Original subtitles

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Downloaded from YTS.MX

Official YIFY movies site: YTS.MX

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(cattle mooing)

(crickets chirping)

(dog barking)

The slaughterhouse.

Hey!

I'll tell you what.

We'll call that dog off if you keep your seat.

Hog-tie him.

Come on.

Easy, Rudy.

I thought you was one of them Sasquatches.

What do you want? Food?

Que quieres?

Any language you do speak, digger?

Don't scare him any more, Rudy.

Poor creature's done in.

Rudy: God almighty, Bob,

It's a wild Indian.

Big discovery like this,

I'm surprised your Dr. Kroeber didn't come himself.

Well, he wanted to.

I'm afraid his wife is ill.

I can assure you Dr. Kroeber is vitally interested.

Well, he ought to be.

Excuse me, gentlemen.

You don't find a fellow like this too often anymore.

I finally told all the reporters to clear out.

Figured the Indian could use a little breathing room.

Yes, thank you.

He ain't dangerous,

just... kind of sad.

Yes, thank you very much.

He, uh, likes donuts.

Yes, thank you.

Well, let's-- let's find out who you are.

Shall we?

Beginning with, uh... Maidu.

Mutuma?

Mutuma?

Is that word familiar?

How would you like a candy?

Go ahead.

Eat.

(chuckling) No.

You see, you, you take the paper off first,

like so.

Yes.

It's better, isn't it?

Oh... let's see.

Um, well, you're not Maidu.

You're not Miwok.

You're not Pomo.

You're not Chimariko.

Are you aware of the fact that you're none of these things?

No.

Dayalimi.

Siwi-ni.

Si-win-i.

Yes?

Siwi-ni-- "wood"?

Si-win-i.

Si-win-i.

Yes.

Si-win-i.

That can't be.

You're a Yahi?

Yahi.

Yahi.

But there are no Yahi.

The Yahi are extinct.

(speaking Yahi)

(band playing "Camptown Races")

Excuse me.

woman: Excuse me, sir?

Shh...

The women of the Oroville Monday Club

wish to present you, sir, with this luncheon basket

for your journey to San Francisco.

And knowing of your life as a free-ranging

man of nature,

we offer our fondest hopes

that our civilization will not disappoint you.

Ma'am, thank you. (band resumes playing)

*

woman: Professor, he's here!

He won't much care to shake hands.

And remember not to stare at him.

He'll take offense at that.

Nothing wrong with a friendly smile, however.

What's this?

Oh, that's punch and cookies.

I thought we should have something for him, something--

You're right, of course.

Should have thought of it myself.

It's an historic moment, Mrs. Gustafson.

We're about to meet

the last truly primitive man in our continent

and, uh, offer him punch and cookies.

(men chuckle)

Well, well.

Look at this.

(speaking Yahi)

(speaking Yahi)

(chuckles)

I don't know what that is.

Well, he asked if I'm a chief.

Well, I suppose you are.

Well, I suppose I am.

Big Chief, we call him.

"Chiep"?

Oh, ah.

Whoa, that is quite clever.

I can't wait for you to really hear him speak.

Phonetically, he has some of the prettiest

cracked consonants I've heard in my life.

Kroeber: I'll bet.

I believe he likes your button, Mrs. Gustafson.

Oh, you, you, you like this.

Kroeber: No doubt he's marveling at the perfection of its shape,

the brilliance of its color.

Please.

Oh.

(speaking Yahi)

Mmm, it is good.

Very good.

Does he have a name?

Kroeber: Yes, but, uh, it would be the height of rudeness

to ask it. Names are very private with them.

Gustafson: And are we to call him anything at all?

Kroeber: Well... Ishi.

In his language, it means "man."

Something of that sort might do.

"Man"? That sounds rather impersonal.

Kroeber: Ishi.

Shall we call you Ishi?

(speaking Yahi)

Well, that settles that.

Uh, shall we show him to his room?

Here we are.

Come, come.

Come.

(exclaims in Yahi)

(speaking Yahi)

(speaking Yahi)

(chuckles) What was that?

