Merian C. Cooper's King Kong (12 page)

Driscoll flushed, but didn't speak.

“I'm not afraid,” Ann put in.

With another laugh, Denham said, “That's a girl!” He tugged thoughtfully at his ear. “Jack has a point, though. Whatever is on the far side of the Wall, it's dangerous. And I'm not about to get you killed, Ann, or myself for that matter. Don't worry, Jack, I enjoy living just as much as you do!”

Englehorn grunted as if in agreement.

Looking at their doubtful faces, Denham said, “I'll tell you what: we'll sign off on everything for now. Let me think this out tonight. By tomorrow morning, I'll have our next step planned.”

Englehorn crossed his arms. “In the meantime, Mr. Driscoll, post a half dozen guards with rifles. I don't trust that old witch doctor. If he sends a few canoes out to board us, we'll be ready to send them packing. Hear that?”

Denham tilted his head. “The drums have started again.” He felt strangely unsettled. The cadence of the drumming had altered, had changed from the insistent, pounding thunder of the ceremony to a steady, low drone. At this distance, it sounded almost like a mutter of voices, like a crowd of men thinking aloud. Denham wondered just what they were thinking about.

*   *   *

Dinner passed in nervous silence. Afterward, Driscoll went out onto deck and exchanged a few words with the men armed with rifles, who already stood their posts in the bows, amidships, and at the stern. He climbed up to the bridge and found Englehorn standing alone, gazing up at the sky. “Overcast night,” the skipper observed.

“Fog's rising again, too,” Jack said. “It's going to be a dark night, and that won't make the guards' job any easier.”

Already darkness had settled. Jack peered into the gloom and persuaded himself that he could just make out Skull Mountain, its empty sockets and gaping maw wraithlike in the gathering dusk.

“Calm down, Mr. Driscoll,” the skipper said quietly. “Are you sure that Mr. Denham isn't right? It seems to me that you have gone a little soft on Miss Darrow. Don't worry, though. A dark night won't hurt anything. We're far enough offshore to keep the natives from making a surprise rush.”

Jack leaned on the rail and shook his head. “I just don't like those drums!”

*   *   *

The insistent droning went on through the night, as the fog closed in and the darkness became complete. Driscoll didn't like any part of this island, and those drums least of all. But he tried to keep any trace of his worry out of his expression as he checked on Ann. She seemed more at ease than he was. Denham was right. Ann was a brave girl.

And as for going soft—Driscoll snorted to himself. Any man could find himself on edge, listening to those monotonous drums. Those mumbling, mysterious drums.

*   *   *

Denham kept them all in suspense until nearly midnight. He was too much of a showman to reveal his plan too early, too much even to realize he was teasing them. In his mind, he was laying the groundwork for the film that would rewrite movie history. At last, though, he called the skipper, Driscoll, and Ann together again in the cabin. “Okay, here's how I've doped it out. We're going ashore bright and early tomorrow with a strong armed party. Skipper, I want your best marksmen. It'll be your job to dazzle these islanders with our trade goods. Shouldn't be hard—we've got stuff they've never seen before. And all the way through, I want you to stress that we're friends, we're no threat. We'll talk our way through that gate, and with our rifles and gas bombs, we'll see what the forest has to hide.”

“Not Ann!” Driscoll thundered.

Ann smiled at him. “I'm here to do a job, Jack. I'll go.”

“Maybe later,” Denham said quickly, before Jack could object again. “You'll stay aboard tomorrow while we get the lay of the land. And Jack will appoint fourteen sailors with rifles to be your bodyguard. Well, gentlemen—and lady—we've come all this way to find Kong. Tomorrow we find him.”

Ann looked troubled. “I'm ready to go ashore if you need me. I trust you, Mr. Denham—I mean, Carl.”

Denham smiled in gratitude. “No, Ann. Ordinarily I'd never separate my cast from my camera. This time, though, we don't know what we're up against. So you're staying aboard until I know what I'll be getting you into.”

“Good idea,” Englehorn said.

Driscoll's whole expression changed. “I'm going ashore with you, Denham.” He gave Ann a quick sideways glance, and then added, “Let me lead the party that explores the interior. You're right. We won't run into any danger with a strong party. But if you should happen to get hurt, the picture would be held up. If I bump into a tree or something, it won't matter.”

