***
You see what he's done here?
This half page above is, of course, the ending of The Princess Bride, and this will only take a sec, but I'd like to draw attention to what he's doing in the sequel: playing with time. Look, I snitched in my explanation that Waverly was going to get kidnapped, forget that. Morgenstern tells you the same in the very opening pages with Fezzik on the mountain.
OK, so the kidnapping's already happened. Then in the Unexplained Inigo Fragment, he tells us that the kidnapping's about to happen (at least according to King's cousin he does). Now here, he goes back to before Buttercup and Westley have even safely gotten away from Humperdinck.
I think it's interesting, but some of you may find it confusing. Willy, my grandchild, did. I was reading it out loud to him (and how great a feeling was that, sports fans) when he said, 'Wait a sec,' so I did. And he said, 'How can Inigo hear about the kidnapping and the next sentence practically, it's Princess Bride all over again?' I ex- plained it was the way Morgenstern chose to tell this particular story. Then he said this: 'Can you do that?'
I sure hope so.
***
HOWEVER, THIS WAS before Inigo's wound reopened,—me again, and no, that was not a typo, I just thought it would make the transition easier if I repeated the last paragraph, go right on now—and Westley relapsed again, and Fezzik took the wrong turn, and Buttercup's horse threw a shoe. And the night behind them was filled with the crescendoing sound of pursuit....
Fezzik's mistake came first. He was in the lead, a position he tried to avoid whenever possible, but here he had no choice, since Inigo was losing strength with each stride and the lovers, well, they just sopped back and forth to each other about Eternity.
Which meant Fezzik, the ideal friend, the loyal follower, the lover of rhymes, perhaps not the most brilliant of fellows but certainly the most devoted bringer-up of any rears you might mention, found himself facing the most hateful, the most insidious bewilderment ever conceived of by the mind of man—
—a fork in the road.
"It's not actually a road (toad)," he reassured himself. "It's more a path (wrath), nothing to cause fret (sweat)." They were on their way to Florin Channel where the great pirate ship Revenge was waiting to scoop them up and head them all toward happiness. So relax, Fezzik, he told himself, treat the escapade as a lark (hark), a memory that would in the future bring warm smiles. After all, it was not even remotely a large fork.
It was, if you will, petite (sweet). A mere jog in the lane (pain).
Fezzik almost made himself believe that. Then reality took
hold—
—because it was still a fork—
—something that required thought, wisdom, a plan—
—and he knew he could screw up something like that anytime.
***
Me here, and no, this is not an interruption, just a note to explain I have gone to a lot of extra work to make this perfect, as you know, and I didn't want anyone writing in to point out that 'screw up' was anachronistic. It isn't. It's an ancient Turkish wrestling expression, a shorter version of 'corkscrew up,' a hold that brings pain of such magnitude that death soon follows. To 'corkscrew down,' of course, has been illegal for centuries. Everywhere.
***
THE FORK CAME closer.
They were surrounded by trees everywhere, always thickening, and the Brutes behind were clearly gaining, and even though the fork was indeed wee, it had to be there for a reason, and that reason Fezzik believed was that one way led to the Channel and the waiting Revenge while the other led elsewhere. And since the sea was their only profitable destination, elsewhere, no matter where else it elsed, was the same as doom.
Fezzik turned quickly to ask Inigo his opinion—but Inigo was bleeding so terribly now, the bouncing of the stallion not being helpful when you have recently been slit inside.
Fezzik instinctively reached back, grabbed his weakening comrade, pulled him onto his horse to see what he might do to save him—
—and while he was reaching, the fork was on them and Fezzik wasn't even watching as his horse took the left turning—which turned out to be, alas, toward Elsewhere.
"Hi," Fezzik said, once he had Inigo in front of him. "Are you excited? I'm as excited as can be." Inigo was too weak for reply. Fezzik studied Inigo's wound, pushed one of Inigo's hands deeper into it, hoping to somehow help stop the bleeding. It was clearly up to him to save Inigo now, and to do that he'd have to get him to a good Blood Clogger. Surely the Revenge would employ such a fellow.
