The Princess Bride

by Уильям Голдман

  ***

  INIGO WAS STILL unconscious but had stopped bleeding when Westley finally opened his eyes. Middle of the night. Buttercup lay alongside him on the deck while Fezzik watched over them all. Pierre approached, knelt, spoke softly. "I have the worst of all news."

  " 'Worst' does not exist," Westley whispered. He studied Buttercup's face. "We are together."

  Pierre took a breath, then said it. "You must leave the ship. And you must do so this night."

  Before Buttercup could voice her outrage, Westley put a finger to her lips. "Of course. I understand. Humperdinck is after us."

  "His entire armada. We can outrun them for a while, but sooner or later, as long as you are here..."

  "We are not in the best of shape for travel," Buttercup said. "Give us a few days. My husband is the most powerful man for a thousand miles. No place on earth is safe from him."

  "Not possible. Much as I would like to. The crew would panic, as well they should, and I cannot have them losing faith in me."

  Westley nodded. Then he was silent. Then he said Fezzik's name. Fezzik waited. "Do you remember the climb up the Cliffs of Insanity?"

  "I don't want to go back there," Fezzik said. "I'm afraid of heights."

  "Fezzik," Westley said patiently. "I don't want to live there either. Just answer me this. You were carrying three people when you did it, and please think before you answer me: were you tired? "

  Fezzik waited 'til he was sure he had it right. Then he said, "No."

  "Why weren't you? Our lives depend on this, so please take your time."

  Fezzik didn't need time. "My arms," he said quietly.

  Westley looked at him only a moment more. Then he turned to Pierre. "We will need chains and a small boat." He paused. "Go quickly now. You must get us close to One Tree Island by dawn."

  THE REVENGE MADE spectacular time, full sail and a favoring wind, and soon they were sailing through a remote part of Florin Sea. Before dawn, the small boat was lowered and the four, all heavily chained to Fezzik now, got in. Neither Westley nor Inigo was capable of much movement. Fezzik took the oars, Westley nodded, and Fezzik began to row.

  From the bridge, Pierre said, "I pray to see you again."

  "Do," Westley told him.

  Buttercup cradled him in her lap. "That was so sweet of him," she said. "He did not seem a man of great religious conviction."

  "This will be his first prayer. And it could not be for a more needy group."

  "Why do you say that?" Buttercup asked.

  "Let us just hold each other," Westley said. "While we can."

  "That's fairly ominous of you, don't you think?"

  Fezzik listened. Terrified. But he had so many questions he did not know where to begin. So he just rowed. And every so often he smiled down at Inigo. Who every so often was able to smile back.

  They were silent then, the four. For what seemed a very long time. The night could not have been prettier. The weather balmy. The waves all but nonexistent. A sweet caressing wind.

  Ahhhhhh.

  Fezzik rowed on, getting into a fine rhythm, his great arms enjoying the outing. He rowed harder for a moment and, of course, the tiny boat went faster. Then back to normal pace and, of course, the tiny boat slowed. Fezzik enjoyed doing that—it got rid of the monotony; harder, faster, normal, slower, harder, faster, normal. Faster.

  Hmm, Fezzik thought, I wonder why that happened?

  He rowed harder again and this time the vessel seemed close to flight, and it was then that Fezzik pulled the oars entirely out of the water—

  —and the boat careened on faster than before.

  Much faster than before. And then in the distance, but approaching quickly, came the roar. And Fezzik said, "Oh, Westley, I did something wrong, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to zoom like this. I was just sort of breaking the monotony, faster slower, that kind of thing, and I never meant for this to happen."

  "It is not you," Westley replied, keeping his voice as steady as he could so as not to make things worse for his comrades. "The whirlpool has us now."

  Inigo blinked awake on the word. "Fezzik ... row around it."

  "We can't do that," Westley said then.

  Buttercup spoke all their thoughts then. "Westley, my hero and savior, what's the deal here?"

  "I'll be very brief. Humperdinck's armada is after us. We need to disappear and mend. One Tree Island, from all I've heard, may well be the best spot on earth for us."

