Original subtitles

(Transcrit par TurboScribe.ai. Passez à Illimité pour supprimer ce message.) A lot can happen

between a sunup and a sundown.

In this case, I found a boy named

Johnny Sharp with his life wasting away, and

I'd spent that day with him listening to

the way he'd lived, and stayed by his

side during the process of his dying.

He asked me to bring his body to

an undertaker he called Doc, and then to

contact two other men and a woman who'd

be his mourners, and to tell them that

at 11 o'clock tonight from the slab

in the undertaker's room, he'd pay back the

one who killed him.

That's my mission, to assemble the mourners for

Johnny Sharp.

Good evening, Mr. Colton.

Well, I believe you met these gentlemen and

the lady.

It's my provider of this house of death,

I suppose, proper that I play host, won't

you?

Mr. Colton,

aside from making yourself available for gratuitous deathbed

comments, what do you do?

Oh, a little bit of everything, doctor.

Just prior to the deathbed comment, I was

on my way to Santa Fe, and I

met up with Johnny Sharp.

Did he tell you about himself?

Did he tell you that he was a

thief, and a gunman, and a killer?

He made that pretty clear, along with a

brief sketch of the four people that he

wanted to mourn for him.

You, uh, you raised him, didn't you, doctor?

No.

No, I didn't raise him.

I fed him, clothed him in a bit,

and had no parents.

Down through the years, took three bullets out

of his hide, sutured up a knife cut

in his cheek, opened that door for him

on a dozen times, let him in here

when he was running away from law or

another gunman or his enemies, who were legion

and myriad.

He was a violent young man.

As to the other citizenry that he invited

here this evening, the following might be said.

Mr. Benneke here, when the good Lord passed

out, consciences of souls, hearts, called them what

you will, Mr. Benneke was stalking an angel

with an idea to robbery, mayhem, or murder.

So he missed out.

He arrived on this earth, an empty vessel,

completely devoid of any human feelings whatsoever.

He was Johnny Sharp's friend.

Which brings us to his other friend, huh?

Herbie, Mr. Philby?

Oh, Mr. Philby.

Mr. Philby invented cowardice.

There is a species of human being who

will sell out their own mother It would

not be difficult to extract that promise from

Mr. Philby.

However, it's questionable that he could deliver.

Now, that may be his singular claim to

honor.

Which brings us to the third mourner, Miss

Peggy Woodward.

A damsel fair of face and form.

She was born with a heart and a

spine.

She's generally quite whole.

The parenthetic side, however, her capacity for love

is limited to currency and expensive baubles.

Her courage is a matter of record only

when she's finding and coveting these round of

expensive accoutrements.

In short, she's a grasping lady.

She has perpetual hungers.

And she's dedicated to the rich life and

the high sections of the hog.

Oh, the cultured voice of the contented man.

No hungers from you, eh, doc?

Sticking syringes of preservatives into some uncomplaining carcasses

who are beyond the point of caring just

what company they keep.

And you, you presume to judge.

She's right.

You have no right to judge anybody, doc,

especially Johnny Sharp.

You hated him.

You always hated him.

Well, here we are, Mr. Colton, the mourner's

four.

Now that you've heard our deficiencies as human

beings, do you have any comment?

I have a question.

Why?

In the name of anything holy or unholy

would young Mr. Sharp want to waste even

a fraction of his eternity to rise up

at 11 and see any single one of

you?

He's quite awake, isn't it, Mr. Colton?

Eh, very sentimental, doc, very sentimental.

I'm deeply moved by the whole thing.

But ignore me, please, huh?

I'm here simply to represent the estate of

Johnny Sharp.

The estate?

I told you.

Makes you mouth water, doesn't it, Miss Woodard?

Visions of cash flip through that beautiful blonde

head of yours.

I wouldn't laugh if I were you, Mr.

Vennicki.

A couple of the dirtier pages of Mr.

Sharp's book.

You bought it.

In fact, every dirty trick he learned came

from you.

By the first dollar that he stole, you

sent him out for it?

That's what Johnny Sharp told me.

