I Walked with a Zombie

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The RKO trademark FADES OUT, to reveal a road lined with palm

trees, spectrally long and straight like a vista in a Dali

painting. Along this road and from a far distance two tiny

figures advance toward the camera. Over this scene the TITLE

and CREDITS are SUPERIMPOSED. The two figures continue to

advance, growing more discernible all the time.

As the credits FADE, the two human figures advancing along

the road are more clearly discernible. Although they are not

close enough to distinguish their faces, it can be seen that

one of them is an enormously tall, cadaverous negro, clothed

only by ragged, tight-fitting trousers and that the other is

nurse, dressed in crisp white uniform and cap, with a dark

cloak over her shoulders.

BETSY:

(narrating)

I walked with a zombie.

(laughs a little, self

consciously)

It does seem an odd thing to say.

Had anyone said that to me a year

ago, I'm not at all sure I would

have known what a Zombie was. I

might have had some notion -- that

they were strange and frightening,

and perhaps a little funny. But I

have walked with a Zombie

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

closer.

BETSY'S VOICE

(narrating)

It all began in such an ordinary

way --

As she says this the long road and the advancing figures

DISSOLVE:

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

The Houses of Parliament seen through falling snow. In the

f.g. horse-drawn sleighs are passing.

BETSY'S VOICE

(narrating)

I'd just finished working on a case

in Ottawa...a little boy who'd

broken both legs. It was one of

those cases with traction frames

and constant care, nicely

complicate with a pair of

hysterical parents. When he was

all well I had to find another job.

That's a nurse's life for you. I

went to the Registry.

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

At about the level of the second and third floors is one of

those half-curved, elliptical signboards which lap around the

corners of old-fashioned office buildings. The CAMERA PANS

DOWN this sign, from one firm name to another, stopping at

the last name listed:

PARRISH AND BURDEN SUGAR CO., LTD.

BETSY'S VOICE

(narrating)

They gave me an address in the

business district. I went there.

INT. OFFICE -- DAY

An office on the first floor, with a window opening into a

courtyard. Through this window snow can be seen falling.

CLOSE SHOT of Mr. Richard Brindsley Wilkens, V.C. He is a

small, sharp-featured, precise little man with pincenez

glasses, dressed in a dark business suit. One of the coat

sleeves is empty. The explanation for the missing arm can be

found in his coat lapel: the ribbon of the Victoria Cross.

His age indicates that he won it in the last war. He has a

tablet in front of him and as he speaks, marks down the

answers to his questions.

WILKENS:

You're single?

BETSY:

Yes.

WILKENS:

Where were you trained?

BETSY:

At the Memorial Hospital -- here in

Ottawa.

Wilkens writes this down and then returns the pen to its desk

holder. He picks up a typewritten page from the blotter, and

stares at it.

WILKENS:

(fiddling with the paper

unhappily)

This last question's a little

irregular, Miss Connell. I don't

quite know how to put it.

Wilkens straightens himself determinedly and puts down the

paper.

WILKENS (cont'd)

Do you believe in witchcraft?

Betsy bursts into laughter and we go to our first sight of

her. She is young, bright, alert and looks extremely

attractive in her blue nurse's cape and round fur cape.

BETSY:

(finally putting the leash

on her laughter)

They didn't teach it at Memorial

Hospital. I had my suspicions,

though, about the Directress of

Training.

WILKENS:

(permitting himself a dry

little smile)

Very well. That means that you

have met all Mr. Holland's

requirements. Now, as to salary --

it's quite good -- two hundred

dollars a month.

BETSY:

(pleased)

That is good. But I'd like to know

more about the case.

WILKENS:

I'm afraid I'm not able to tell you

much. Only that the patient is a young

woman -- the wife of a Mr. Paul

Holland with whom we do

considerable business.

BETSY:

That will mean another interview,

won't it?

WILKENS:

No, this is quite final. You see,

Mr. Holland is a sugar planter. He

lives in St. Sebastian Island in

the West Indies.

BETSY:

The West Indies?

WILKENS:

(he's been expecting this)

A year's contract -- a trip with

all expenses paid -- that's not so

bad, you know.

BETSY:

But it's so far away...

WILKENS:

That's rather nice, isn't it?

Wilkens glancing at the snow falling outside the windows.

WILKENS (cont'd)

(a little wistfully)

Sit under a palm tree -- go

swimming -- take sun baths. Just

like a holiday...

BETSY:

Palm trees --

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

MONTAGE OF SHIPS

A great Canadian luxury liner, a boat like the Empress of

Canada, proceeds across the screen from left to right.

Another ship, a smaller passenger steamer, going in the same

direction, takes her place as she DISSOLVES OFF; then a

freighter, and finally a small white-hulled trading schooner

comes onto the screen.

BETSY'S VOICE

(narrating)

Boats grow smaller to reach out-of

the-way ports. Judging by the

boats that took me to St. Sebastian

-- it's far away and hard to get

to. First, there was the great

liner to Havana -- then a smaller

steamer to Port au Prince -- a

freighter to Gonave -- and from

Gonave, one of the little island

trading schooners that carry sugar

and sisal, sponges and salt all

over the Caribbean.

DISSOLVE:

A SAIL -- NIGHT

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

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

moves in rhythmic undulance against the sky. We hear the

chug-chug of a one-cylinder Diesel.

EXT. SCHOONER -- WHEEL -- NIGHT

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

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

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

obviously the skipper of the boat, dressed in sloppy white

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

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

slacks and a light tweed coat.

BETSY'S VOICE

(narrating)

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

Mr. Holland -- boarded the schooner

at Gonave. He was pointed out to

me, and he must have known who I

was -- yet he never spoke to me.

He seemed quiet and aloof.

Sometimes I wondered how we'd get

on -- but there wasn't really time

for to think about it -- there was

so much to see. I loved the trip.

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

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

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

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

lounge on deck, their black faces fire-lit.

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

of the chugging motor.

EXT. OCEAN -- NIGHT -- (STOCK)

The wake of the schooner.

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

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

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

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