Merian C. Cooper's King Kong (11 page)

“Dulu!” Englehorn promised the chief and the witch doctor gently. “Dulu basa tika ano. Basa ti ki bala. Bala, bala. Dulu hi tego minah.” He motioned unobtrusively as he spoke, and the camera bearer picked up the equipment and retreated. The others were slowly backtracking.

“En malem?” the chief insisted. “Malem me pakeno?”

“Dulu pala malem ma pakeno. Dulu basa tika,” Englehorn said.

“Get going!” Denham ordered briskly to the crew. “Back away. And keep smiling, Ann. Don't you realize the chief's just paid you a whopping compliment? Six for one! Smile at Jack. And keep your chin up!”

“Dula bala,” Englehorn told the chief reassuringly. “Tomorrow, friend.”

The retreat gathered speed, cautiously. No one lagged behind, but no one ran, either. They made an expeditious, smiling withdrawal. A half dozen sailors, led by Driscoll, went first, with Ann in their center. Next the main body moved, rifles held easily, not pointing at anyone, but ready to fire if need be. Englehorn followed these, and Denham came last of all.

Ann had to admire Denham's coolness. As a parting sign of friendship he tossed the witch doctor a debonair salute. Then with the same hand he cocked his hat over one eye, and as the hand dropped, coming to rest on the butt of his holstered pistol, his lips puckered to whistle a jaunty marching tune. While the native's eyes widened in surprise he slipped briskly around the corner of the house and out of the tribe's sight.

Following the narrow paths among houses, silent and seemingly uninhabited, the
Wanderer
's party came to the edge of the village. Ahead of them lay the almost treeless slope of land running down to the beach and the boats.

“Don't tell me there wasn't nobody in them houses,” Jimmy snorted, shifting his box of bombs to the other shoulder. “I heard a kid squeal once. What a smack his mama handed him. I heard that, too.”

Driscoll, with a half laugh of relief, let go of Ann's hand. He had held it all the way through the march. “Believe it or not,” he said with a last backward glance, “nobody is following us. I call that a pleasant surprise.”

Bringing up the rear, Denham and Englehorn strode to the crest of the rise.

“I hope,” Ann said with a laugh, half at them and half at Driscoll, “that you all know me well enough to understand that I'm no Brunhild. I don't consider myself very warlike or even very brave, but just the same, I want to say that I wouldn't have missed that for the mint. Woman of gold—not a bad compliment at that.” With a broad pretense of pride she began to fluff out the hair which had been so much admired.

Driscoll eyed her provocative mouth with an exasperation which did not conceal his admiration for her courage.

“Sister, you were cool as a snowdrift. You can be my leading lady in all the pictures I make from here on in,” Denham promised.

Englehorn stood waving them all into the boats. He took his briar pipe from a pocket and clenched it between his teeth, though he did not load or light it. “Tomorrow we'll break out the trade goods. I think, Mr. Denham, a few presents might get us somewhere.”

“To the king, you mean,” Denham said.

“I think the witch doctor's the better bet,” Englehorn told him. “He's the power behind the throne.”

8

SKULL ISLAND
MARCH 12–13, 1933

Launching the boats rasped everyone's nerves raw, though they all tried to look calm. Denham took the lead in that regard, acting purposefully, calmly, as though he didn't anticipate the slightest danger. Still, he and the others knew that spears might come whistling down if the natives had a change of heart and decided to attack. “Let's move it along,” Englehorn said in a firm but quiet command.

Denham approved of the efficiency as the men stowed the boats and piled in. Four of the strongest sailors in each boat waited to run the craft out into the low waves of the lagoon before climbing in themselves. Immediately the sailors at the oars put their backs into their rowing. Denham settled back, sure that within seconds they would be beyond spear-cast and safe, at least for the time being.

“No one on the beach,” Englehorn muttered. He called to the other boat: “Mr. Driscoll, do you see any sign of the natives?”

“Not a hint,” Driscoll shouted back.

“So far, so good,” Denham said, already thinking about what gifts he could offer the king and the witch doctor. As long as he didn't tell them what the camera was, he might just be safe. Natives tended to have superstitions against having their images captured.