I taught him his trade.

That's what he wanted.

Trade?

When you started teaching him, his trade was

being 12 years old.

You gave him lessons in killing before he

knew anything about living.

That makes you think that John Sharp owes

you anything, Mr. Vennick.

I'll take my due.

Johnny Sharp wanted the four of us here.

All right, we're here.

Whatever gets divvied up, I'll take my forth.

Well, I don't know how you rate anything.

You just have to live with that question,

Phil B.

And I'll have to live with the question

as to how you got him.

In the back, I'm sure, but...

But how did you get close enough?

You go to the devil, Vennicki!

I didn't kill Johnny here.

I never killed him.

If anybody killed Johnny, it had to be

you, because you're the gunman around here.

You're the killer!

Get up, Phil B.

Let's have a little dignity here.

Two deaths tonight, Doc.

Johnny Sharp's and, uh...

Mr. Phil B's manhood.

Check with your beloved Peggy, my dear.

Use his style.

Never to the face, wait till the back

is turned.

I didn't kill him.

I swear I didn't.

Did you?

Did you shoot Johnny?

Me.

My dear, a worthy adversary for me would

be a rabbit.

Yes, I'm sure Mr. Colton could tell you

from what he's seen and heard this evening.

And from what Johnny Sharp must have told

him about me.

How did you get here?

The softening of the arteries and softening of

the nerves.

That's the way Johnny described you.

Indeed.

Well, I...

I entered that rather advanced stage of senility

20 years ago.

Isn't it a pity I couldn't conjure up

the courage to get out of this place?

This miserable place that spawned such miserable people.

If Johnny could have gotten out, he would

have had a chance.

Well, here we are.

We're waiting for the reckoning, aren't we?

Is Johnny Sharp to pay us back in

debt what we took from him in life?

11 o'clock.

That's when we open the books.

As per instruction.

As per Johnny Sharp's instructions.

Well, I'll say this for Johnny.

He picked a proper night for it.

Oh, can't you feel it in the room,

friend?

The greed, the hunger.

Itchy and sweaty palms could make a noise.

You'd hear a roll of thunder that'd blast

your head around.

I can read your mind, Mr. Benneke.

I can hear what you're thinking.

Let it be me, Johnny.

Let it be me.

While you take your final sour, raspy, death

-covered breath, let me take the coins off

your eyes.

For services rendered for turning you into my

dirty image.

Give it back, Johnny.

Pay me back.

That's what you're thinking, isn't it, Mr. Benneke?

That's what you're hopeful.

For love.

For love.

Johnny, for love.

Leave me something.

There wasn't enough when you were alive.

There was never enough, Johnny, anything, whatever it

is.

Whatever you've got sewn in your seams, Johnny.

Whatever...

Whatever you've scraped up and planned out through

25 years of hectic, frantic life, Johnny.

Leave me something.

Unfortunately, this is the only litany Miss Woodward

can come up with for the occasion, the

only one.

Oh, and do I hear a mournful dirge

from Mr. Philby?

Johnny, Johnny, with the knowing blue eyes, who

always looked past me, through me, and around

me, but never saw me.

Oh, leave me some residue now, Johnny.

Gold or silver, a pair of old shoes,

anything poor and paltry, but leave me something

that's left over from what I didn't steal

from you while you were alive.

Oh, we're a mangy crew.

We don't mourn, we coven.

This isn't a wake.

It's a grave robbing.

Why don't you stop judging everybody, old man?

And why don't you take a look in

the mirror?

Take a look at what we see.

Take a look at what Johnny Sharp saw.

Roomy eyes and a dirty shirt, and an

illusion that you sit on the right side

of God.

Oh, somewhere along the line he picked up

a dictionary and a set of Shakespeare.

But you could never find the language to

tell Johnny Sharp that he was loved or

that he was needed, or that sometime in

his short and lonely life there might be

one man who could be his father.

Now look, you want to talk about guilt,

then you better spread it around, because every

time you opened that door for Johnny Sharp,

every time you cut out his bullets, you

took pieces out of him that didn't grow

back.

