—but at midnight her back began to spasm. She could withstand that; Westley was beside her, what were spasms? She was settling in for a long visit with them—
—until the pain crept from her back to her hips, found one leg, then both, set them on fire—
—the blaze in her legs was the beginning of her torment.
Her color faded but she was still Buttercup and she was lit by the glow from the flames. She was still, then, something to see.
It was not 'til dawn that they saw what the pain had done to her.
Westley stayed alongside, rubbed her back, massaged her legs, toweled her perspiring face. He was wonderful.
By noon, they knew something was very much wrong.
Fezzik rumbled over, took a look, ran back and hid in his spot, helpless. Inigo grabbed the six-fingered sword and fought with the breezes until he realized the sun was going down again and they were into the second day.
"I don't want you to worry," Buttercup whispered to her beloved.
"Nothing unusual so far," Westley replied. "From all I've heard, thirty hours is perfectly normal."
"Good, I'm glad to know that."
When the next dawn came and she had clearly begun to weaken, she managed to say, "What else have you heard?" and Westley said, "Everyone agrees on this: the longer the labor, the healthier the baby."
"How lucky we shall be to have a healthy son."
By the second sunset, it was only about survival.
Fezzik sobbed behind the tree as Westley counseled with Inigo. They spoke evenly—but terror was starting to circle about them. "I don't know of such things," Inigo said.
"Nor do I."
"I've heard of a cutting that can save the life. You cut the woman somehow."
"And kill my beloved? I would kill whoever tried."
Just then Buttercup cried out and Westley ran to her, dropped beside her. "...I'm sorry to be ... such a bother..."
"What caused the scream?"
Buttercup reached for his hand, held it so tight. "...my spine is on fire..."
Westley smiled. "How lucky we are. Once that happens with the spine, well, that's a clear signal that our son is about to be born."
"The spine is nothing, not when you get used to it. I have had real pain, when I heard Roberts had killed you. That was hard to deal with. I suffered then. But this—" She tried to snap her fingers but her body was not obeying her. "Nothing."
"Inigo and I were just talking about where to go once we are a family. You remember how before I left your father's farm I was thinking of America? That still seems a good notion to me, what do you think?"
She whispered, "America?"
"Yes, across the ocean somewhere, and do you know when I first loved you?"
"...tell me..."
"Well, we were young and you had just berated me terribly, called me a dullard and a fool as you did in those days: 'Farm Boy, why can't you ever do anything right? Farm Boy, you're hopeless, hopeless and dull and you'll never amount to anything.'"
Buttercup managed a smile. "...I was horrible..."
"On your good days you were horrible, but you could be much worse than that, and when the boys started coming around you were at your worst. One evening when they had all gone away and I was in the barn brushing Horse and you came out, humming and silly and said, 'I can have any boy in the village and lah de dah,' and I went to my hovel and I said to myself, 'That's it, you can keep those idiots for all I care, I am gone,' so I packed my belongings and I started out of the farm and I looked up at your window and I thought, 'You will be so sorry for humiliating me because I will come back here someday with all the wealth of Asia, good-by forever.'"
". ..you really left me...?"
"That was the theory. But the reality was this: I turned and took a step toward the gate and I thought, 'What value has all the wealth of Asia without her smile?' And then I took another step and thought, 'But what if that smile comes and you not here to see it?' I just stood by at your window and I realized I had to be there in case your smile happened. Because I was so helpless when it came to you, I was so besotted by your splendor, I was soooooo ecstatic to be near you even though all you did was insult me. I could never leave."
She smiled the sweetest smile she could manage.
Westley gestured for Inigo to come closer. "I think we've rounded the corner," he whispered.
"I can see that," Inigo whispered back.
But they were living on hope and they both knew they were, and Westley held her so gently as her breathing grew increasingly weak. Inigo patted Westley on the shoulder as one comrade does to another, nodded that all was going to be well. And Westley nodded back. But Inigo in his heart knew this: it was soon to be over.
