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

                                   MRS. RAND
                         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

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

                                   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
                         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.

                         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

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

               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.


               EXT. THE GARDEN -- NIGHT

               ANOTHER ANGLE -- Jessica comes slowly past the fountain.

                                   RAND'S VOICE

               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.

                         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.

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

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

                         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


               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.



               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.


               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.


               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.

                             (in a very low, choked

               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.

                         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

               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)

               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.

                         Betsy, can I talk to you a minute?

                             (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.

                         Does she suffer?  Does she know
                         what she is?

                         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.

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

                             (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.

                         She's dead.  The dead ought to be

                         But she's not dead, Wes.

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

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

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

                         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.

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

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

                         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.

                         No, Wes.

                         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.

                             (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.

                         I know.  I shouldn't have asked it.

               He starts slowly to the open door.


               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.


               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

               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

               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.


               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.


               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
                         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.

                         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.

                             (giving his arm a little
                              squeeze as they start
                              walking toward the
                         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