By Myself and Then Some (39 page)

The work was very slow, the sun very hot. Tempers flared once between Bogie and John. When it rained, John would go off hunting, but Bogie wanted him to pay attention, God damn it – be practical and figure out what to do if the weather proved insurmountable. John really became a white hunter in Africa – he believed he
was
one – and he adored it; he didn’t care how long he stayed. That was John. Bogie was different – he wanted to be back in civilization. He had a life that he’d built, nurtured, cared about. John’s seemed to be wherever he was with whatever film he was making. He liked moving about. So they complemented each other, and the resulting work was always their best. John was fantasy – Bogie reality.

Appendage living was not my style, so to be of some use I took over the lunches – they’d been a mess. I had two native helpers, who didn’t much like taking orders from a woman – and my being a white woman compounded the felony. I got very nervous and started doing more and more of the work myself rather than listen to so much angry mumbling. Actually, I wasn’t nervous – I was scared!

The shooting went smoothly for a few days, with only minor delays caused by no gasoline in the
African Queen
or the launch, or sighting a green mamba that turned out not to be a green mamba, or various crew members falling in the river. The river was full of disease – one serious one called bilharzia, caused by people relieving themselves in the water and their skin being attacked by worms that worked their way under it. Fortunately, the company escaped that one.

Morning and evening I would see Katie sitting on her patio writing letters on a legal pad. One morning she seemed very upset, so I asked if anything was wrong. Very wrong – her dear friend Fanny Brice had
died. Katie is a private, private person whose standards of behavior are very high, and she must have felt very much alone a good deal of the time. I couldn’t have borne not having anyone to tell my secret thoughts to – I guess she used letters to relieve herself of some of her burdens, but that couldn’t be enough. She was an actress – a fine one, a successful one, a big, big star on stage and screen – but the rest was a mystery. Until we became real friends, that location must have been lonely for her, despite her happy nature and essential optimism.

And the physical obstacles! One morning we were being towed on the raft while camera and crew were being towed by the
African Queen
, on which Bogie and Katie were playing a scene. I remember John’s face suddenly turning away from the scene to the tugboat – in making a turn, the raft had jammed into some trees, taking the canopy of the mock-up with it. The boiler nearly fell on Bogie and Hepburn – Guy Hamilton, John’s assistant director, held it up and burned himself. Lamps almost fell – it was terrifying, a miracle that no one was hurt. In true British tradition, the camera kept grinding.

The day after that, John came over to our bungalow to have coffee with us before leaving for the location. We were rising at 6:30 by then to try to get in a whole day’s work, seven days a week. Guy Hamilton walked over and whispered in John’s ear. John stopped for a second and said, ‘I can’t believe my ears, would you say that again?’ And Guy repeated, ‘The
African Queen
has sunk.’ The natives had been told to watch it, and they did – they watched it sink. We rushed down to the river’s edge, and, sure enough, there was the poor
African Queen
on its side, full of water. Some work could be done with the mock-up while Guy and fifty other men pulled the old
Queen
out of the river and set mechanics to work. We sat around, watched, took pictures – and Katie and I left the raft early to visit a coffee plantation. When we returned, the propeller had been removed and was being hammered into shape, with an ingenious native bellows made of wood and palm leaves fanning the flame. Through the next couple of days a minimal amount of work was done – the crew were exhausted, but not one temper was lost. They were really a fantastic bunch – almost no complaining, patient and all pitching in to help, whether it was their job or not, still cheerful despite all the obstacles and still doing Class A work.

The
African Queen
was working again – hallelujah! So there was only maneuvering up and down river and the raft to control – trying to
avoid being trapped by logs which might or might not rise up out of the water along the way.

Katie and I returned to camp that evening, went to our respective tents, and ran out screaming. Our bungalows had been invaded by thousands of ants – a thick carpet of them on the floor, in our clothing – terrifying. The legs of our cots were put in cans of kerosene. It would only be a matter of days before the ants took over completely – the company would have to leave. Fortunately, there were only a few days more of shooting on that location. Our native boys had to stay up all night to keep fires burning to stave off total invasion. I shudder even now when I remember it. Soldier ants are large and move quickly over and into everything. Any territory is theirs from the moment they enter it. Nothing could stop them. Even elephants get out of their way. I was no elephant, and
I
certainly wasn’t going to hang around. The chief arranged a musical farewell for our last day – the natives again doing their dance number, going off madly in all directions. At one point I joined in with my bdingo in hand, and with their drums we had an old-fashioned jam session.