From Inigo this: a groan.
"I agree completely," Fezzik said, wondering how the trees could become so much thicker so very quickly. It was amazing. They were almost like a wall now in front of them. "I'm also sure that just past this last wall of trees is Florin Channel and all our dreams will come true."
From Inigo the same, only less of it. Then his fingers managed to clutch Fezzik's great hand. "I go to face my father now ... but Rugen is dead ... so it was not a useless life ... beloved friend ... tell me I did not fail...."
He was losing Inigo now, and as he held the wounded fencer in his arms, Fezzik knew few things but one of them was this: wherever the bottom of the pit was located, surely he was there now.
"Mr. Giant?" he heard then.
Fezzik wondered who Buttercup was talking to, until he realized that they had never actually been introduced. Oh, he had rendered her unconscious, kidnapped her, almost killed her, so you couldn't say they were unacquainted, but none of it was truly a formal how-do-you-do.
"Fezzik, Princess."
"Mr. Fezzik," she cried out louder than necessary, but it was because at that moment her horse threw a shoe.
"Just Fezzik is fine, I'll know you mean me," he told her, watching her face in the moonlight. Never had he seen an equal. No one had. Except at the moment, she was not at her best—since not only was her horse behaving erratically, there was such pain behind her eyes. "What is wrong, Highness? Tell me so that I might help."
"My Westley has stopped breathing."
Wrong as usual, Fezzik realized, the pit is bottomless. He instinctively reached back, grabbed his breathless leader, pulled him onto his horse to see what he might do to save him—
—and while he was doing the reaching, his overburdened horse stopped. Had to. For there was now a wall of trees blocking any progress—
—and Inigo would not stop bleeding—
—and Westley would not start breathing—
—and Buttercup would not stop staring at him, her face lit with the hope that of all the creatures left stomping the earth, he, Fezzik, was the only one that could save her beloved and thereby stop her heart from shredding.
Fezzik at this heroic moment knew what he wanted most to do: suck his thumb forever. But since that was out of the question, he did the next best thing. He made a poem.
Fezzik's in trouble, bubble bubble,
His brain is just not in the pink.
His mind is rubble, rub-a-dub double,
Because everyone needs him to think.
Great work, no question, considering he was carrying two almost corpses on his stopped horse while the Princess was weeping, hoping for a miracle. Hmm. Fezzik went for a different rhyme scheme, hopeful it would jog something useful.
Great-armed Fezzik, blocked by trees,
Forget that she is crying.
Though lost (and that it's all your fault)
Forget that two are dying.
Mighty Fezzik, strong of brawn
Who most around think brainless,
All you have to do is spawn
A plan that will be painless.
Fezzik the fearless, Fezzik the wise,
Fezzik the wonder of the age,
Fezzik who—
The "who" is lost to time now.
Because it was at that moment of poetic inspiration that Prince Humperdinck's razor-sharp, metal-tipped arrow ripped through Fezzik's clothing on its way to his great
heart....
ONCE HE REALIZED they had taken the left turning, Prince Humperdinck knew they were his. He turned to Yellin, the Chief Enforcer of Florin, a finger to his lips. Yellin raised a hand and the fifty trailing members of the Brute Squad slowed.
The moon's perfect yellow dusted the thickening trees. Humperdinck could not help but stare at their beauty. Only the trees of Florin could interrupt, however briefly, a blood hunt. Was there any place on earth with such trees, Humperdinck wondered? No; resoundingly no. They ranked among the treasures of the universe.
During the Prince's contemplative moment, Yellin gestured for the Brute Squad to get into their attack groups: the knifers here, the stranglers there, the crushers in between.
The Prince rounded the last small turning—and there in front of him, so beautifully framed by the perfect trees, was the death tableau. His weeping runaway bride, the two still men on the buckling horse, held there in the arms of the giant. "Damn," he told himself. "If only I'd brought the Royal Sketcher." Well, he would just have to hold this in memory.