Denham's musings carried him away from the creak and rattle of the oars in their iron oarlocks, away from the muffled splashing and sizzling of well-churned water. Suddenly Denham became aware that Englehorn had said something to him. “What's that, Skipper?”

“I said, I don't like the look of this island.”

Denham turned in his place to look back at the beach and what lay beyond it. In the failing light, the cliffs had taken on a deep purple cast, and etched against it Denham saw the great Wall, leering at them through a misty veil. “Oh, I don't know,” Denham said aloud. “Looks like a swell spot for a movie to me. Now all we have to do is figure out how we're going to convince the natives to let us shoot it.”

*   *   *

From far behind them, atop the great Wall, an old woman stood at a huge triangular window, its ancient saurian-hide curtain barely parted. She leaned on a tall curved staff carved from bone. She watched as the strangers climbed into their boats, pushed off from shore, and rowed out to the larger craft riding at anchor. Twilight and darkness settled, and still she did not stir. She stood unmoving as night took the village, the Wall, and the great forests and mountains beyond the Wall. Only when she could no longer see even the silhouette of the ship did she move, and then she simply seemed to fade into the night herself.

*   *   *

By twilight, much to Denham's relief, the shore party had safely boarded the
Wanderer,
and as soon as the boats were stowed, he asked Driscoll and Englehorn to talk things over with him. They met in the skipper's cabin. “The men are uneasy,” Englehorn said.

Denham grinned. “I kind of sensed that. They seemed glad enough when we got back to the ship.”

“Because they knew we got lucky today,” Driscoll said. “Now they've got time to think about what we got away from, about how badly we're outnumbered, and about what they saw.”

“And heard,” Englehorn put in. “Denham, I suppose it's not even worth asking you to give up the idea of filming here. Couldn't you shoot your movie somewhere else?”

“Not a chance,” Denham shot back. “For the love of mike, Skipper, isn't your curiosity up? Me, I want to know about this Kong. Who is he? What was that witch doctor jabbering about?”

Denham caught Driscoll's quick glance at Englehorn, a look filled with concern. The mate cleared his throat and said, “Captain, I thought you said this Kong was some kind of myth.”

Englehorn shrugged. “And I thought it was. You and I have run across superstitious natives before, Mr. Driscoll. I had no reason to think these Skull Islanders were any different.”

Driscoll glared at Denham. “Yeah, but the others didn't keep their superstitions behind a Wall big enough to stand up against a herd of elephants.”

A quiet, feminine voice said, “Bigger than that.”

The three men turned in surprise. Ann Darrow had come silently in. “I think I ought to be in on this, too. Don't you, Mr. Denham?”

Denham grinned. “You bet, sister. Listen, I'm not going to make you do anything you're not willing to do. But if you're like me, you want to know what this Kong could be.”

“Maybe that's their name for the king,” Ann said tentatively. “The girl could be meant for him.”

Denham nodded thoughtfully, but Englehorn broke in: “No. The king was part of the ceremony, but not the center of it. Besides, you saw how frightened that young woman was. She didn't flinch when the king came near, but she nearly passed out at the mention of Kong's name. It scared her half out of her senses.”

“Maybe she was scared of those goons dressed up like gorillas,” Driscoll growled. “They were enough to give anybody the heebie-jeebies.”

“Men in masks,” Denham said dismissively, putting deliberate scorn in his tone. “What's so scary about that?”

“Nothing, but I've got a hunch they were more than that,” Driscoll said. “I figure they were acting as living idols. You might say they were the real bridegroom's representatives. Denham, did you look up on top of that Wall during the dance?”

“I was looking through the camera viewfinder,” Denham said. “What about the Wall?”

“On the ledge above those huge doors hung a huge drum of some kind, sort of like a gong. A big guy stood beside it with a club. Just before he noticed us, I saw the king look up and raise his hand, as if he was about to give the fellow a sign.”

“I think I follow you,” Denham said.

Ann looked exasperated. “Well I don't! I'm completely in the dark. Sign to do what?”

“To strike the gong,” Denham said. “And maybe that would tell the villagers it was time to give up their sacrifice. Maybe it might even call something from the interior of the island. Most of the island is safely beyond the Wall. What if the king had been about to send the girl out through the gate, alone? What if something was waiting in the forest to hear the drum and come for the girl? What if that something is so strong that they have to get the girl out quick, and then bar the gate again to protect their settlement?”