  "And just what makes it so special?" Buttercup asked, louder now, because the small boat was rocketing now and the roar was growing loud.

  "I can't be specific because I've never been there," Westley explained, half shouting, holding tight to the side so as not to be pulled overboard. "No one has ever been there. It is shrouded by mist with just the top of the single tree visible above the clouds. The mist is caused by the whirlpool. The island is surrounded by the whirlpool. And rocks. No boat can sail through—the rocks crush it or the water sucks it down. Now do you see why it is perfect for us? Humperdinck cannot get there and soon he will lose interest in trying to."

  "Let me get this straight," Buttercup said. "The entire armada cannot get to the island but we can?"

  "That is my belief."

  "I don't mean to be pushy about this, but I am not keen on being crushed or drowned. Westley, what in the world do we have that they don't?

  "We have Fezzik," Westley replied simply.

  "We absolutely do," Fezzik shouted, happy that the answer was so easily forthcoming. "He is right here inside my skin."

  "But, my darling, what can Fezzik do?"

  "Why, swim us through the whirlpool, of course."

  No one answered for a moment because at that moment the tiny boat began to crack from the pressure of the water, and the roar of the whirlpool began to surround them, which meant it was very close. Westley checked Buttercup's chains and Inigo's as well as his own, making certain they were securely locked around Fezzik. The boat had little left it could do. It had brought them close, but now ahead the rocks became visible and Westley shouted through it all, "Save us, Fezzik, save us or we die."

  Now Fezzik, as the world knows, had a terrible case of low self-esteem. So he was all for the theory behind Westley's words. Saving people. How wonderful. What in all the world could be better than saving people, especially these three with him now? Nothing. So in theory he should have made ready to dive in.

  In practice he just sat in the bottom of the boat and shivered.

  "Fezzik, now!" Westley shouted.

  Fezzik shivered all the worse.

  "He needs a rhyme," Inigo explained to Westley. Then to Fezzik: "Fezzik is no zero?

  Fezzik shivered even more.

  "Do you want a hint?" Inigo shrieked as the boat began to splinter.

  Still the shivering.

  "He's a hero," Inigo went on.

  Fezzik would have none of it, put his head in his hands.

  "What could he be afraid of?" Buttercup cried out.

  "Fezzik," Westley shouted into Fezzik's ear. "Are you afraid of the sharks?"

  Even worse shivering. And a shake of the head.

  Now the whirlpool was starting to spin them.

  "Is it the sucking squid?"

  Still worse. And another shake of the head.

  Now the whirlpool began to pull them down.

  "Is it the sea monsters?"

  More shivering, more shaking.

  And Westley, aware that they had next to no chance of survival the way things were going, cried, "Tell me!"

  Fezzik buried his head in his hands.

  And then from Westley, the loudest shout of all: "Nothing is worse than sea monsters. What are you so afraid of?"

  Fezzik raised his great head and managed to look at them. "Getting water up my nose," he whispered. "I hate it so much." And then he buried his head again.

  The boat was shattering by this time. In the final moments they clung to the remnants and Westley said, "I am too weak for
the task, Inigo you do it," and Inigo said, "I am a Spaniard—I do not hold another man's nose," and Buttercup, not for the last time, heard herself say, "You men," and then as the whirlpool had them in its power, she took both of her hands and clamped them over Fezzik's nose.

  THE WHIRLPOOL KNEW from the first it had them, it had not lost a battle in centuries, not since a soldier coming home from the Crusades caught it at a remarkably calm time, managed to slip almost past, was but a few feet from One Tree's shore before, exhausted, he collapsed backward and the whirlpool made no mistakes this time, just kept him down at the bottom longer than it had ever kept anyone, before releasing its grip, letting him float up toward where the sharks waited.

