Original subtitles

Good evening.

This object, which looks like a gentleman who innocently wandered into a

Cross bandaging class, is a mummy.

This particular one is an Egyptian pharaoh and was buried with all his

wives, a rather extreme example of togetherness.

A few of his more progressive colleagues subscribe to this custom.

but with a difference.

They buried their wives first, promising to follow at their earliest

convenience.

Appropriately enough, the title of tonight's theatre piece is Museum Piece.

First, however, we have an item with no title, but perhaps after watching it,

you can think of a name to call it.

As near as we can tell, this skull belonged to a civilization here in the

southwest that we call Proto Pueblo.

Now, one of its marks, as you see, is a flattening of the head at the rear

caused by strapping the baby onto a cradle board before the skull was

calcified.

Let's compare him with a modern male Caucasian.

You see, his head is not flattened in the back at all.

Now, this is essentially...

A present -day American, very much like you and I.

Grim thought, isn't it?

Well, that concludes the tour, ladies and gentlemen.

It's about time to close anyway.

You're welcome.

Thank you very much. Do come again. We're getting in new things all the

Good day.

Good day. Thank you for coming.

Don't let me keep you. Not at all.

I'll be leaving in a minute. Take your time.

These knives fascinate me.

Obsidian, aren't they? That's right. Purely utilitarian. For skinning hides,

fleshing hides, so on, that kind of thing.

But made by a totally different man.

This man was down -to -earth, practical.

But this fellow was mentally an artist.

But the two men are about a thousand years apart in time.

Makes no difference.

Men haven't changed.

In my field, we try to diagnose the psyche of ancient man from his

You see, the thing you fellows overlook in your collecting is the internal

chemistry of the men who made these things.

What is your field, Mr... Clovis, Newton B. Clovis. I'm an archaeopsychologist.

Dear me.

Even a man's bones have something to say.

What, for instance?

Well, from the shape of his skull.

Rather intelligent man.

Athletic at one time.

Athletic? A skier.

Break in the leg just above the ankle.

Typical ski injury.

You too?

Double spiral fracture.

Made in my leg an inch and a half shorter.

Ah, but this man was a football player.

Just a guess, of course.

You mean you knew him?

Yes, I did.

Very well.

Died not too old.

Many years ago?

Many years ago.

Modern medicine might have saved him.

No.

No medicine would have saved this man.

Mr. Clovis, how would you like to join me in a drink before dinner?

Delighted.

After you.

You say you can diagnose ancient man from his possessions, Mr. Clovis. How

modern man?

Who would that be?

The man all these things belong to.

There's a bucket more of these in this pitcher. Cheers.

Yes.

Falco Mexicanus, prairie falcon.

He tried to gentle him. Kept him in a cage.

Wouldn't do. Some things you can't keep in a cage.

Everything in this room was his.

Just about.

Watch out.

Merit badges.

Over 30 of them.

Bird's nest.

But no eggs.

He didn't believe in collecting eggs.

No heart for it. He could take the nest after the little ones were gone.

Fog.

Urocyan canario argentius. Gray fog.

I call her Cersei. Why Cersei?

You're supposed to divine these things, aren't you? Drink up.

Yes, Cersei.

Cersei the Temptress.

What do you make of the man?

Gentle.

Probably full of idealism.

Obviously loves the outdoors.

Compassionate. Bravo.

You were close to him?

Yes. He was my son.

Was?

That's where Cersei comes in.

Cersei the Temptress.

I call her Cersei because she led him to his doom.

Worked her wiles on him, brazenly let him track her. Almost as if she knew

lay in wait for him.

He never hunted for sport, but once in a while he collected an animal.

In this case, he had his heart set on Cersei.

She'd been raiding hen houses in the neighborhood.

Sooner or later, some farmer would trap her or shoot her anyway, so Ben decided

to take her for his collection.

He spent several days and nights learning her habits.

He discovered her latest port of call was an old barn just over the property

line.

He'd invented a foolproof gadget for night shooting, a spotlight mounted on

.22 in such a way...

that his shot would strike the exact center of the circle of light.

What was that?

Rice. It's your father.