As we headed for Ponthierville, we passed a bamboo forest. Katie said, ‘Stop the car, I’ve always wanted to sit in the middle of a bamboo forest.’ I thought Bogie would explode. Here was everyone trying to get out of there, and Katie wanted to sit in the middle of a bamboo forest. But the car stopped and out she got – as did I. ‘What the hell, while I’m here I might as well see what a bamboo forest is like – I may never get another chance.’ It was very still and very beautiful.

We reached Ponthierville at about the same time as the brave
African Queen
generator and towboat, which had chugged their way down the river. Spent the night on a paddle boat. It was still hot, muggy, and noisy and we had to rise by 6:00 a.m., so we didn’t sleep much. But it was heaven compared to those ants.

Through all of this Bogie’s nerves got frayed from time to time. He never stopped worrying about whether we’d ever get out of Africa. John loved Africa, Katie loved it – even I did, except for missing Steve. No wonder Bogie was frazzled – he had visions of months going by and there he’d be, still working with John. Anything was possible. One member of the crew had a bad attack of appendicitis. I was the only one, doctor included, who had brought antibiotics. I turned them over to him and they saved the day for the poor Englishman, who was
rushed to Stanleyville calmed down eventually; he’d been away in London and had no idea what everyone was going through, in addition to which on his first night back in Africa he’d been bitten by something and had a large, ugly, and painful boil on the back of his neck. I told Sam I’d work out lunch menus and see that the food was in order. The crises over, the work on the movie continued and I tried to keep myself occupied. I guess I wrote to everyone I knew on that trip – devoted Nunnally Johnson, Harry Kurnitz, and my mother kept me looking forward to mail.

Africa was definitely getting to us. With the exception of about five people, the crew felt awful. Even I, who had been lucky up to that point, was beginning to feel odd. At about 2:30 one afternoon the long-awaited cry arose: ‘Burn the village.’ With that it started – natives running in all directions, huts flaming inside and out, pieces of roof flying straight into the air. Then the rains came, so we had to stay until the following day. At last the final day of shooting in Butiaba, and off we went at 5:30 a.m. for the Murchison Falls. After going up the river, we entered the Victoria Nile and I had my first sight of crocodiles and hippopotamuses. Navigating the Nile and avoiding sandbars was a tricky business and maneuvering a paddle steamer no easy task, but we reached our location spot without a major crisis.

After six weeks of scruffy beard, Bogie shaved. I’d almost forgotten his face, it had been so long since I’d seen it. He looked wonderful, though a few pounds lighter from the great African diet. They were only able to shoot half a scene because, yet again, the rains came. That was to be the daily happening, so John, aptly named The Monster by Bogie years before, would have to be prodded to start shooting at eight instead of nine. There were continued meetings between the camera crew and John, searching for ways to simplify the remaining work. So many of the crew were confined to bed – some with dysentery, amoebic or straight, some with undiagnosed illnesses, a few cases of malaria – that the film had to suspend shooting for three days. Even Katie had to take to her bed – she was a sick lady, nauseated all the time, but never complained and never missed a day’s work. God, I admired her! She had opinions, voiced them, and stuck to them, sometimes drove Bogie crazy – mainly, I think, because they were so alike, and also because he knew she’d stay in Africa forever if need be.

I went mad trying to invent things to do during those three days. I’d
rise at seven to go out in the small boat to photograph game. I’d been warned how dangerous it could be, that if one of those hippos I thought were so cute got under the boat, it could easily be overturned and the crocs would come in for a hearty meal. The element of danger was always there and I always dared it.

Finally work got under way again, and with that a visible rise in spirits. I played Florence Nightingale – in short, Loretta Young – to the crew who were still confined to their beds. Talking – they telling me about wives and girlfriends and England; writing letters for them sometimes. Oh, they wanted to go home. I just wanted to see Steve – he was two and a half now, I’d missed four months of his growth. I had been able to push my pain to one side for a while, but no longer. I thought about him and yearned for him all the time, but was afraid to count the days for fear something would happen. John was still convinced that Departure Day would be July 15. I cabled Mother to arrange Steve’s departure for London on July 20. But with all these changes, who knew what would happen?