Ann blinked. “But that's crazy. What could be strong enough, big enough, to require a gate, a Wall, of that size?”

Driscoll put his arm around her waist. Denham began to pace the floor. “That's just it. Beyond the Wall, the wilderness, the jungle. Waiting there is Kong. The girl was a bride, a bride for their god, for Kong. And whatever he is, the natives are terrified of him.”

Englehorn murmured, “In ancient China, the emperor built a great wall to keep out the barbarian hordes. Maybe Kong is a fierce tribe.”

Denham shook his head. “No, I don't think so, Skipper. I've seen the Great Wall of China. It's longer than this one, but the island Wall is even taller and, from what I could see, broader. Even at the top, it's as wide as a highway. It wasn't built to keep out just a tribe of natives. And this Wall is not just a relic of the past. Those huge doors are obviously still used, and the Wall is kept in a state of repair.” Denham paused, swept a hand through his hair. “All these mysteries—some higher culture built that Wall, and what happened to them? My guess is these people are all that's left of them.”

Suddenly he stopped pacing and banged a fist on the table. “I'm going to get to the bottom of all this. My Norwegian captain didn't steer us wrong. All right, the island civilization has decayed into what we saw. All right, they worship something big, something real, something beyond the Wall. We're going to find it!”

Ann had started when Denham struck the table. “Find what?”

Denham's eyes danced with excitement. “Kong! You heard the chant—Kong, Kong, Kong!”

“Hold on, Denham,” Englehorn said. “If you're right, if Kong is something real—well, that pretty little girl wouldn't have been the first of his brides, would she?”

Ann looked sick. “What do you mean?”

Driscoll broke in roughly: “He means that the girl was a sacrifice. When a tribe gives a human sacrifice, it usually does it regularly. Every time the moon is full, or something like that. Skipper, remember that New Guinea bunch? Ritual cannibalism, that was. This is even creepier.”

“As it happens,” Englehorn said drily, “the moon
is
full tonight.”

“Tomorrow we find out what Kong is,” Denham said. “Tomorrow we get through the gate, out beyond the Wall.”

Driscoll glared at him. “Are you out of your mind? That Wall wasn't built to keep out a lion or a tiger. This Kong has to be something huge. A dozen men represented him, a dozen big mugs decked out like gorillas.”

“I never heard of gorillas anywhere but in Africa,” Driscoll objected.

“Whatever Kong is, he's not a gorilla,” Denham said. “I'll lay you odds that he's big enough to use a gorilla as a medicine ball.”

“What could be that big?” Ann asked. “I've never heard of anything that size, except maybe a dinosaur.”

Denham grinned. “Holy mackerel! That would explain a lot of the yarn the Norwegian skipper told me. I think you hit it, Ann!”

Driscoll pulled Ann closer to him and exploded: “That's crazy!”

Englehorn shook an unbelieving head.

“Wait a minute. Think about it.” Denham started to pace again. “Skull Island's not on any chart. Who knows how long it's been here? Maybe it's the last part of a prehistoric continent still above the sea. It's just the place to find a solitary surviving prehistoric freak.”

“Don't get carried away, Denham,” Driscoll said. “Nothing like that could happen.”

Englehorn tapped his teeth with his pipe stem. “Maybe not, Mr. Driscoll. Maybe not. I've been to the Galápagos Islands off the Pacific coast of South America, and just what Mr. Denham suggests happened there, with a group of modern animals that were cut off from the rest of the world. There are giant tortoises there, and iguanas unlike anything else in the world. Still, that's a long way from a living dinosaur.”

“And that Wall is a long way from an ordinary native temple!” Denham shot back. “We've got to find Kong, whatever it turns out to be. And if it's what I think, what a picture I'm going to bring back!”

Driscoll said, “And where does Ann figure into your plans now?”

Denham heard the undertone of anger. He forced himself to laugh. “Hey, Jack, let me run my own show. Remember what I said? I think you've gone soft, after all, and I guess Ann is a plenty good reason. But don't worry about her, and don't try to talk me out of my chance to make the kind of picture that will make us all rich men. It'd be nice to have enough money to—I don't know, settle down, get married, whatever you wanted, right?”