In the Prince's world, the world of scourge and pain, there was still great controversy who to initially attack. Should the nearest be selected? Or should it be the leader? Clearly Westley was that, but at the moment, a frail one at best. And the other still man must have had power, since he had killed Rugen—not the easiest task. It was standard to leave the women for last, they were not expert at blood; they also whimpered and looked to the Heavens for escape—always good for chuckles around future campfires.
Leaving the giant.
The Prince unsheathed his bow, selected his sharpest metal tip, made the insertion. He was a great archer, but at night, with moonlight and shadow, he was a good deal more. He had not missed a night kill in ever so long.
An inhale for balance.
A final smile to the trees.
Then the pull back, the release, and the arrow was on its straight way. The Prince held his breath until he saw the arrow rip the cloth of the giant, at the heart site.
The giant cried out loud in shock and fell backward off his horse.
As he fell, Yellin led the Brute charge and the Battle of the Trees, brief though it was, was on—the fifty Brutes at full cry charging the three men lying sprawled on the ground, the lone woman trying to somehow hold them all in her arms....
As her attackers came eyeball close, Buttercup had this thought: if she had to die, what better way existed than with her true love in her arms and the beauty of her beloved Florinese trees covering her with their branches? Even as a child, nothing pleased her more than the glorious trees at the bottom of her farm, and when her chores for the day were done, that is where she went to wander so happily. What peace they gave. And they would continue to give that peace to her fellow Florinese forever and—
***
Time out. Can you believe that last paragraph? Buttercup's about to die and she thinks of foliage? Horrible, horrible. So do not hold your breath waiting for the stupid Battle of the Trees. I went nuts when I first read this. I'm like you probably, zooming happily along, and Morgenstern was clearly a master of narrative, but right now I bet you are wondering this: what happened?
My God, Fezzik shot in the heart, the two other guys drifting away, Buttercup trying to hold it all together while these FIFTY ARMED BRUTES come charging in—we all want to know what happened, right?
Here is what you are not reading: sixty-five pages on Florinese trees, their history and importance. (Morgenstern had already started, if you noticed—-just when he realizes he's got them, Prince Humperdinck does an entire dumb paragraph about trees.) Even his Florinese publishers begged him to cut it. So I don't care what grief those Morgenstern whizzes at Columbia give me, if ever anything needed getting rid of, it was this.
Want to know why he put it in?
It actually has to do with The Princess Bride. Or rather, its success in Florin. Morgenstern was suddenly flush so he went right out and bought this country house that was off by itself and abutted this huge government-owned forest preserve. He was, indeed, master of all he surveyed.
However...
He had been misinformed. This lumber company had title and not long after he moved in, guess what, they began sawing down all these trees. Morgenstern went nuts. (He really did. His entire correspondence with the lumber company is right there in the Morgenstern Museum, just to the left off Florin Square.)
He couldn't make them stop and in a year or two, his house was all naked and alone and kind of dumb-looking, so he sold it (at a loss, which just killed him) and moved back into town.
But from then on, he became the country's best-known tree savior. (He had his eye on another country place, it turns out, similarly secluded, and he wouldn't buy it until he felt he was safe from the lumber interests.)
So what he did here in Buttercup's Baby was carefully build this huge suspense moment confident that his readers would have to read his tree essay in order to find out who lived and died.
Briefly now, in terms of narrative, this is what you found out: (A) Fezzik survived Humperdinck's metal-tipped arrow because of Miracle Max's holocaust cloak, which Fezzik kept tucked inside his tunic, and the folds of it blunted the arrow's impact, saving his life. (B) The pirates from the ship Revenge were hiding in the trees so when the Brutes were about to slaughter our quartet, they rained down on them like a rage from Heaven and took care of them all in just a couple of minutes, and when Humperdinck and Yellin saw this, they both fled. Then, (C) the pirates, headed by Pierre—their number one guy and next in line to become the Dread Pirate Roberts—took the four and scooted out to the Revenge with them, hoping everyone would be alive when they all got there.