Don't be silly. You know he's at a lodge meeting.

What do you think you're doing here?

I'm sorry, I didn't... Hollister!

Make your boy Hollister.

I didn't know anybody else was around here. You saw the sign outside.

Yeah, but I didn't think your father would mind. You're a liar.

Stealing pigeons, that's what he's up to.

I wasn't stealing anything. All I wanted was... You're a liar.

I'm sorry, Tim.

If you'll excuse me.

You're a coward, too.

If you want to step outside, I'd be very happy to soak your head in the watering

trough.

That's not a bad deal, Tim.

I'd be giving away 15 pounds.

Tim! Murderer!

Murderer!

You don't have to

explain my duties to me, Mr. Hollister. They're spelled out very clearly in the

oath of office the district attorney takes.

It wouldn't hurt you to look it over once in a while, Mr. Henshaw.

There's no need to be impertinent.

You'll have to excuse me, sir, but my boy's life is at stake.

If he'll have his day in court, the law guarantees him a fair and impartial

trial. That's just the point. He's being tried right now in the papers.

You call that fair and impartial? I didn't give out that interview.

The report has checked it with you. You didn't deny it. You let them print it.

Take it up with the publisher. I'm not responsible. A statement from you could

have stopped it. They're saying he killed a McCaffrey boy on purpose, like

kill a specimen for his collection. You know that isn't true.

Now, look, Mr. Henshaw, this town is ready to lynch him. They won't lynch

He's innocent, and you know it. All right, if he's innocent, he'll go free.

up to the jury.

But what chance has he with this sort of trash setting the town on fire? And

with your approval?

You probably thought it up.

You want to kill him.

Old man McCaffrey put you in office, and now you're going to deliver for him.

That's right, isn't it? Mr. Hollister, I happen to take my responsibilities very

seriously.

They are not primarily to convict, but to see justice is done.

I intend to do everything in my power to achieve that end in this and every

other case in which I am involved.

And that is all I intend to say on this subject. Good day, sir.

Would you try to reach the mayor again, please?

Thank you.

You'll excuse me, Mr. Hollister.

Good day.

Shot in the eye.

In each case, finesse, precision.

A mathematically calculated shot in a spot where it would kill immediately,

do no harm whatsoever to the specimen.

I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, do you think this man's act was unintentional?

Stop it!

I tell you, it was an accident.

He threw the pitchfork ahead.

That won't do any good. But he's lying. I'm not a murderer.

I'm not a killer. I didn't mean it.

Order, order, or I'll clear the courtroom.

A man is on trial for his life.

Please conduct yourselves accordingly.

Proceed, Mr. Henshaw.

I don't have to repeat the medical testimony.

Five brain shots.

Each of them precisely in the middle of an eye socket.

The last one, a human being.

I ask you, ladies and gentlemen,

To reflect on the odds against the defendant's contention that this last

was accidental.

He threw up the rifle in self -defense, he says.

The shot struck the precise center of Tim McCaffrey's left eye.

What are the odds?

One in a million? A billion?

Think about that.

Isn't the other explanation far more plausible?

That Tim McCaffrey caught him trespassing?

ordered him off the property, that he walked off into the darkness, thought

about it, that a cold rage took possession of him, that he hefted the

his hand, and then, with calculating precision, he turned and aimed and... I

didn't! I didn't do it!

I'm demanding that you do your duty as citizens of this state.

I demand the death penalty in the case of the people versus Benjamin Hollister.

Benjamin Hollister, will you please rise?

Benjamin Hollister, you have been found guilty of murder in the first degree.

Therefore, you will, on the 22nd day of this month, be removed to the

penitentiary at Glendale and there be incarcerated for the rest of your

life.

Pioneer Ranch on Alamo Creek. Big adobe ranch house.

Apache bullet pox in the wall.

Even has its own well in the courtyard.

Fourteen rooms?

Fourteen rooms?

I'm going to turn it into a private museum. Put a sign on the highway.

admission. Make this collecting bug pay off after all these years.

I wish I could help you.

Well, you can.

I've got the room plotted out for your thing.

