Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

AUDREY HEPBURN Continued from page 58 excited cries of the street vendors in the market opposite, the angry tones of two men arguing hotly in Spanish over the impatient honk of a car trying to get by. They’re busy people . . . happy people. And they can . . . walk. Her mind had to fight to form the word and as it did so her body tensed itself until she was crippled again with an agonizing pain. Then, as she lay there, she heard the sound of creaking as the door by her side opened very very slowly. “Entre ... no esta dormiendo,” whispered a woman’s voice, as two men, both darkhaired and sallow-skinned, walked softly into the room. One was clean-shaven while the other wore a heavy beard. “Audrey, are you feeling better?” asked the clean-shaven one in a pleasing Spanish tone, as he walked over to her bed. He lifted her hand to feel her pulse-beat. “Am I going to be able to move, doctor?” she asked. “Very soon, we hope,” he said, patting her hand as he placed it gently back down on the blanket. Then he walked towards the window where the other man stood reading a chart, and they began speaking in low tones that she could not make out. I’ve seen him somewhere before, she thought to herself, as she watched the bearded one, and she smiled as she noticed him gesticulating with his hands the way many Mexicans do as they speak. Isn’t that Macaco, Dr. Hernandez’s assistant? Isn’t he the one who drove me here in the station wagon? “. . . muy mal ... la espalda . . . permanente . . .” She could only understand a few words and yet . . . permanente! Surely it could only mean one thing. For a second a look of fright came into her eyes and her mind began forming horrifying images. Then she relaxed again as the doctor turned and came back to her bedside while Macaco slipped outside carrying stretcher equipment which had been stacked in a corner. She watched him as he crossed the room and kept saying to herself, “You must be brave. Don't let him see you’re afraid. Ask him now — ask him what’s really wrong.” Tiny beads of sweat started forming on her forehead. “Doctor,” she began slowly, “I want you to tell . . .” He interrupted softly, “You must not talk. You must rest and then you will be better more quickly. Try to sleep and soon your husband will be here.” He smiled. “He said he’d be here by now . . .” she murmured. “Don’t worry.” he assured her, speaking softly. “He’ll be here, just as soon as he can.” The doctor patted her hand again, reassuringly. He hadn’t wanted to worry her with the news that Mel’s plane had been grounded in the north of Mexico after running out of gas. Mel had only just called to tell him, saying that he would be sure to be there by early morning — and not to let Audrey know he’d had trouble. The doctor looked down at Audrey as she lay still. Gently he slipped a thermometer in her mouth and a few seconds later took it out, looked at it, nodded his head and shook the instrument. Then quietly he left the room, shutting the door softly behind him as he went. It was too painful to move, but Audrey found that just by the slightest tilting of her head she could see almost all the way around the room. And from that uncomfortable, horizontal position, she first rested her gaze on the ceiling — the smooth, white-glazed ceiling, then on the brightlycolored flower-patterned wallpaper opposite and finally on the little rose-buds which decorated the long-sleeved flannel nightgown they had insisted she wear against the bitter night cold which swept into Durango, the city where she lay, even after the hottest summer days. For they were high in the mountains. She tried to move again. She felt too warm. Her fingers searched for the tiny electric bell which had been placed near her right hand. But as she was about to press it she changed her mind. There’s obviously nothing they can do, she thought. She turned her head from side to side, feeling as though she had been lying there for an eternity. Even the sun had disappeared. She thought back over the hours to the early afternoon. And then the morning .. . Was it only this morning, merely a matter of hours ago, that she had awakened early, gotten out of bed, in this very room, to dress and be ready in time for the station wagon to pick her up to go out to the set? The same routine as every day for the past three weeks, ever since the company had come down to Durango on location. At six o’clock the driver had called for her at the small modern two-story home the studio had rented for Audrey. As she climbed into the station wagon she had said hello to Audie Murphy, sitting huddled in a corner, who opened one eye sleepily in acknowledgement, then closed it tightly shut again. The driver turned and went on to the Casablanca Hotel, about two blocks away, to pick up one of the main technicians before going on to the Mexico Courts Hotel to call for Lillian Gish, Charles Bickford and Johnny Saxon. The location was about an hour’s drive from Durango and they bumped along the road that morning at high speed — late, as usual. Packed tight inside the station wagon they had been a gay crowd, laughing as Johnny Saxon mimicked two small Mexican boys who had been hanging around the set day after day insisting they be put into the movie. Even Audie Murphy woke up at this point to join in the fun. “Look!” cried Lillian Gish as they passed wild geese flapping through the air. “Say — here comes your favorite village, Audrey,” said Johnny, a moment later, as the car sped downhill to a remote MexicanIndian settlement. Some Mexican women by the roadside waved and they all waved back. On up the hill climbed the car to a chapel which had been built where an electric storm had left a cleavage in the rock of the mountain that had taken on the silhouette of the Virgin Mary. “It gets lovelier every day,” Audrey said softly to Lillian Gish, and she nodded in complete agreement. Then suddenly they were out again in more dry open land until there in front of them stood the multitude of boxes, huts, wires and cameras which made up the set. “Your favorite village,” quipped Audrey to Johnny. 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