A sharp, low cry of concern burst from Ann.

Denham chuckled. “The old college try, eh? Ready to do or die for dear old Rutgers? You're out, Jack. When I organize a parade, I always lead it.” He paused and then, with a smile, said, “Still, you might have a point at that. All right, Jack, I take back what I said about your going soft. Maybe you've just got a soft spot, that's all. But I'll tell you what: You'll be in charge of, say, a six-man special guard, with rifles and bombs. Your job is to keep the camera safe. I'll look after myself, but if something eats my camera, I'll take it out of your skin!”

“You've got it,” Driscoll said. “As long as Ann stays safe on board.”

“Then I'm turning in,” Denham announced. “Get a few hours of shut-eye, Jack. I want your eye clear tomorrow!”

“I don't think I'll sleep a wink,” said Ann. “All right, Carl. You and Jack make sure the island is safe, but then I expect to get some screen time.”

Denham exploded into laughter, so infectiously that Driscoll joined in. Even Englehorn, behind his mustache, managed an amused smile.

*   *   *

But instead of going to bed, Denham went to his cabin and sat pensively turning over what-ifs and what-thens in his head. Let Ann stay aboard tomorrow. The next day, or the day after, it would be a different story. The story of Beauty and the Beast, perhaps. The ceremony had given Denham the glimmer of an idea. If he acted on it, then Ann's life might be in danger. All of their lives, for that matter.

On the other hand—

“What a picture,” Denham told himself, balling his hands into fists. “Oh, man, what a picture that would make!”

9

SKULL ISLAND
MARCH 13, 1933

Past midnight, and the drums never paused. Ann stepped out into drifting mist. Along the deck she could make out the watchful silhouettes of the guards. Low deck lights glowed enough to show her that a few other sailors had come out on deck, seeking relief from the heat and the humidity. Lumpy was one of these. Stretched out on a hatch, in his frayed trousers, he played lazily with Ignatz.

Ann sat on a corner of the hatch. “Hello, Lumpy.”

“Evenin', Miss Ann. Ignatz, give her some room.” The monkey leaped into her lap, and Ann put up with its scramble to her shoulder. Lumpy said, “Heard you had a touchy time of it ashore.”

“Well, I was pretty scared for a while.” The monkey put a cool paw on her cheek and peered worriedly into her face. “You would've been scared, too, Iggy.”

“It was quiet aboard,” Lumpy said, and he gave a gigantic yawn. He seemed too lethargic for conversation, and they sat in silence, Ann feeling soothed by the soft night as Ignatz played with her fingers.

At length, Lumpy asked drowsily, “Miz Ann, mind tellin' me something? What happened ashore to get that cold old turtle so het up?”

Ann said slowly, “I think it must have been the girl. The one they were trying to sacrifice to Kong.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard some of the boys talkin' about her. The bride of Kong, they said Mr. Denham called her.”

Ann shivered. “What do you think Kong could be?”

Lumpy laughed in scorn. “Ah, don't trouble your head. Just some old heathen god. Every tribe has some kind of god. Could be anything, an old log or a mud statue. I'll bet Kong is just a lump of moss with some dopey idol stuck up on top of it. That bride of his probably never gets within a mile of him. See—” He broke off and then muttered, “Well, that old witch doctor fellow could probably tell you where she goes. See, most of the time the high priest gets what they offer the god—the food and, well, the other stuff, if you get my drift.”

Ann realized the bald old sailor was actually embarrassed. She laughed, and as she shifted for a more comfortable position, she accidentally pinched Ignatz's leg. The sensitive monkey squeaked and fled indignantly.

“Oh, I hurt him. Catch him, Lumpy,” Ann said. “I didn't mean to sit on him. See if he's all right.”

Lumpy got up. “Ignatz! Come here, you varmint!” He shuffled off into the darkness.

Ann sat up and lifted her arms sleepily. An enormous round moon found a break in the overcast, and its light drifted across the deck. Ann became aware that more than one of the guards had turned to gaze at her, and she realized that the moonlight showed her figure to best advantage, made the movements of her light cotton dress almost liquid. Feeling self-conscious, Ann locked her fingers around her knees and stared toward the dark bulk of the island.

