Merian C. Cooper's King Kong (9 page)

“Listen for any sign of trouble,” he said to the boatswain. “And it wouldn't hurt to do some figuring on the range from here to the island.” Without waiting for a response, he swung over the side and joined Ann.

“This is the first time I've ever seen the whole crew together,” Ann told him as he dropped into the boat. “I hadn't realized there were so many.”

“Twenty men in each boat,” Driscoll said. He added gloomily, “We may need 'em.”

“But if we don't frighten the islanders, surely they'll be friendly.”

“Maybe,” Driscoll said shortly. “I don't know, though. Those drums mean some kind of ceremony. I wish I knew what kind.”

Ann smiled. “Maybe it's a wedding. Or maybe they're announcing some pretty girl's engagement.”

Driscoll suppressed an exasperated smile as he looked at her. She was enough to enthrall any man. She carried the pith helmet in her lap, and her golden hair shone free in the sun and blew about her flushed, excited face. The rhythmic sound of the oars slicing through the pale green water flowed at a steady, calm pace. Everything about Ann struck Driscoll as graceful, like the weightless birds that floated just yards above and behind her head. Suddenly the drums grew louder, and with every tug at the boat's oars, the rhythm grew more distinct and ominous. Then gulls sheered off with menacing shrieks. Driscoll's momentary elation left him. He could not help looking over his shoulder at the island, bobbing in the water as they neared it. No, Driscoll thought. The boat was bobbing, not the island. Bobbing like bait.

*   *   *

As his boat approached the shoreline of the peninsula, Englehorn eyed his surroundings like a wizened owl. He was on the lookout for any clue as to what to expect, details to give him a sense of the island culture. Next to him, Denham held open a map he had painstakingly redrawn from the fragile original, scanning the sketched sandbars and small islets and verifying their position against the real items.

Englehorn needed only a glance to see they were in the channel leading right up to a curved beach on the peninsula. He had sailed over the Indian and Pacific oceans and knew firsthand that scattered remote islands offered more danger than anything imaginable in the civilized world. Once he had landed on Komodo Island, where he lost two of his crewmen to the giant lizards that lived there. Lizards with lethal bites, creatures appropriately referred to as dragons.

Still, up until now he had never really believed Denham's map and his story of the Wall. But seeing was believing, and right in front of him, big as life, reared the great structure. What kind of monster had it been built to keep out? Could
all
of Denham's outlandish story be true? Was there really a Kong, some kind of beast-god? Englehorn settled back, studying the land ahead, trying to glean any detail that might give his party a better chance of survival.

Denham was daredevil enough to risk anything, but Englehorn had known that going out and had signed on in spite of it because Denham was also one of the most resourceful and bravest men alive, and he paid well, too. Very well. And though Englehorn would never admit as much, he felt something within himself that was larger than his comparatively slight frame, something that craved the unknown. Without ever voicing the thought, Englehorn knew that his own reserve nicely balanced Denham's recklessness. They made a good team, and both knew it.

The boat's bow slushed into the beach, and Englehorn rose to leap over the side and help run it up. He consoled himself that this would likely be his last voyage with Denham, but he doubted it. If Denham asked, he would be ready.

*   *   *

Denham jumped out of the boat and onto the beach in an instant. He took equipment from the men clambering ashore and within seconds he had mounted his camera on its tripod. “Come on, men.” He swung the weight of the camera up onto his shoulder and led the way.

The sights and smells of the village permeated his senses and heightened his awareness: smoldering cooking fires, the scent of broiling fish, the sunstruck beach leading up to a scatter of bamboo huts. This was what he lived for. Every nerve in his being was on fire. The island was real, and he was standing on it! He now believed Kong, whatever he was, was just as real. At the top of the first rise, he held up his hand, and the first party waited until the second boat had grounded. When Denham saw Jimmy climb out, hoisting the crate of bombs, he nodded and beckoned. With the bombs, Denham thought, we're ready for anything.

When Driscoll's crew sprinted up the hill, Denham immediately put them to work. He burdened one sailor with the mounted camera, another with a case of film, and a third with the box of costumes. Meanwhile Englehorn was dividing cases of trade goods among the others. Jimmy grimaced as he shouldered the heavy container which held the gas bombs.

