I Walked with a Zombie

I walked with a zombie.

It does seem an odd thing to say.

Had anyone said that to me a year ago...

I'm not at all sure I would have known what a zombie was.

I might have had some notion...

that they were strange and frightening...

even a little funny.

It all began in such an ordinary way.

- You're single? - Yes.

- Where were you trained? - Memorial Hospital here in Ottawa.

Now this last question is a little irregular, Miss Connell.

I really don't know quite how to begin.

Do you believe in witchcraft?

Well...

They didn't teach it at Memorial Hospital...

but I had my suspicions about the Directress of Training.

Now, as to salary, it's quite good.

- $200 a month. - That is good.

But I'd like to know a little bit more about the case.

I'm afraid I can't tell you much...

only that the patient is the wife of Mr. Paul Holland...

with whom we do considerable business.

- That will mean another interview? - No, this is quite final.

You see, Mr. Holland is a sugar planter.

He lives on Saint Sebastian in the West Indies.

The West Indies?

That's not so bad, sit under a palm tree...

go swimming, take sunbaths.

Palm trees.

It seemed only a few days before I met Mr. Holland in Antigua.

We boarded the boat for Saint Sebastian.

It was all just as I had imagined it.

I looked at those great glowing stars.

I felt the warm wind on my cheek.

I breathed deep and every bit of me inside myself said:

"How beautiful."

It's not beautiful!

You read my thoughts, Mr. Holland.

It's easy enough to read the thoughts of a newcomer.

Everything seems beautiful because you don't understand.

Those flying fish...

they are not leaping for joy. They're jumping in terror.

Bigger fish want to eat them.

That luminous water...

it takes its gleam from millions of tiny dead bodies.

The glitter of putrescence.

There's no beauty here, only death and decay.

You can't really believe that.

Everything good dies here, even the stars.

It was strange to have him break in on my thoughts that way.

There was cruelty and hardness in his voice.

And yet something about him I liked.

Something clean and honest...

but hurt, badly hurt.

Times gone, Fort Holland was a fort. And now, no longer.

The Hollands was the most old family, miss.

They brought the colored folks to the island...

the colored folks and Ti-Misery.

Ti-Misery? What's that?

A man, miss. An old man who lives in the garden at Fort Holland.

With arrows stuck in him and a sorrowful, weeping look on his black face.

Alive?

No, miss, he's just the same as he was in the beginning...

on the front side of an enormous boat.

- You mean a figurehead. - If you say, miss.

And the enormous boat brought the long-ago fathers...

and the long-ago mothers of us all, chained to the bottom of the boat.

They brought you to a beautiful place, didn't they?

If you say, miss. If you say.

Fort Holland.

From the gate, it seemed strangely dreamlike.

The garden had life of its own.

I was to know all the nooks and crannies of that great house...

to love them or hate them, according to what happened there.

In that house, I was to hear a strange confession...

a confession only madness could have wrung from the lips of a sane person.

And yet it was in the same room...

with the candles lit, that I made the discovery of my own love...

knew happiness, deep through the heart.

My room...

I still can remember my delight, unpacking, getting ready for dinner.

Yet, all the while, I wondered at the stillness of Fort Holland.

The fact that I saw no one on the garden paths or in the rooms.

Yes?

- Miss Connell, it's dinner. - Thank you.

- Miss Connell? - Yes.

I'm Wesley Rand. Paul wanted me to introduce myself.

It seems we're dining by ourselves, Miss Connell.

But I think I'll introduce you to everyone anyway.

Here in the master's chair, sits the master, my half-brother, Paul Holland.

But you've met him already.

Yes, on the boat.

That chair in the corner is the particular property of Mrs. Rand...

mother to both of us and much too good for either of us...

too wise, in fact, to live under the same roof.

- She prefers the village dispensary. - She's a doctor?

No, she just runs the place.

She does everything else, though. An amazing woman. You'd like her.

I like her already.

That's my chair, and this is Miss Connell, who is beautiful.