And behind the tree, Fezzik, alone, gasped, because he knew this: he was suddenly not alone anymore. He began to try and fight it, because something was invading him, invading his brain, and the Lord only knew his brain could use a little help, but Fezzik struggled on because when you were invaded, you never knew who was coming along for the ride, a helper or a damager, someone good, or, more terrifying, someone who wished anguish. Fezzik's mother had been invaded the day she met his father, for she was far too shy to approach him and flirt the way Turkish lasses were supposed to do in those days, so she just stood aside while the other village girls swooped him up. And she wanted Fezzik's father, wanted to spend her life with him, she knew that but she was helpless so she scuffed away, leaving the field to the braver girls—but then the invasion came and suddenly Fezzik's mother was brassy, and her temporary new tenant gave her confidence to do wonderful things, so back she went to join the other village flirts, and she outdid them all, with her flaunting smile and the wondrous way her body moved. At least it did that day, and Fezzik's father was smitten with her and even though the invader left that evening, they got married and his mother was so happy and his father only wondered as the years went on, wondered whatever happened to that glorious brazen creature who had won his heart....
Fezzik could feel his power going as the invader took control. His last thought was really a prayer: that please, whoever you are, if you harm the child, kill me first.
And by the fire Westley held Buttercup all the more tightly and said words of optimism, and Inigo always replied in the same tone.
Until that awful fiftieth hour of Buttercup's labor when Inigo could lie no more and said the dreaded words: "We've lost her."
Westley looked at her still face and it was true, and he had done nothing to save her. Not once in all of his life, except when he was in the Machine, had he ever let tears visit, not even when his beloved parents were tortured in front of him, not once, never, never the one time.
Now he fauceted. He fell across her, and Inigo could only watch helplessly. And Westley wondered what was he going to do until he died, because going on alone was not possible. They had battled the Fire Swamp and survived. If he had known how it was going to end, Westley thought at that moment, he would have let them die there. At least that way they would have been together.
And then, from behind them, there came a sound more strange than any they had come across before, a disembodied sound, as if a corpse were talking, and the sound boomed out at them:
"We have the body."
Inigo whirled, then cried out in the night. And Westley, in despair, was so surprised at Inigo's sound he whirled, and he too cried out in the night.
Something was moving toward them out of the darkness.
They both squinted to make sure. Their eyes did not deceive.
Fezzik was moving toward them out of the darkness.
At least something that looked like Fezzik was coming toward them. But his eyes were bright, and his pace was quick, and his voice—they had neither ever heard a voice like it. So deep, thunderous, and measured. And the accent was something they had also never heard before. Not until they finally reached America. (Or, more accurately, when the ones left alive got there.)
"Fezzik," Inig
o said. "This is not the time."
"We have the body," Fezzik said again. "We have a fine strapping child inside. She has been kept waiting far too long."
Now the giant knelt beside the still woman, gestured for Westley to move, put his ear to her, clapped his hands sharply. "You," he said, pointing at Inigo, "bring me soap and water to disinfect my hands."
"Where did he hear that word?" Westley asked.
"I don't know, but I think I better do it," Inigo said, hurrying to the fire.
And now Fezzik pointed to the great sword. "Sterilize it in the fire."
"Why?" Inigo said, bringing Fezzik the soap and towel.
"To make the cut."
"No," Westley said. "I will not let him give you the sword."
And now the voice took on a power more frightening than ever. "This child is a putterer. That is what we call those that linger too long. But this child is more than that—she is in backward. And the umbilical cord is tightening around her throat. Now, if you wish to live your life alone, keep the sword. If you wish a child and wife, do what I tell you."
"Be at your best," Westley said, and he nodded for Inigo to hand the great sword to the giant.
Fezzik marched it to the fire, sizzled the point red, returned to the lady, knelt. "The umbilical cord is very tight now. There is little breath left now. There is little time." And for a moment Fezzik closed his eyes, breathed deep. Then he moved.