Now, here, here is an east window, and there is a door.

Now, you do the rest.

Do what?

Design the inside.

Cases for your book, drawers for your mounted specimens, display cases.

I'll fix it any way you want it.

You do it.

I want it to be yours, Ben.

You kidding?

I know what you're going to say, Dad.

I could have hope.

Something to hang on to.

I'm sorry, but... It's no good, Dad.

But we've got 15 minutes.

Goodbye, Dad.

Goodbye, boy.

I'll see you next month.

He don't belong here.

If he'd only eat.

That's the trouble. He won't eat.

It's out of the question.

He's been examined by a board of psychiatrists and found perfectly

Medically, he's 100%. Except that he'll die inside of a year if you leave him

where he is.

Mr. Hollister, would you care to read the medical report?

I'm not talking about his blood pressure or his respiration or his metabolism,

Mr. Henshaw.

I'm talking about his soul. That boy is dying right now.

Mr. Hollister, I understand your concern. But it's out of your hands,

know. I'm only telling you that your signature on a petition would probably

him a parole.

Mr. Hollister. Please, please hear me out, Mr. Henshaw. The election's come

gone. You're secure in your job. You've got nothing to lose.

Old man McCaffrey can't touch you now.

Please.

Please, look into your heart, Mr. Henshaw, and ask yourself if you really

believe that boy belongs in prison.

If he really is a menace to society.

I'll forgive you everything, Mr. Henshaw.

I... I know you're under enormous political pressures and have to give in

them sometimes.

I'll forgive you everything.

If only you would try to do that boy justice now.

He can't live in prison.

He's like a hawk in a cage.

He won't eat.

He's just withering away.

Come now, Mr. Hollister. Get hold of yourself.

Two months later, he was dead.

He'd lost interest in life.

That was years ago.

It's all here.

All in this room.

What he had.

What he did.

What he was.

How many years?

I don't like to count them.

It doesn't matter anyway.

I have him here with me.

I can feel his presence in this room.

From his books, from his things.

Nothing on this earth is permanent, Mr. Clovis. We aren't given title to

anything, you know. Just a lease.

His was short.

Mine's longer.

At least he was not the one to be left behind to grieve.

That's some consolation, isn't it?

I suppose so.

So perhaps you can understand now why I was a little amused at your

archaeopsychology. There's only so much of a man imprisoned in his possessions

and the things he makes with his hands so much, no more.

Ben's spirit hangs above this room, but you can't sense it from these cold,

inanimate things.

Not unless you knew Ben.

Well, I'd better lock the back door.

You'll excuse me? Of course.

Satisfied, Mr. Clovis?

Now I am, yes.

I ought to tell you that I'm not an archaeopsychologist. I sort of invented

that. You're from the district attorney's office.

That's right.

A murder case never goes out of date.

You know, it took almost a year to put him there.

I remember the excitement of the manhunt. The most dangerous game.

Not a game.

Murder. Disagree.

It was neither.

It was an execution.

The execution of Henshaw, the man who murdered my son.

I don't think the law will look at it in quite that light.

Tell me, how did you do it?

Did you lie and wait for him outside his house, or did you...

as we can tell, this skull belonged to a civilization here in the southwest that

we call Proto -Pueblo.

One of its marks, as you see, is a flattening in the rear of the head

strapping the baby onto a cradle board before the skull was completely

calcified.

Let's compare him with a modern male Caucasian.

You see, his head is not flattened in the back at all.

Notice how an injury left a mark on the bone.

The same thing here. Another male Caucasian, about 45 years old, I'd say

the degree of calcification in certain areas.

Athletic type.

Double spiral fracture.

Typical ski injury.

Leaving one leg about an inch and a half shorter than the other.

Unfortunately, the police took a dim view of the old curator, personally

a new exhibit for the museum.

Sometimes I find the attitude of the authorities puzzling. They seem bent on

stifling initiative, but enough of that.

Now we shall watch while my sponsor makes an exhibition of himself.

That is all until next week, when we return with another story.

Perhaps we should put our gift wrap friend back in his box.

His last will?

No.

Listen for dial tone before depositing money.

Good night.