Merian C. Cooper's King Kong (10 page)

Ann saw at once that the young woman had a lithe and beautiful form. The torchlight gleamed on her bronze skin, which shone as if she had been anointed with oil. Woven strands of flowers, serving as a crown, girdle, and necklace, were her only apparel and increased her soft, frightened charm. On either side of the girl, some on the stairs and some in the square, the chanting natives swayed in ordered ranks.

Ann had an impression of great solemnity. The islanders had not yet noticed the intruders staring at them, for they focused all their attention on the kneeling girl. The leader of the chant seemed to be an ancient man, arrayed in a multitude of leathery skins, decked out with strange long feathers of orange, green, red, and yellow. He swayed as he chanted, his movements jerky, as though he were in the grip of a force more powerful than his own will. Smoldering torches billowed with strangely scented smoke. It was all hypnotic, and to Ann's eyes, every single one of the massed natives swayed spellbound by the old man's voice and movements.

Ann saw, still farther to one side, a strongly built, imposing man, magnificently costumed in furs, grass, and feathers, watching with a kingly detachment. Balancing him on the opposite side of the ceremony, an old woman leaned on a staff taller than herself. Her intense gaze burned on the old man who led the ceremony, but she did not sway, as the others did, and she seemed unaffected by the tide of sound. Ann felt a kind of pity for the woman, who looked like an outcast dressed in rags, though she had the bearing of one who had confidence in her own power.

The witch doctor—that was how Ann thought of the old man leading the ceremony—stood with his arms upraised and his head thrown back. The crowd moaned and chanted, mingling with their repeated cry of “Kong!” something that to Ann sounded like “Atu! Atu!”

Ann saw the old woman suddenly straighten, and she realized that she and the others from the ship had been spotted. Still, the woman made no effort to alert the other islanders. She stood apart, watching the newcomers and waiting.

Ann heard Driscoll quietly ask, “What do you make of this?”

“Oh, Lord,” Denham whispered back. “I can only imagine. Look at that old guy in the feathered robe. If he only holds still for a moment until I can focus!” He began to crank his camera.

Driscoll glanced away from the director and motioned for Ann to move behind him. She stepped a little nearer, but stayed where she could see.

Moving close to the girl dressed in flowers, the old witch doctor began an oddly supplicating gyration. In slow, humble gestures, his weaving hands seemed to offer the maiden to a dozen huge and terrifying dancers, who leaped out of the chanting ranks. Broad hollowed furry skulls covered their heads, and rough black skins hid their bodies. Ann couldn't tell whether the fur was actual animal hide or whether it was made of fine strands of dried grass dyed a jet black.

“They look like gorillas,” Driscoll muttered. “But there are no gorillas within a thousand miles of here. How did they get that idea?” As if noticing that Ann was still in the open, he moved to put himself more squarely between her and the natives. As though by common impulse, the
Wanderer
's whole crew grew jostled more closely together, until Ann could hardly see at all. Holding on to Jack's shoulder, she stood on tiptoe to get a better view.

The native chorus dropped into softer and softer tones as the costumed apelike men advanced. The witch doctor moved back and looked toward the king. The old woman standing to the other side had disappeared into the surroundings, leaving the stage to the two men. The king stepped forward, but in that instant his expression changed as he looked beyond the crowd, toward the interlopers, toward Driscoll, Denham, and Ann. “Bado!” he shouted as he raised an arm to point. “Bado! Dama pati vego!”

The chanting, the dancing, all the sound, all the movement, froze to stony silence. Ann tightened her grip on Driscoll's shoulder as he half turned toward Englehorn and asked, “Ever hear that lingo before, Skipper?”

“It's familiar,” Englehorn murmured. “That's the leader, the king, talking. I'm pretty sure he's telling the old witch doctor to stop the ceremony, to beware the strangers.”

“Looks like we've been found out,” Denham said, never looking away from the camera viewfinder.

The massed natives turned as one and stared at the newcomers. Ann had a sense that many of them were drugged, their faces and movements uncertain, glazed, nearly stunned. An errant breeze rolled the smoke from the smoldering torches over the party from the
Wanderer,
and Ann felt a moment's giddiness. Something in the smoke, she thought. Like one of Denham's gas bombs, but not a knockout chemical. Something soothing, hypnotic.