And his great hands were so soft, the giant fingers so skilled, and as Westley and Inigo stared, Fezzik's hands did his bidding, and the sword touched Buttercup's skin, and then there was the cut, long but precise, and then there was blood but Fezzik's eyes only blazed more deeply and his fingers waltzed, and he reached inside and gently took her out, took the child out, a girl, Buttercup was wrong, it was a girl, and here at last she came, pink and white like a candy stick—
—here came Waverly....
4. Fezzik Falling
SHE WAS CONSIDERABLY below him at the start, twisting and spinning from momentum and wind. Fezzik had never seen the world like this, from this high, fifteen thousand feet with nothing below to break the fall, nothing, but at the far end rock formations.
He called after her but, of course, she could not hear. He stared after her but, of course, he was not gaining. There are scientific laws explaining that bodies fall at the same speed no matter how different the size. But the makers of the laws had never tried explaining Fezzik, because his feet, so useless at finding holds on sheer mountainsides, were unmatched at flutter-kicking in falling air. He cupped his fingers so his hands were perfect hollow mitts and then he set to work, swinging his arms and fluttering his feet so that if you tried to watch them, you couldn't and then Fezzik strained still more—
—and the distance between them began to close. From a hundred feet to half, then half again and when he was that close Fezzik called out to her, his word—
"Keeeeed!"
She heard and stared up and when he had her eyes Fezzik made her favorite silly face—the one where his tongue touched the tip of his nose—and she saw it, of course, and then, of course, she laughed out loud with joy.
Because now she knew what all this was, just another of their glorious games that always ended so happily....
FROM THE START, they were different. Sometimes when she was very little and dozing and Fezzik was helping Buttercup he would say, "She has to tinkle," and Buttercup would answer, "No, she doesn't, she's just..." and then she would stop before she got to "fine" because Waverly had blinked awake soaking wet, and Buttercup would look at Fezzik in those moments with such a look of wonder.
Or sometimes Waverly and Buttercup would be playing happily, Fezzik watching, always there, watching so close, and Buttercup would say, "Fezzik, why do you look so sad?" and Fezzik would say, "I hate it when she's sick," and that night, a fever would come.
He knew when she was hungry, or tired, he knew why she was smiling. And when crankiness was just around the corner.
Which made him, in Buttercup's mind, the perfect baby-sitter, since how could you improve on a sitter who knew what was going to happen? So Fezzik looked after her constantly and when she dozed he would sit between Waverly and the sun, which was why, when she started to talk, she called him "Shade"—because he was that, her shade in those earliest days.
Later, when she learned games, she had but to blink in his direction and he knew, not that she wanted to play, but which game. Westley agreed with Buttercup that although, yes, theirs was an unusual nurse-child relationship, it was a blessing, since it provided her with time to heal and recover, and better yet, time for them to be together. So Fezzik and Waverly learned from each other and enjoyed each other. Occasional spats, of course, but that comes, as Buttercup explained to him one day, with mothering.
"Can Waverly come play in the whirlpool with me?" Fezzik would ask constantly.
Buttercup would hesitate. "It gets her overtired, Fezzik."
"Please, please, please."
Buttercup would give in, of course, and off they would go, stopping first for the clothespin, then into the water, Waverly sitting securely on his head, his hands gripping her feet, and whoosh. It was truly magical, watching them, as Inigo and her parents did often. Because Fezzik, having conquered the whirlpool, had befriended it. He would kick up to speed, then swim into the whirl and let it carry them around, with Waverly shrieking and Fezzik keeping balance as they rode the water together, their favorite game, which always ended so happily....
FEZZIK WAS CLOSE enough to reach out now, so he did, brought the child into his arms, made another face, took her fears away. "Shade," she said, so happy.
Three thousand feet now.
Next he pulled her close to him.
Two thousand.
