Merian C. Cooper's King Kong

by Joe DeVito

  Englehorn took a step closer, but the king threw up an arresting hand. “Watu! Tame di? Tame di?”

  “Ima te bala,” Englehorn replied slowly. “Bala! Bala! Friends, Friends!”

  “Imbali nega bala, reri tamano alala temo!” the king shouted scornfully. “Tasko! Tasko!”

  “What’s that about?” Denham asked.

  Without looking at Denham, keeping an undisturbed expression on his face, Englehorn replied, “Hard to make out the accent, but I gather he wants no friends. He tells us to beat it!”

  “Talk him out of it,” Denham ordered. “Ask him what gives with the ceremony.”

  Ann peeked from behind Driscoll as Englehorn spoke in placid, conciliatory tones and gestured to the flower-clad girl.

  “Tapi ani saba. Ani saba Kong!” pronounced the king, and from all the natives came a sighing, worshipful echo of “Saba Kong!”

  Englehorn nodded gravely and muttered, “He says the girl is the bride of Kong.”

  “Kong!” Denham cried exultantly. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  Denham’s use of the word Kong drew an instant burning glare from the king. He gave no signal obvious to Ann, but both of his tall guards raised their spears. A murmur ran through the throng. Ann heard hushed voices, sounding dismayed and fearful, repeating “Saba Kong” over and over. The witch doctor quietly said something that Ann could not catch, but his voice rose as he finished, “atu kana ito Kong!”

  “He’s warning that Kong will be angry,” translated Englehorn. Ann could almost have guessed that, for even in the fearless eyes of the chief something flickered, something wary and apprehensive.

  At that, the witch doctor suddenly leaped forward, his headdress shaking, his eyes darting fury at both the king and strangers. He cried, “Bar-Atu, te ama si vego! Dama si vego, Bar-Atu! Dama si vego. Punya. Punya bas!” His voice shook with anger—or with fear.

  Englehorn took a step back. “We are violating the teachings of Bar-Atu, whatever or whoever that is. We’ve spoiled the ceremony. None of our kind are supposed to see it. I think we’d better fall back, but carefully.”

  “Let me try talking to him,” Denham said. “What’s the word for ‘friend’?”

  “Bala.”

  Denham immediately spread his hands and with a grinning, conciliatory step said, “Bala! Bala!” He pointed to himself and then to the king and witch doctor. “Bala! Bala!”

  Though he put a smile on his face, Driscoll warned, “Denham, you can’t trust these savages. Can’t you tell they’re drugged on something? The skipper’s right. Let’s get back on the ship.” Ann saw that he made smooth gestures, as though complimenting the natives.

  The king cast a cryptic glance in his direction, frowning, and beckoned his guards to stand close beside him. His face was unreadable, but he stared directly into Driscoll’s eyes and in a deep voice cried, “Tasko!”

  “He understood you,” Ann whispered to Jack.

  “Couldn’t have,” Driscoll returned, not looking at her. “How would these birds know any English? Watch it. Men, be ready to defend yourselves.” He didn’t raise his voice, but behind her Ann heard the clacks of rifle bolts.

  She felt fear, but her excitement flooded over every other emotion. She took a step back, and at that moment the king’s glance seized on her and her honey-colored hair. He raised his arm in a decisive gesture, and the warriors behind him lowered their spears. The king stared first at Ann, and then turned to the witch doctor as though asking for affirmation.

  “M-Malem ma pakeno!” he stammered. “Sita!” He jerked his arm at the witch doctor. His voice took on a quality of hushed awe as he repeated, “Malem! Malem ma pakeno saba!”

  The witch doctor hobbled closer, his eyes narrowing at first, then widening as he caught sight of Ann. The warriors on both sides stood enthralled, lowering their weapons until the points touched the ground.

  “He’s stood them down,” Englehorn said. “It’s a sign that he wants peace.”

  “Sabi ma pakeno sati,” creaked the witch doctor.

  “What now?” Denham asked.

  Englehorn sounded nervous: “He said, ‘Look at the woman of gold!’”

  “It’s her hair,” Denham said. “Blondes are scarce around here.”

  Ann saw Driscoll tense. She knew he was not amused, and she touched his arm.

  The king’s voice rose ecstatically: “Kong! Malem ma pakeno! Kong wa bisa! Kow bisa perat pakeno sati saba Kong,” and he turned to the witch doctor as though seeking agreement.

  The old sorcerer nodded thoughtfully as Englehorn translated swiftly: “The woman of gold. Kong’s gift. The golden one will be a bride for Kong.”

  “Good Lord!” Denham protested.

  The king and the witch doctor advanced on Denham, and the former thrust out his hand in a regal command. “Dama!” he said. “Tebo malem na hi!”

  Englehorn’s translation followed like pistol cracks: “Stranger! Sell the woman to us!” Ann felt her skin crawl. She dared not speak, dared not ask Denham what their next move should be.

  “Dia malem!” the king hurried on.

  “Six women!” Englehorn said swiftly. “He will give you six for yours of gold.”

  Ann gasped and tried to smile. “He thinks a lot of me, doesn’t he?”

  Driscoll gave her a furious warning look that told her to keep silent. To Denham, Driscoll said, “You got Ann into this! Say the word and I’ll put a slug between his eyes!”

  “Steady, Jack!” Denham smiled briefly and with an unhurried gesture called up his two carriers.

  “Tell him, as politely as you can,” he said to Englehorn, “that we’d rather not swap. Tell him, I don’t know, tell him our religion does not let us sell our women. It’s a taboo.”

  Ann marveled at the way Englehorn put a solemn, almost apologetic note in his firm response to the king: “Tida! Nem! Malem ata rota na ni! Rota na ni, ka sala mekat. Pakeno malem take mana.” To Denham, he muttered, “I’ve told him our woman is our luck, and we dare not part with her.”

  Against that refusal, polite though it had been, the witch doctor cried in fury. “Bar-Atu, watu!” he screamed. “Tam bisa pare Kong di wana ta!”

  Englehorn took a long breath. “Bar-Atu’s teaching tells them they cannot lose Kong’s gift.”

  “That’s enough for me,” Denham growled. “Tell them again that we’re friends, and that we have to leave. I’m taking Ann back to the ship.”

  “We’d better all slide out,” Englehorn said. “Before that smart old witch doctor thinks to send out a war party to get between us and our boats.”

  Denham nodded. “Fine, but don’t leave the old coot so mad, Skipper. Tell him we’ll be back tomorrow to make friends and talk things over. We’ll bring gifts for them.”

  “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 ha
nd 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 some
thing 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?”