Thank you.

Who sits there?

My brother's wife.

Here, this isn't cozy at all.

Makes me seem aloof, and I'm anything but that.

But you are an American.

I went to school in Buffalo. Paul went to school in England.

I wondered about your different accents.

I'm still wondering about your names, Rand and Holland.

We're half-brothers.

Paul is Mother's first child.

When his father died, she married my father, Dr. Rand, the missionary.

The jungle drums, mysterious, eerie.

That's the work drum over at the sugar mill.

Saint Sebastian's version of the factory whistle.

It means that the sugar syrup is about ready to be poured.

I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me.

Of course.

It was nice of you to spend this much time with me.

Don't worry, I wasn't missed. The only important man around here is the owner.

- Mr. Holland? - Yes, the redoubtable Paul.

He has the plantation, and I, as you must have noticed, have the charm.

I don't know. He spoke to me on the boat last night, and I liked him very much.

Yes, our Paul...

strong and silent and very sad...

quite the Byronic character.

Maybe I should cultivate it.

- Maybe you ought to go to the mill. - It'll wait.

I was just going to the mill.

- Good night, Miss Connell. - Good night.

- Have the servants made you comfortable? - Yes, thank you.

Looks very nice, Clement. I'll take it to Mrs. Holland.

- Can't I take it for you? - No, thank you.

Tomorrow's soon enough for you to start work.

Mrs. Holland.

Mrs. Holland?

Mrs. Holland.

Mrs. Holland?

I didn't mean to get you up, Mrs. Holland.

Mrs. Holland.

Jessica!

Take Mrs. Holland to her room, Alma.

Come, Miss Jessica. Come with Alma.

I heard someone crying, a woman.

A woman crying? There's been no crying here.

Mr. Paul, yes, there was crying tonight.

It was Alma, her sister was brought a-birthing.

Thank you, Clement.

Clement, I'm going to stay with Miss Jessica...

in case the nurse lady takes to roaming again.

Don't you go crying anymore. That's what frightened Miss Betsy.

She didn't soothe me any, hollering around in the tower.

Why was the maid crying?

I'm not sure I can make you understand.

Do you know what this is?

- A figure of Saint Sebastian. - Yes.

But it was once the figurehead of a slave ship.

That's where our people came from...

from the misery and pain of slavery.

For generations, they found life a burden.

That's why they still weep when a child is born and make merry at a burial.

I've told you, Miss Connell, this is a sad place.

Good morning, miss.

Thank you for waking me.

I didn't want to frighten you out of your sleep, miss.

That's why I touched you farthest from your heart.

Don't get up, miss. I brought your breakfast...

just like I do for Miss Jessica.

But I'm Miss Jessica's nurse, Alma. You don't have to do that for me.

I know it, miss, but I like to do it.

I like to tend for Miss Jessica, and I want to tend for you.

You settle right back now, and I'll mix you your coffee.

Thank you.

Miss Jessica used to say this is the only way...

for a lady to break her fast...

in bed, with a lacy cushion to bank her head on.

If you'd only seen her, Miss Connell.

She looked so pretty.

She must have been beautiful.

What happened to her, Alma?

She was very sick, and then she went mindless, miss.

We'll see if we can't make her well, Alma, you and I.

I do my best.

Every day I dress her just as beautifully as if she was well.

It's just like dressing a great big doll.

What's this?

A puffup, I call it. But Miss Jessica always says brioche.

Looks like an awful lot of breakfast.

I don't know whether I'll be able to get away with it.

I made it clear in my letter to the company...

this is not a position for a frightened girl.

I am not a frightened girl.

That's hard to believe after what happened last night.

If I were as timid as you seem to think, Mr. Holland...

I wouldn't have gone to the tower in the first place.

And what's so alarming about the tower, Miss Connell?

Nothing really.

But you must admit it's an eerie sort of place, so dark.

Surely, nurses aren't afraid of the dark?

Of course not.