He knew as the rocks flew up toward him that he could never save himself. But if he could bundle her next to his body, if he could lie flat in the air and bring her into his arms so his mighty back took the initial assault, there was a good chance she would be shaken, yes, shaken terribly.
But she might live.
He made his body flat against the wind. He pulled her to him with all his sweet strength. "Keed," he whispered finally, "if you ever need shade, think of me."
One final silly face.
One blessed responding laugh.
Fezzik closed his eyes then, thinking only this: thank God I was a giant after all....
***
Willy was quiet when I finished. He gathered up his baseball and his Frisbee, hit the elevator button. Dinnertime coming up and I had to get him home. He didn't speak again 'til we were on the street. 'No way Fezzik dies, I don't care what the chapter's called.'
I nodded. We walked in silence, and you know how Fezzik could tell what was going on with Waverly? Well, I can do that with Willy, at least on my good days, and I knew this great question was coming. 'Grandpa?' he said finally.
Do you think I love that? You remember how much money Westley was going to get when he decided to leave Buttercup after she tormented him once too often about the boys in the village? That's how much. 'Speak into the microphone,' I said, making my hand one.
'Okay—that thing that invaded Fezzik? Here's what I don't get: how did it know to invade him right then? I mean, if it came a day earlier, it would have just had to wait around inside him for twenty-four hours feeling stupid.'
I told him I doubted that question had ever been asked on Planet Earth before.
Jason and Peggy were waiting at the door. 'It was good, Dad,' Willy said. 'It played around with time a lot.'
'We really need another novelist in the family,' Jason said, and I laughed and hugged everybody, started back home. It was a gorgeous spring evening so I let the park win me for a while, just walked in silence, thinking.
First thing that has to be said: Morgenstern hasn't lost a whole lot off his fastball. This is clearly a different piece of work from The Princess Bride, but he was a much older man when he wrote it.
And si
nce maybe this is the end of my involvement, a couple of closing thoughts.
Like Willy, I don't believe Fezzik is going to die here. My money is on Morgenstern saving him. He saved him from Humperdinck's arrow with the holocaust cloak, he'll come up with something.
The Unexplained Inigo Fragment. What was that? Couldn't he have given us a couple of hints at least as to why? Will it all make sense later?
Who was the madman on the mountain? Was he born without skin? How did he get Waverly? Was he the kidnapper or just a member of a gang? And if he was just a member, who was his boss?
And who did invade Fezzik?
A beautiful young couple passed me then. She was pregnant out to here and I wished her a Waverly. And I realized something, and this is it:
We've traveled a long way, you and I, from when Buttercup was only among the twenty most beautiful women on earth (because of her potential), riding Horse and taunting the Farm Boy, and Inigo and Fezzik were brought in to kill her. You've written letters, kept in touch, you'll never know how much I appreciate that. I was on the beach at Malibu once, years back, and I saw this young guy with his arm around his girl and they were both wearing T-shirts that said WESTLEY NEVER DIES.
Loved that.
And you know what? I like these four. Buttercup and Westley, Fezzik and Inigo. They've all suffered, been punished, no silver spoons for this bunch. And I can just feel these terrible forces gathering against them. I just know it's going to get worse for them than it's ever been. Will they all even live? 'Death of the heart,' the subtitle says. Whose death? And even more important maybe, whose heart? Morgenstern has never given them an easy shot at happiness.
This time I sure hope he lets them get there....
Florin City/New York City
April 16, 1998
Reading Group Guide
QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION
In the introduction to the thirtieth-anniversary edition, Goldman claims that he adapted The Princess Bride from a book originally written by the great Florinese writer S. Morgenstern. Throughout the rest of the novel, Goldman sustains two narratives: the tale of The Princess Bride and the story of his own involvement with it. How do Goldman's comments about Morgenstern, the publishing process, and the entertainment industry in general affect your reading of his novel?
The Princess Bride Page 36