The mail brought us a letter from Mother enclosing a small clipping announcing that Mayo had died. I told Bogie, who said only, ‘Too bad. Such a waste.’ I asked him why. He said she had had real talent, she had just thrown her life away. I wondered whether he was sorry not to have stayed with her. I was still such a little girl, such a fool. Nothing could have been further from his mind.

A cable came the following day announcing the birth of Angelica Huston. There was great excitement, and champagne was drunk and cables sent off to Riki, the proud mama. John was bursting with pride. A birth and a death.

There were only two more days to go. None of us could believe it. And we were right not to. John suddenly decided he’d like three days more. Bogie was in such a fury at his lack of foresight – and at Katie, who he thought was aiding and abetting John – that I thought he’d explode. John made a convincing and moving speech to the crew, was articulate as always, dramatic, almost brought tears to the eye. The crew continued to prove how exemplary they were. They said they’d stay with John, but felt it all could be speeded up. A solution was found. All sound could be done Saturday and Sunday, and all props and electrical equipment could leave Sunday night – only the camera would remain. So John, Katie, and Bogie stayed to shoot until noon
Monday, which would get them to the airport at Entebbe in time. I left with the crew Sunday night to have a day in Entebbe – and there was a cable from London telling us that Steve would arrive there July 21. I could begin to count the hours.

W
hen we arrived in London
, Steve wasn’t there yet, but it would only be one more day. My stomach was fluttering. I checked his room to make sure all was as should be, put some of the small stuffed animals around that I had bought in Africa, and struggled through the next twenty-four hours. Bogie and I were interviewed, had lunch at our favorite Caprice, a long dinner at Les Ambassadeurs with Orson Welles and Sam Spiegel, stayed up late – I was much too excited to sleep anyway, all I could think of during dinner was ‘This time tomorrow I’ll have my baby boy.’

We got up at eight, left the hotel at nine, arrived at the airport at ten to clear Steve’s trunk through customs. The head of the airport arranged for Steve’s plane to taxi to the number-one entrance used by the royal family – Bonnie Prince Charlie had been there a few days before. Now it was Bonnie Prince Stephen’s turn. At 11:55 the plane arrived. I never had been so nervous. The gangway was pushed up, the door opened, and there was Steve. The minute he saw me he made a face, the kind he always made to me. He came down the gangway, smiled at me. I picked him up and was in heaven. Bogie looked very emotional. Steve remembered us and talked constantly. We hadn’t heard him talk that much before. We were a family again. The African adventure behind us, we had to concentrate on being together now.

The best thing about that last six weeks in London is that we got to know London itself. Slowly I began my love affair with that city. And we made some lasting friendships. First, the Oliviers, who were appearing together in
Antony and Cleopatra
and
Caesar and Cleopatra
. Larry and Vivien made it easy, as if we’d been friends all our lives. Our mutual affection had happened instantly in California. It was right and rational then and continued to be ever after. Of course, Bogie and I were relaxed again – we had our son with us, the tensions of the location were behind, we enjoyed these people, felt good with them. Bogie was so impressed with Larry as both director and actor. Spencer Tracy had always said that Larry was the greatest actor in the English-
speaking world. The more we saw of him, the more we agreed. Mind you, I knew very little, so that my judgment may have been colored by personal feelings, but with my sponge-like approach to every atmosphere, I was learning. Bogie really did know exceptional acting when he saw it, and through years of experience he had vast knowledge of the theatre. He said whenever he saw something really good in New York or London, he’d feel a great urge to return to the stage. But then he’d weigh his life in California – the boat, the sea, outdoors – and decide that meant more. He didn’t really want to uproot himself. But he was a good enough actor to want to extend himself. It was always my feeling that if the right play had come along at a bad moment in his movie life he would have taken the plunge. But his movie career was flourishing now – getting better every year – so artistically he had satisfaction. As long as the quality was high and he could work with the best directors, he was happy to stay where he was.