Cries of surprise and outrage brought her attention back. The islanders stared at them with wide, fearful eyes. As if by a silent direction, the women and children had begun to slip away. Many followed the path taken by the old woman who had been standing opposite the king.

Jimmy muttered, “I don't like the looks of this. We'd better beat it or we'll be up to our necks in trouble.” He turned, but Ann saw Driscoll's steadying hand reach out to grip his arm.

“Good catch, Jack!” Denham called from his position at the head of the party. “Jimmy, they'll cut us down if we show fear. Nobody run! No use trying to hide now. Everybody stand fast, put up a bold front.”

The king made an imperious gesture, and two tall warriors stepped to his side. Slowly, with evident caution but no real fear, he strode forward. Ann saw that the last of the women and children had vanished.

“Look out, Mr. Denham!” Jimmy yelped. “They've got spears—”

“Shut up, you fool!” Driscoll shot back.

“Hold on, everyone,” Denham said again. “Skipper, you'll need to translate.”

“Jack!” whispered Ann. “Does it mean trouble when the women and children go away?”

“Trouble for them—if they start anything,” Driscoll replied, his voice firm and confident. If he was scared, he was hiding it well. Still, Ann clutched his arm more tightly than ever.

Some of the sailors shifted their rifles, their fingers slowly inching toward their triggers. Denham, as though he had eyes in the back of his head, rapped out a warning: “Steady, boys! There's nothing to get nervous about!”

“Hang on, Ann,” Jack added. “The chief wants to see if we'll scare. It's all a game of bluff, and I'm betting on us.”

Half a dozen paces in front of them the chief paused with his guard. Tall and stern-featured, he stared down at Denham. His broad, strong face glistened with sweat, the deep lines in the flesh accented with ceremonial paint. Above and behind him, the gaunt witch doctor glared at them. Ann had the impression that the older man, the witch doctor, felt more outraged than the king at their intrusion.

For long moments the strongly built chief stood surveying them. His eyes were as clear as glass, yet wide as saucers. His bizarre costume and his expression gave him the look of a terrifying apparition from a childhood fantasy. Still, no one could mistake his authority.

Denham had stopped his camera. He didn't flinch from the island chief's challenging gaze, but said from the corner of his mouth, “Skipper, this would be a good time for a friendly speech.”

Englehorn took a step closer, but the king threw up an arresting hand. “Watu! Tame di? Tame di?”

“Ima te bala,” Englehorn replied slowly. “Bala! Bala! Friends, Friends!”

“Imbali nega bala, reri tamano alala temo!” the king shouted scornfully. “Tasko! Tasko!”

“What's that about?” Denham asked.

Without looking at Denham, keeping an undisturbed expression on his face, Englehorn replied, “Hard to make out the accent, but I gather he wants no friends. He tells us to beat it!”

“Talk him out of it,” Denham ordered. “Ask him what gives with the ceremony.”

Ann peeked from behind Driscoll as Englehorn spoke in placid, conciliatory tones and gestured to the flower-clad girl.

“Tapi ani saba. Ani saba Kong!” pronounced the king, and from all the natives came a sighing, worshipful echo of “Saba Kong!”

Englehorn nodded gravely and muttered, “He says the girl is the bride of Kong.”

“Kong!” Denham cried exultantly. “Didn't I tell you?”

Denham's use of the word
Kong
drew an instant burning glare from the king. He gave no signal obvious to Ann, but both of his tall guards raised their spears. A murmur ran through the throng. Ann heard hushed voices, sounding dismayed and fearful, repeating “Saba Kong” over and over. The witch doctor quietly said something that Ann could not catch, but his voice rose as he finished, “atu kana ito Kong!”

“He's warning that Kong will be angry,” translated Englehorn. Ann could almost have guessed that, for even in the fearless eyes of the chief something flickered, something wary and apprehensive.

At that, the witch doctor suddenly leaped forward, his headdress shaking, his eyes darting fury at both the king and strangers. He cried, “Bar-Atu, te ama si vego! Dama si vego, Bar-Atu! Dama si vego. Punya. Punya bas!” His voice shook with anger—or with fear.

Englehorn took a step back. “We are violating the teachings of Bar-Atu, whatever or whoever that is. We've spoiled the ceremony. None of our kind are supposed to see it. I think we'd better fall back, but carefully.”