  The sharks were waiting this day, too, excited, four to shred, and they swam just at the outskirts of the whirlpool, watching as the bodies sank. Fezzik made no resistance whatsoever, did nothing 'til he was certain Buttercup's grip was solid. The whirlpool took them under, sped them down, on their way to the bottom and Fezzik let it happen, hoping only that the others could hold their breaths longer than they ever had, and soon he could feel the bottom of the sea. It was not deep here, whirlpools did not love deep water, and Fezzik bunched his giant body and shoved down with his mighty legs, shoved harder than he ever had before. As soon as his body began its upward trajectory, he started with his arms, his great tireless arms, windmilling them with more ferocity than the whirlpool had ever known, and it did what it could—increased its roar, swirled more savagely—but the arms would not stop, nothing could make them stop, and the chains held, and the others were unconscious from the battle, but Fezzik knew, as soon as he surfaced at the far end of the whirlpool, that Inigo had been right with his rhyme, he was definitely not a zero, not this day of days....

  They were still chained when they reached the shore of One Tree, and they stayed that way for two days, all of them motionless, near dead from wounds and torture and exhaustion. Then they unchained themselves and, staying close together, began to explore their new home.

  ***

  Me, obviously, and I'm sorry, but you don't want to read ten pages on vegetation. (Morgenstern's tree fixation scores again. His point here is that One Tree being pretty close to Eden is what all of Florin could be if only people didn't chop everything down.) The four get their strength back slowly. Buttercup nurses them and Fezzik takes care of food, cooking and cleaning the fish that was most of their diet. (Buttercup one day has nothing special going on so she makes him a gift for his nose— a clothespin. Well, Fezzik goes nuts, he's so happy. It fits perfectly, he's never without it, etc., etc., and armed with that, Fezzik becomes the scourge of the area, swimming all over, fighting sharks and sucking squids—tastes like chicken, I thought the more squeamish among you would be glad for that bit of info—bringing his catch of the day back for food.) Anyway, this section ends with the moon high, perfect night, very romantic, all that. Inigo and Fezzik are off in their tents dozing, Buttercup and Westley sitting alone by a flickering fire.

  ***

  "YOU KNOW, we've only kissed," Buttercup said, staring at the embers.

  "Of course," Westley replied.

  Not getting the answer she expected, Buttercup tried again. "We've certainly had more than our share of adventures, no one can deny it. And true love ... to have that, we must be the most blessed of creatures."

  "Surely the most blessed," Westley agreed.

  "But," Buttercup said then, trying for frivolity, "thus far, the unalloyed fact that shines out is this: we have only kissed."

  "What else is there?" Wesley asked. He touched his lips lightly to her cheek, sighed. "Surely there could be nothing more."

  This was somewhat disingenuous on his part, because he had been King of the Sea for several years and, well, things happened.

  "Silly lad," she told him, smiling. "I have enough knowledge for us both. Of course I should, considering all those classes in lovemaking I took at Royalty School." She had taken the classes, but since Humperdinck had instructed her professors to teach her nothing whatsoever, Buttercup, though she smiled, was terrified.

  "I am anxious for your teachings to begin."

  She looked at his perfect face. She thought that, more than anything, she wanted this to go as it had in her heart. But what if she failed? What if she was just another case of big-talk, little-do and eventually he would tire of her, leave her? "I know so much it is hard to be sure just where is the best place to begin. If I go too fast, raise your hand."

  He waited and when he saw the helplessness in her eyes he realized he had never loved her quite so much or so deeply. "Will you try not to laugh at me?"

  "I would never embarrass a beginner such as yourself. It would be cruelty itself to mock your ignorance when I, of course, am totally wise."

  "Do we begin standing up or lying down?"

  "A very good question, that," Buttercup said quickly, not having the least notion what else to say. "There is great controversy as to which."

  "Well perhaps it would be wise to cover both contingencies. Why don't I get a blanket in case lying down carries the day?" The blanket he brought and spread for them was soft, the pillow softer still.

  "If we were to lie down," Westley said, lying down, "would we start close together on the blanket or far apart?"

  "Again, great controversy," she replied. "You see, one of the problems with knowing so much is one sees both sides of questions."

  "You are very patient with me and I appreciate that." He held out a hand for her. "We could do this: we could try lying close together on the blanket and experiment, more or less."