Time back in.
***
AS SOON AS the four were safely aboard, Pierre signaled for the anchor raising and the great pirate ship Revenge slipped through the waters of Florin Channel toward open sea. A snap of his fingers brought the Blood Clogger, who set to work on Inigo while Pierre himself, chief medico and second in command, turned his attention to Westley, or as he was known on the ship, the Dread Pirate Roberts. Fezzik and Buttercup stood close by. Buttercup could not stop trembling so she reached out, tried to hold Fezzik's hand, realized the size discrepency, held his thumb instead.
The Clogger ripped off Inigo's shirt, examined the bleeding man. There were minor sword wounds near each shoulder, but they were nothing. The stomach drew his attention. "A three-sided Florinese dagger," he said to Pierre, then turned to Fezzik. "When?"
"A few hours ago," Fezzik answered. "While we were storming the castle."
"I can clog him," the Clogger said. "But he will have little use for this." He indicated the six-fingered sword still clutched in Inigo's right hand. "Not for a very long time." And with that he scurried off, returned in a moment with flour and tomato puree, mixed them expertly, began filling the wound. He looked at Pierre then, nodded in the direction of Westley. "Want me to work on him?"
"This is not a matter of blood. Listen." He pounded on Westley's chest, listened to the awful empty sound. "His life has been sucked away."
"It happened yesterday," Fezzik said carefully, trying not to upset Buttercup any more. "If you were in town you probably heard his death scream."
"That was him?" Pierre cried out. "They did that to my master? Where was this?"
"At the bottom of the Zoo of Death." Fezzik indicated Inigo. "We found him there."
Pierre studied Westley a moment longer before he sagged. "He must have been tortured beyond human endurance." He shook his head. "If only I'd been with you. I would have known what to do. I would have rushed him to Miracle Max."
Fezzik started bouncing up and down. "But that's what we did. We went straight there. For a resurrection pill."
Energy began to flow back into Pierre's body. "If Max worked on him, then we have hope."
"We have more than hope," Buttercup said. "There is true love."
"Princess," Pierre said, "you work your side of the stree
t and I'll work mine." He looked at Fezzik, thinking. Then this question: "Did Max tell you how dead he was?"
"'Sort of.' But then he slipped to 'mostly.'"
Pierre nodded. "'Mostly' is not ideal, but I can work around that. Was it a new resurrection pill, not an old one Max had hanging around?"
"Made fresh—I had to gather the holocaust mud," Fezzik said.
Pierre was getting excited now. His eyes blazed at Fezzik. "Last and most important question: did Valerie have time to do the chocolate coating?"
"She let me lick the pot," Fezzik said, happy because he knew he was giving the right answer. "It was duh-licious."
***
Little cut here. (I already said in the introduction that they went to One Tree Island to get their health back so there's not a lot of nail-biting tension in the air concerning Westley's survival at this point.)
What you're not going to read is a six-page sequence in which Pierre—and we all care desperately about spending time with him, right?—does all these wondrous modern Florinese medical things to help Westley. None of which work, natch, because at this point in his life, Morgenstern had a hate on for doctors because he had developed gas (and I'm sorry if this is disgusting to you but I promised King I would research the hell out of it, and I did a lot of legwork before I found that Morgenstern's entire medical record is on view in the Museum, but not everyone can see the personal stuff like this, you have to have some kind of scholarly interest to read it, and even then you can't take it out of the place). I forget where this sentence began, sorry, but anyway, he had gas, couldn't shake it, and gave Pierre this sequence to get his own back. (When nothing worked, by the way, Fezzik picked Westley up and hung him by the feet over the side till his lungs filled with seawater, a famous cure in Turkey—not for death but rather gout, which Fezzik's father suffered from. Westley coughed like crazy but it got him talking again.)
The Princess Bride Page 34