Ann thought of Jack and smiled at his reaction to Denham's plan. She pondered her strange turn of fate. Just weeks before she was suffering the cold streets and constant hunger of New York City. And now, well, now she felt rested, relaxed, and falling in love.

Still, they faced the mystery of the island. Ann told herself, Forget about Kong. Old Lumpy is probably right. She had more pleasant things to think about. She stood and lazily made her way aft, to the narrow alley between the rail and the deckhouse.

She hesitated there for a moment, the light spilling from the deckhouse gleaming in her golden hair. The drums swelled for a few seconds to a frenzy, then subsided to their low, rolling murmur again. Ann took a few more steps aft, and the darkness swallowed her.

*   *   *

Up on the bridge, a restless Denham found Englehorn just as unable to sleep as he felt. They both turned the moment the drumbeats began to rattle frantically across the bay.

“Listen to that!” Denham snapped. “I tell you, if I could take pictures by firelight, I'd sneak back over there tonight just to get some shots of those drummers.”

“Better off here, Mr. Denham.”

The drums modulated again, and Denham shrugged. “I know that, but still I hate to miss anything.”

A match flared as Englehorn lit his pipe. “I wouldn't mind missing a lot.”

“Don't talk like that, Skipper. For the love of mike, it's enough to have Jack Driscoll worrying his heart out.”

Englehorn puffed on his pipe. “I'm hardly worrying, and neither is Driscoll, at least not for himself. Still, I'm glad we have guards set. I have half a notion to keep the midnight watch myself.”

“I don't think we need the guards,” Denham countered. “All the natives are busy ashore.”

“Maybe so, but I think I'll stay around just the same.”

“Okay, I can't sleep either. I'll keep you company,” Denham said with a laugh. “Tell you what, we'll have a good game of pinochle.”

The tobacco in Englehorn's pipe glowed cherry red. “I couldn't concentrate. A lot depends on how the chief and the witch doctor receive us tomorrow.”

Denham rubbed a hand over his face. “Oh, we'll make friends with them, Skipper. Sure, they didn't like our breaking into their ceremony, but we can convince them that was an accident. Take my word for it, when they get a gander at the stuff I've brought, they'll forget all about it. Something tells me these birds haven't seen many westerners. I've got a ton of costume jewelry, and that ought to get their interest fast enough.”

Englehorn grunted. “Denham, don't underestimate these people. They're not idiots, and they're not savages. Not your idea of savages, anyway. They're exactly like us, but their world is different from ours. They all wanted just one thing: to please Kong. You seem to think we spoiled some kind of little show. It's more serious than that.”

“All right, Kong's some sort of god to them.”

“Even more serious,” Englehorn insisted. “If this Kong is what you think he is, some kind of giant or something, and they fear him, the last thing they're thinking about is a handful of trinkets. They wanted to appease Kong, and for that they wanted Ann. It's nothing trivial, Mr. Denham. It's a matter of belief and faith, a matter of sacrifice and blood and death. That's what concerns Driscoll. And me, Mr. Denham. And me.”

Denham didn't respond for a few seconds. Then he said, “Suppose they'll do the ritual again tomorrow? If they do, I can get it all on film.”

Englehorn took his pipe from his mouth and demanded, “Denham, did you hear a single word I said?”

Denham glanced at him. “Sure, sure I did, Skipper. Don't get me wrong, I'm as concerned for Ann's safety as you are. That's why she stays on the ship tomorrow. If the witch doctor can't get her, he'll use what he has. Kong's got to be appeased, right? And when that whole shindig starts up again, you can bet I'll be filming it.”

In the heavy silence that followed, Denham sensed Englehorn's misgivings. Good thing the old man's not a mind reader, he thought to himself.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later, Driscoll entered the bridge, wiping his forehead. “I've just changed the guards. Half the crew is on the foredeck, trying to get some air. Where's Ann?”

Denham shrugged. “In her cabin, or on deck, I suppose. What are you doing, checking on her every half hour?”

“Listen to the drums,” Driscoll said. “Denham, I may be soft on Ann, as you say. But at least I'm not a cold-blooded—ah, skip it.” He left the two men and restlessly resumed his rounds, making sure that the new guards were in place and alert. On the crowded foredeck, he heard a chattering and glanced down to see Lumpy lying sprawled on a hatch, Ignatz complaining next to him.