I Walked with a Zombie Page #2

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DISSOLVE:

A SAIL -- NIGHT

A gaff-headed sail against a night sky of stars. The boat

carrying the sail is evidently in a rolling sea. The sail

moves in rhythmic undulance against the sky. We hear the

chug-chug of a one-cylinder Diesel.

EXT. SCHOONER -- WHEEL -- NIGHT

Two men stand by the wheel of the schooner, their faces lit

by the light from the binnacle. Behind them the wake of the

boat creams out, white and phosphorescent. One of the men is

obviously the skipper of the boat, dressed in sloppy white

ducks, unshaven and with an officer's battered cap on his

head. The other is a slim, tall man dressed in flannel

slacks and a light tweed coat.

BETSY'S VOICE

(narrating)

The man for whom I'd come to work --

Mr. Holland -- boarded the schooner

at Gonave. He was pointed out to

me, and he must have known who I

was -- yet he never spoke to me.

He seemed quiet and aloof.

Sometimes I wondered how we'd get

on -- but there wasn't really time

for to think about it -- there was

so much to see. I loved the trip.

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

Near the mainmast is a large box filled with sand and on this

sand a charcoal fire has been laid. A negro, dressed in

dungarees, is cooking a large piece of meat. Other negroes

lounge on deck, their black faces fire-lit.

They are singing, and their singing is attuned to the rhythm

of the chugging motor.

EXT. OCEAN -- NIGHT -- (STOCK)

The wake of the schooner.

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

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

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

The stars seem very close and there is always movement in the

sky, as if it were alive -- falling stars and comets, lively

as the flying fish.

EXT. DECK OF SCHOONER -- NIGHT

Betsy is seated on the cabin top just abaft of the foremast.

She is looking out toward the sea and her expression is

ecstatic. She is completely lost in the beauty that she

feels, sees and smells.

BETSY'S VOICE

I smelled the spicy smells coming

from the islands -- I looked at those

great glowing stars -- and I felt the

warm wind on my cheeks and I breathed

deep and every bit of me inside

myself said, "How beautiful --"

The CAMERA DRAWS BACK to SHOW a tall, masculine figure

leaning against the foremast, behind Betsy. This is Paul

Holland. As we see him, we hear his voice.

HOLLAND:

It is not beautiful.

BETSY:

(surprised but smiling)

You read my thoughts, Mr. Holland.

HOLLAND:

It's easy enough to read the

thoughts of a newcomer. Everything

seems beautiful because you don't

understand. Those flying fish --

they are not leaping for joy.

They're jumping in terror. Bigger

fish want to eat them.

That luminous water -- it takes its

gleam from millions of tiny dead

bodies. It's the glitter of

putrescence. There's no beauty

here -- it's death and decay.

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