“You stick close,” Denham directed Jimmy. “And watch your step. There's enough trichloride in that case to put a herd of hippos to sleep.”

“Are we going to see any hippos?” Jimmy asked.

Denham grinned. “Something a lot more exciting, I hope. Where's Driscoll?”

Driscoll came trotting over, followed by Ann. She wore khaki trousers and a short-sleeved tan blouse, and carried her pith helmet—her explorer's costume.

Englehorn, standing close to Denham, turned to his first mate. “Mr. Driscoll, I want an armed man to guard each boat.”

“Already attended to, sir,” replied Driscoll. Denham heard him add a quick aside: “Stay beside me, Ann.”

Denham chuckled and said casually, “Jack, it might be a good idea for you to look after Ann until we find out how we stand.”

Driscoll flushed, but he said, “That's fine. What next?”

“Let's see. Skipper, do you think it's safe to go on toward the village?”

Englehorn nodded. “Men, form up, double file. Shoulder your rifles and don't use them unless I give the order. Blast it, Denham, wait!”

Denham had set off, striding vigorously toward the scattered houses at the edge of the brush. He didn't look back, but knew he had automatically become the leader of the march. Just behind him paced the men bearing camera and films, then Jimmy, whose pained face had convinced another crewman to help him with the gas bombs. Next came Englehorn, then Driscoll and Ann.

As the party climbed up the slope from the waterline and achieved some elevation, the Wall began to tower above them, although it still lay far off. Denham realized how enormous the structure really was. The Norwegian skipper's crude sketch had poorly estimated the mighty barrier which ran the full breadth of the peninsula. Off to the sides, trees closed in to hide its base. Giant vines slithered up its sides as if to form some cryptic map of the dawn of time. To Denham, the Wall seemed a great rooted thing, monolithic, eternal—
alive
—the way an ancient, gnarled, apparently dead tree can still manage green leaves on an occasional branch. The vastness of the mighty structure was not dwarfed even by the purple loom of the overhanging precipice. It seemed to be part of the foundation of the island itself.

What it was made of Denham could not exactly tell. Heavy beams, perhaps even whole tree trunks, made up part of it, but soiled or blackened, possibly tarred to preserve them. These stood interspersed between gigantic blocks of something, blocks that made up the bulk of the Wall. “What are those dark masses?” Denham asked.

From behind, Englehorn said, “Maybe volcanic rock. Though the texture doesn't look right, somehow.”

“Look at the top,” Denham said, pointing up to a ragged row of triangular shapes. “What do you think, Skipper? It's almost Egyptian.”

“Colossal, like the Pyramids,” Englehorn agreed. He spoke as though in a dream.

Denham's own mind was far away for a moment, remembering the several times he had been around the world. He had viewed many of its wonders but could not quite place this eerie structure. Despite his first impression, it was not really Egyptian. It looked—and then his mind hit on a frightening realization—it looked
reptilian
! He felt an odd chill.

“Who could have built this?” Englehorn asked. “And why?”

Denham shaded his eyes. “As for why, my guess is that it must have been the outer defense of some sizable city on this peninsula, maybe one that even included the two smaller islands out in the bay. Isn't it enormous?”

“But who do you suppose could have built something like this?” Ann asked in an awed tone.

“I went up to Angkor once,” Driscoll remarked in solemn admiration. “That's bigger than this. Nobody knows who built it, either.”

Denham realized they had all been speaking in hushed tones, like worshipers in an ancient cathedral. His practiced eye saw a panoramic shot that would stun audiences. “What a chance!” he exulted. “What a picture!”

As the group continued along the line of the Wall toward the ceremony, Englehorn muttered, “Listen to that.”

Denham nodded. The cadenced drumbeats steadily increased in volume and intensity. And Denham sensed that with them, the party's uneasiness was increasing, too.