You gave him no love.

You gave him no love at all.

You think that you're the only one that's

ever read a book?

You think that you're the only one who's

ever been to school?

I started out that way too.

With a family and a decent way, we

used to eat on tablecloths and go to

church.

And I want it that way again, just

like you.

And Johnny Sharp living or Johnny Sharp dead,

if he can help me get out of

this place, I can spit out as much

pride as you can.

Peg.

Peg, you and me.

You and me.

Oh, baby boy, baby boy.

In your finest moment, you could never stand

tall enough to see Johnny Sharp, let alone

look eye level at him.

Oh, yes.

You mark that doctor as one of the

other small truths to accompany Johnny to his

grave.

Well, for Miss Woodward's next number, she will

sing She's More to be Pity Than Sentient,

followed by some more dramatic readings.

Look, it's almost 11 o'clock.

Let's have it.

I don't care if it's a lot, something

or nothing, but let's hear what it is,

huh?

You need glasses.

This isn't Philby.

Nobody walks out on me.

When I ask a question, I want an

answer.

Philby, Benneke, or any other man over the

age of 16, they don't order me.

They don't put their hands on me.

Tell me about it, Mr. Colton.

Tell me about you.

I don't even know what your trade is

or your style.

What, shooting a man in the back cover

either of them?

Neither of them.

I don't shoot men in the back.

Well, I...

Yes, everybody just got carried away by the

evening's entertainment.

Dead or Alive, Johnny Sharp was nothing more

than a high-pocketed little gunman.

He was no better than anybody else.

Put on his pants one leg at a

time.

And you know something, Fritchman?

He got the kind of death he dished

out.

Well, I guess the eulogy is complete now,

Mr. Colton.

What had to be said has been duly

said.

Well, Johnny Sharp?

Rise and shine?

Haunt or accuse her?

Do something?

He already has.

He already has.

He's picked out his murderers.

You, Miss Woodward, you, Mr. Philby, you, Mr.

Benneke.

And you, Doc.

You all had a hand in it.

Indeed, we did.

Well, I don't understand.

Don't you?

In his last 30 minutes, Johnny Sharp told

me the story of his life.

Told me about the four people that he

believed in, four people he loved.

What they did to him, in the name

of love.

He told it all to me.

To me, because...

Well, there was no priest, there were no

friends.

And there was no time left for him.

A legacy of Johnny Sharp.

Four silver dollars, one for each of you.

Whoever done them in took the rest of

it.

How right you are.

They took the rest of it.

In the back, they got him in the

back.

They shot him in the back.

No.

No, nobody shot Johnny in the back.

You know what it was, Doc.

I've known for over a year.

He had consumption.

None of you noticed how quiet he was.

How much he'd pay him.

Well, Johnny Boy, not much to leave your

old pal, your old teacher.

I'd kind of hoped it'd be more so

I could get out of here.

So for the first time, I could ride

out in the daylight.

Instead of hiding out here for the rest

of my life.

It isn't fair.

It isn't fair at all.

Are you satisfied with him now?

How far are you going to go on

one silver buck?

How far?

Not far enough.

I want to thank you, Mr. Colton, for

delivering your message.

And I'm going to keep this as a

memento.

Because I know now, there should have been

30 of them.

Peg.

Peg, can I go with you?

Oh, why not?

You can stand over me the whole night

long.

While I cry.

Anything else, Doc?

I'll be on my way.

Mr. Colton?

Mr. Colton, I...

I had a wife and a child.

They died of the fever.

And I...

Well, I let grief turn to bile.

So when...

When Johnny Sharp held out his hands to

me as a young boy, the only thing

I could think of was...

My loss, my old son.

He held out his hands to me out

of need.

A desperate need, and I denied him.

I denied him out of misery.

Longy.

I denied him out of a filthy, self

-seeking acid of an aging man going to

sea.

I never told him.

The one big truth...

that he was lost.

Not that this matters now, but I just

wanted to tell you that as of this

moment, sir, this is awake.

Now he'll get warned.

It matters, Doc.

It matters.

Because it's about time.