Paul Holland:
It's easy enough to read the thoughts of a newcomer. Everything seems beautiful because you don't understand. Those flying fish, they're 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 is no beauty here, only death and decay.
Betsy Connell:
You can't really believe that.
Paul Holland:
Everything good dies here. Even the stars.
Mrs. Rand:
Don't worry about a sugar planter. Give him a horse and he'll ride to his own funeral.
Betsy Connell:
[
Betsy Connell and Mr. Holland are walking through the garden together] Why was the maid crying?
Paul Holland:
I'm not sure I can make you understand.
[
He stops and points at an odd-looking sculpture in the garden]
Paul Holland:
Do you know what this is?
Betsy Connell:
A figure of Saint Sebastian.
Paul Holland:
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.
Betsy Connell:
Frankly, it was something of a shock to see my patient that way for the first time. Nobody had told me Mrs. Holland was a... mental case.
Paul Holland:
A "mental case"?
Betsy Connell:
I'm sorry...
Paul Holland:
Why should you be? My wife IS a mental case. Please remember that, Miss Connell. Particularly when some of the foolish people on the island start regaling you with the local legends. You'll find superstition a contagious thing. Some people let it get the better of them. I don't think you will.
Betsy Connell:
No.
Paul Holland:
Come along. I'll introduce you to Dr. Maxwell and your patient.
Betsy Connell:
[
first lines, narration] I walked with a zombie... sounds strange to say.
Dr. Maxwell:
She makes a beautiful zombie doesn't she?
Paul Holland:
I want you back in Canada.
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