They passed the first few straggling huts but saw no sign of an islander. None appeared even when the explorers reached the first outskirts of the village. Denham judged that the settlement would hold a tribe of at least several hundred, filling an area equal to six city blocks. The longhouses lay widely separated, each enclosed and partially masked by the thick brush. Narrow paths through the undergrowth provided the only connecting links. Each building stood by itself in a bare circle of beaten dusty earth smoothed by many feet. One extraordinary detail made the village different from any other that Denham had ever seen. All about lay a scatter of magnificent, broken columns of carved stone—or what looked like stone, anyway—and fragments of skillfully built walls. These ruins stood on every hand, but the majority lay forward, closer to the Wall.

“Part of the original defense during the building of the Great Wall?” Englehorn asked, gesturing at the fallen stones.

“Maybe,” Denham replied. “But look at the houses. They're primitive compared to the carvings on the pillars, and they're nothing compared to the Wall. It doesn't add up!”

They pushed through the heart of the settlement, still seeing no one. But suddenly, between two steps, the roll of the drums softened. And now, above their low purring note, voices began to rise in a wildly swelling chant.

Denham swallowed. He must have been wrong in his estimate. The chant sounded as if it came from thousands, not hundreds, of throats. Next to him, Driscoll halted and flung up an arm in warning, and the others stopped dead in their tracks. Ann clutched Driscoll's sleeve, and the sailors looked at one another apprehensively. The sound of the chant came from somewhere close to the Wall. Denham motioned to Englehorn and pointed to an unusually large house ahead.

“If we can edge around that,” he said, “I'll bet we'll see everything.”

“Do you hear what they're saying?” Ann asked in a soft voice. “They're shouting, ‘Kong! Kong!'”

“Denham!” Driscoll called. “Did you catch that? They're at some god ceremony.”

“I can hear just as well as Ann,” Denham said. “Come on.” Moving forward cautiously, he beckoned Englehorn closer. “Think you can speak their lingo?”

“Can't catch any clear words yet.” Englehorn paused for a moment, head bowed, listening. “It does, though, sound a bit like the talk of the Nias islanders.”

“Let's hope it's close enough to let you talk to them,” Denham said.

They reached the last house, and Denham halted, waving the rest of the column to close up and gather near. He himself advanced guardedly to the corner of the house. “Easy now!” he whispered. “Stay here until I see what's going on!”

He stepped around the corner, leaving the others behind. In a moment, he returned, barely containing his excitement. “Holy mackerel!” he whispered. “Englehorn! Driscoll! Get a look at this—but be quiet!” He led them to a vantage point, and all three of them stood transfixed.

The sun had sunk past zenith, and the Wall cast a deep shadow over everything before it. An explosive shout of massed voices rose above a murmurous, hypnotic rhythm. Cries of ecstasy, triumph, awe, and fear rolled thunderously over the gyrating populace.

Above the crowd loomed a towering central structure that dwarfed the Wall itself, which stretched off into the distance on either side. At the center of it all reared a portal, guarded by a pair of immense wooden gates. These in turn bore ornaments, the likenesses of two gigantic prehistoric skulls, their horned faces eerily illuminated by the flickering torches below. A colossal wooden beam ran through each of the obsidianlike masks and firmly barred the doors. One corner of the gate, at the lower right, bore a patch of fresher-looking wood. What force could have broken that mighty structure?

Denham could barely contain himself. He frantically motioned to the camera bearer, took over the machine and tripod, and slowly began to work it to a spot offering the clearest view. While he maneuvered, the drums rolled softly and the chants rose ever higher. Irresistibly drawn to the spectacle, everyone drifted slowly forward until suddenly, without realizing it, they were all standing in plain view of the entire population of the island. The air vibrated with the ongoing chant: “Kong! Kong! Kong!”

7

SKULL ISLAND
MARCH 12, 1933

Ann could only stare. In front of the party lay a double row of huts, with a few unusual artifacts or remnants of different kinds of structures scattered randomly among them. In the far distance, under the shadow of the looming Wall, Ann saw a great beaten square. The tremendous maw of an open gate frowned down on this. Up to the gate's sill rose a series of broad stone steps; and halfway up the steps, on a rude dais covered with skins, knelt a young native woman.