I Walked with a Zombie Page #10

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BETSY:

(narrating)

I don't know how their own love is

revealed to other women -- maybe in

their sweethearts' arms -- I don't

know. To me it came that night

after Paul Holland almost thrust me

from the room, and certainly thrust

me from his life. I said to myself,

"I love him." And even as I said

it, I knew he still loved his wife.

Then because I loved him, I felt I

had to restore her to him -- to

make her what she had been before --

to make him happy.

As the narrator's voice ceases, the CAMERA HOLDS ON that

small, silent figure before the fountain.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

INT. MRS. HOLLAND'S BEDROOM -- DAY

Jessica is seated before the triptych mirror, facing it

blankly. At the other end of the room stand Betsy and Dr.

Maxwell. Paul, his back to the window, faces them.

HOLLAND:

All that you say comes down to the

same thing. You are asking me to

pass a sentence of life or death on

my own wife.

DR. MAXWELL

Insulin shock treatment is an

extreme measure, Mr. Holland.

But -- as Miss Connell pointed out

when she suggested it -- this is an

extreme case.

HOLLAND:

(to Betsy)

You admit that it is terribly

dangerous. Why do you advise it?

BETSY:

I've worked with it. I've seen

cures. It is at least a hope.

DR. MAXWELL

It's the very danger itself that

makes the cure possible, Mr.

Holland. The insulin produces a

state of coma, a stupor. The

patient is revived from the coma by

a violent overwhelming nerve shock.

That nerve shock can kill -- but it

can also restore the damaged mind.

HOLLAND:

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

DR. MAXWELL

(sympathetically)

It is a hard decision to make --

but yours is only a technical

responsibility...

HOLLAND:

Technical responsibility, real

responsibility -- what difference

does it make?

(turns back to face them)

Jessica lives -- or she dies.

That's what we're talking about!

Betsy turns and looks across the room to where Jessica sits

motionless before the mirror.

BETSY:

You are wrong, Mr. Holland.

She turns back to face him.

BETSY (cont'd)

It is not a question of life or

death. Your wife is not living.

She is in a world that is empty of

joy or meaning. We have a chance

to give her life back to her.

Holland stares at her. He turns to the window and stands for

a moment with his back to the room.

DISSOLVE:

OMITTED:

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

Through the doorway we see the enormous shadows of Betsy and

Dr. Maxwell on the wall as they work over their patient.

We hear the murmur of their voices although we cannot hear

what they are saying. In the doorway itself, leaning against

the wall looking toward the room expectantly, anxiously, is

Holland, half hidden in the shadows of the arch. The shadows

on the wall straighten up. We see Betsy in shadow drawing

her hand wearily across her forehead. Still in shadow, she

turns toward the door, her shadow grows enormous as she comes

toward the source of light.

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

She turns to him.

HOLLAND:

(tensely)

Well?

BETSY:

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

all.

There is a little pause. Then Betsy looks at Holland, her

eyes glistening with tears. Betsy turns away slightly,

closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself. Holland

puts his hands on her shoulders and turns her back to face

him.

HOLLAND:

(gently)

Don't take it to heart, Betsy.

BETSY:

I imagined this so differently...

Holland takes his hand from her shoulders.

HOLLAND:

I've been waiting here for hours,

trying to imagine Jessica well

again -- wondering what I'd feel.

I could see Jessica as she used to

be, I could hear her say in that

sweet mocking voice, "Paul,

darling..." The whole thing

beginning all over again...

BETSY:

(dully)

And instead, I came -- bringing

you nothing.

HOLLAND:

(slowly looking down at

her)

Instead -- you come, with sympathy,

Betsy, and a generous heart.

Don't forget that. Don't call it

nothing.

Betsy turns wearily and returns to the sick room. Holland is

about to follow her when he hears a low chuckle and turns to

see who it is.

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

ROOM -- DAY

A few feet from Holland, leaning against the wall, is Rand.

He has evidently been there some time. He is not drunk, but

it is obvious he has been drinking. Holland walks down the

short corridor toward him.

RAND:

Very sad, very sweet. The noble

husband and the noble nurse

comforting each other -- because

the patient still lives. I've been

imagining too, Paul. You didn't

think of that, did you? I saw

Jessica coming across the garden, I

heard her voice.

THERE ARE TWO PAGES MISSING AT THIS POINT WHERE PAUL AND

WESLEY END THEIR CONVERSATION. THE SCRIPT PICKS UP IN THE

MIDDLE OF THE NEXT SCENE JUST AFTER ALMA'S SISTER HAS VISITED

WITH HER BABY.

BETSY:

I suppose not.

ALMA:

Things so bad, nobody can help --

not even Doctor Maxwell.

BETSY:

Doctors and nurses can only do so

much, Alma. They can't cure

everything.

ALMA:

Doctors that are people can't cure

everything.

BETSY:

(with a puzzled look)

What do you mean -- "doctors that

are people"?

ALMA:

(slowly, almost sing-song)

There are other doctors...Yes,

other doctors...Better doctors...

BETSY:

Where?

ALMA:

At the Houmfort.

BETSY:

(shaking off the idea)

That's nonsense, Alma.

ALMA:

They even cure nonsense, Miss

Betsy. Mama Rose was mindless. I

was at the Houmfort when the

Houngan brought her mind back.

BETSY:

You mean Mama Rose was like Mrs.

Holland?

ALMA:

No. She was mindless but not like

Miss Jessica. But the Houngan

cured her.

BETSY:

Are you trying to tell me that the

Houngan -- the voodoo priest --

could cure Mrs. Holland?

ALMA:

Yes, Miss Betsy. I mean that. The

Houngan will speak to the rada

drums and the drums will speak to

Shango and Damballa.

The CAMERA MOVES IN to a CLOSE TWO SHOT of both women's

faces, Betsy looking thoughtfully at Alma and Alma returning

the gaze with equal intensity.

ALMA (CONT'D)

(softly)

Better doctors --

DISSOLVE:

INT. THE DISPENSARY - DAY

This is a small, plainly furnished room with a plain table, a

few bentwood chairs and a medicine cabinet and a few

washbasins and water pitchers on a shelf. Mrs. Rand is

kneeling down at the side of the little, black pickaninny,

rubbing ointment on a sore on his chest. Betsy, in street

clothes, watcher her. Mrs. Rand finishes her work on the

little boy's chest and begins to put his little shirt back on

him. An obeah bag tied around his neck on a string gets in

her way as she tries to button the shirt. She holds it up so

that the little boy can see it.

MRS. RAND

Ti-Peter, how do you ever expect to

get to Heaven with one foot in the

voodoo Houmfort and the other in

the Baptist church?

The little black boy looks at her with rolling eyes but does

not answer. She gives him a playful pat on the behind,

starting him on his way to the door.

MRS. RAND (CONT'D)

(to Betsy, cheerfully)

Some of this native nonsense. The

Houngan has his prescription and

Dr. Maxwell and I have ours.

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