  Buttercup took his strong hand. "My professors were all in favor of experimenting."

  They were very close on the blanket now. The breeze, seeing this, knowing what they had been through to reach this moment, thought it might be nice to caress them. The stars, seeing this, thought it might be nice if they dimmed for a while. The moon went along with the whole notion, slipping half behind a cloud. Buttercup still held his hand. She wondered for a moment if it would be wise to stop now, tell truths, try again another evening. She was about to suggest that, but then she looked deeply into his eyes. They were the color of the sea before a storm and what she read in them gave her the strength to continue....

  ***

  Want a shocker? Willy liked that scene. I remember when my father read The Princess Bride to me, I hated the kissing stuff. I told him before I read it he might find it a little short on derring-do, so maybe that helped. His only question after was what kind of 'things' happened when Westley was King of the Sea? I answered that if Morgenstern had wanted us to know, he would have told us. (He bought it. Phew.)

  Anyway, you will probably not be surprised to learn the obligatory nine months flew by pretty fast and....

  ***

  "I THINK SUNSET would be a lovely time," Buttercup said. "I think he would like that, opening his eyes to the world at that moment. Yes, sunset it shall be."

  She was speaking at breakfast to the others, and they all agreed. In point of fact, since none of them had the least experience with birthing, they could hardly argue. And no one could argue with Buttercup's handling of herself. She had blossomed in the nine months since she and Westley first made love, had dealt with her situation with a serenity remarkable in one so young. True, the first months brought a touch of morning sickness, and, yes, it was discomforting. But all she had to do to banish it was look at Westley and tell herself she was bringing another such as he into the universe. And poof, the sickness was in retreat.

  She knew their firstborn would be a boy. She had a dream the first month that it would be so. The dream recurred two more times. And after that she never doubted. And she behaved throughout as if this were the most normal of human conditions. You swelled, certainly, but that didn't stop you from your regular life, which in her case often consisted of helping Fezzik cook, helping Inigo mend his heart, walking and talking with Westley, discussing their future, where they would settle, what they might
do with the rest of their lives considering that the most powerful man on earth was out to kill them.

  After the meal, she was ready. Westley had made her a special birthing bed, the softest straw and pillows softer still. It faced west, and he built a nearby fire, and he had kettles boiling with pure water. An hour before sunset, when her contractions were but five minutes apart, he carried her to the bed and set her gently down, and sat alongside her, massaging her. She was so happy, as was he, and by the time the sun was starting to set the contractions were but two minutes apart.

  Buttercup stared at the sun and smiled, took his hand and whispered to him, "It's what I always wanted most on earth, bringing your son into life at such a time, with you beside me." They were both so happy, and Westley told her, "We are one heartbeat," and she kissed him softly and said, "And will always be."

  During this, Inigo was fencing with shadows, excellent practice if you had no proper opponent to play with. Westley, of course, was superb, and they had spent many happy hours slashing away at each other. But now, as sunset ended, Inigo made ready to stop soon and go welcome the baby.

  Fezzik usually watched them, or Inigo alone when that was the case. But not this night. He was hiding on the far side of One Tree's one tree, the sky-topper. And he was holding his stomach and trying not to groan and be a bother, but the truth was this: for the strongest man on earth, for a man who earned his living inflicting pain, Fezzik was squeamish. He could handle blood as well as the next fighter, when it came from an opponent. But he had asked Westley and Inigo what was it going to be like, when Buttercup's son was born, and though neither of them were expert, they both indicated there might be some blood as well as other stuff.

  Fezzik rolled on the ground as the phrase "other stuff" went through his bean. There was a Turkish word that described such things—byuk. Fezzik held his stomach and thought byuk over and over. He knew, from looking at the stars overhead, that the boy was shortly to arrive.

  But, by midnight, they knew something was wrong.

  The contractions were but a minute apart as they looked out at the sun's afterglow—but that is where they stayed. At ten they were still as before, and Buttercup would have handled it quietly, as she had the preceding hours—