“Let me try talking to him,” Denham said. “What's the word for ‘friend'?”

“Bala.”

Denham immediately spread his hands and with a grinning, conciliatory step said, “Bala! Bala!” He pointed to himself and then to the king and witch doctor. “Bala! Bala!”

Though he put a smile on his face, Driscoll warned, “Denham, you can't trust these savages. Can't you tell they're drugged on something? The skipper's right. Let's get back on the ship.” Ann saw that he made smooth gestures, as though complimenting the natives.

The king cast a cryptic glance in his direction, frowning, and beckoned his guards to stand close beside him. His face was unreadable, but he stared directly into Driscoll's eyes and in a deep voice cried, “Tasko!”

“He understood you,” Ann whispered to Jack.

“Couldn't have,” Driscoll returned, not looking at her. “How would these birds know any English? Watch it. Men, be ready to defend yourselves.” He didn't raise his voice, but behind her Ann heard the clacks of rifle bolts.

She felt fear, but her excitement flooded over every other emotion. She took a step back, and at that moment the king's glance seized on her and her honey-colored hair. He raised his arm in a decisive gesture, and the warriors behind him lowered their spears. The king stared first at Ann, and then turned to the witch doctor as though asking for affirmation.

“M-Malem ma pakeno!” he stammered. “Sita!” He jerked his arm at the witch doctor. His voice took on a quality of hushed awe as he repeated, “Malem! Malem ma pakeno saba!”

The witch doctor hobbled closer, his eyes narrowing at first, then widening as he caught sight of Ann. The warriors on both sides stood enthralled, lowering their weapons until the points touched the ground.

“He's stood them down,” Englehorn said. “It's a sign that he wants peace.”

“Sabi ma pakeno sati,” creaked the witch doctor.

“What now?” Denham asked.

Englehorn sounded nervous: “He said, ‘Look at the woman of gold!'”

“It's her hair,” Denham said. “Blondes are scarce around here.”

Ann saw Driscoll tense. She knew he was not amused, and she touched his arm.

The king's voice rose ecstatically: “Kong! Malem ma pakeno! Kong wa bisa! Kow bisa perat pakeno sati saba Kong,” and he turned to the witch doctor as though seeking agreement.

The old sorcerer nodded thoughtfully as Englehorn translated swiftly: “The woman of gold. Kong's gift. The golden one will be a bride for Kong.”

“Good Lord!” Denham protested.

The king and the witch doctor advanced on Denham, and the former thrust out his hand in a regal command. “Dama!” he said. “Tebo malem na hi!”

Englehorn's translation followed like pistol cracks: “Stranger! Sell the woman to us!” Ann felt her skin crawl. She dared not speak, dared not ask Denham what their next move should be.

“Dia malem!” the king hurried on.

“Six women!” Englehorn said swiftly. “He will give you six for yours of gold.”

Ann gasped and tried to smile. “He thinks a lot of me, doesn't he?”

Driscoll gave her a furious warning look that told her to keep silent. To Denham, Driscoll said, “You got Ann into this! Say the word and I'll put a slug between his eyes!”

“Steady, Jack!” Denham smiled briefly and with an unhurried gesture called up his two carriers.

“Tell him, as politely as you can,” he said to Englehorn, “that we'd rather not swap. Tell him, I don't know, tell him our religion does not let us sell our women. It's a taboo.”

Ann marveled at the way Englehorn put a solemn, almost apologetic note in his firm response to the king: “Tida! Nem! Malem ata rota na ni! Rota na ni, ka sala mekat. Pakeno malem take mana.” To Denham, he muttered, “I've told him our woman is our luck, and we dare not part with her.”

Against that refusal, polite though it had been, the witch doctor cried in fury. “Bar-Atu, watu!” he screamed. “Tam bisa pare Kong di wana ta!”

Englehorn took a long breath. “Bar-Atu's teaching tells them they cannot lose Kong's gift.”

“That's enough for me,” Denham growled. “Tell them again that we're friends, and that we have to leave. I'm taking Ann back to the ship.”

“We'd better all slide out,” Englehorn said. “Before that smart old witch doctor thinks to send out a war party to get between us and our boats.”

Denham nodded. “Fine, but don't leave the old coot so mad, Skipper. Tell him we'll be back tomorrow to make friends and talk things over. We'll bring gifts for them.”