He finds it's curious that, uh, our houses have no smoke holes.

Oh.

(chuckles)

(loud shuffling)

(shuffling continues)

(speaking Yahi)

For the daylight.

Well, it, um--

Yes, um, it's late.

(speaking Yahi)

Here's your bed.

It's for sleeping.

(speaking Yahi)

Bed.

Bed.

That is very good.

Okay, you get some sleep.

And, uh, we'll see each other in the morning.

Well, he's full of curiosity-- but about the strangest things.

An aeroplane, for instance,

he regards it as the most natural thing in the world.

(coughing) On the other hand,

he's fascinated with doorknobs.

Aren't you going to eat?

Soon.

Well, you know what the doctor says.

Take a look.

What's this?

It's for you.

It's an Adirondack chair,

the kind you liked so much at the sanatorium.

See how the back reclines?

And it also has an adjustable footrest.

This won't help, Alfred.

Well, in any case, I've ordered it.

Should be here in a week or so.

So tell me more about your Mr. Ishi.

What will you do with him?

Legally, I suppose, he'll be our ward.

Surely there are other Indians who can look after him.

No other Yahi, darling, not a single one.

And that's why... he's such a prize.

You make him sound like just another artifact

for your museum.

He's much more valuable than that, I can assure you.

And I'm the only person who can understand him.

Without me, everything these people were--

their language, their stories, art, religion--

would be forgotten.

I'm going to write a book.

(chuckles)

(wheezes)

Alfred.

What?

What is it?

I don't know.

I was just wondering.

Maybe there's some things that should be forgotten,

things we aren't worthy to know.

Well, you've just dispensed with the entire field

of anthropology.

(both laugh)

I have to go.

We're introducing him to the press this morning.

Bring him to dinner.

To dinner?

Mm-- on a day when I feel well.

We'll have him over.

He won't wear shoes, you know.

As long as he's a gentleman.

Well, he seems to be that.

(reporters clamoring)

Kroeber: Yes, we suspect he's been living alone for years.

man: Why's his hair so short?

Kroeber: He's in mourning.

They do that. They singe their hair.

Who died?

Everybody he ever knew.

Professor Kroeber,

according to your own writings,

there hasn't been a Yahi sighted for 20 years.

What's he been doing all this time?

I don't know.

He hasn't volunteered that information, gentlemen.

Yes, but have you asked him?

Not yet. I want him to feel settled first.

As you can imagine,

he finds our world to be a very confusing

and disorienting place.

man: Gentlemen, over here.

Shoot straight, Mr. Ishi.

Good shot!

(applause)

Kroeber: Hold on to your hats, gentlemen.

I think we have a little, uh, photograph to be taken.

You say he's been on a train

and, uh, ridden in a car.

Uh, which of our marvels has impressed him most?

The window shade.

I hear a lot of people have been dropping by to see him.

Seems to be some interest.

Well, he certainly put your museum on the map.

Kroeber: Mr. Whitney is from the Department of the Interior.

Whitney: The Bureau of Indian Affairs, to be precise.

Wild Indian Division.

There's a Wild Indian Division?

Mm. There are no more wild Indians.

That's why it's being phased out.

So, what's to be done with him?

He'll stay here with us, of course.

Well, my job is to make him happy.

Pardon me, Mr. Whitney, but that sounds just like our government.

We do everything we can to eliminate these people

from the face of the earth.

And then when one manages to survive,

we send someone around to make sure he's happy?

Tom.

We'd like to send him to Oklahoma.

I'm sorry, Oklahoma?

Tom.

To one of the reservations.

That way, at least, he would be around other Indians,

and he would live under the care and at the expense

of the United States government.

We feel that would be the best thing for him.

I speak six Indian languages, Mr. Whitney.

Except for Ishi himself,

I may be the only person in the world

with a functional grasp of the Yahi dialect.

I'm in the middle of composing a definitive survey

of the Indians of Northern California.

So you'll excuse me if I also lay a claim

to knowing what's best for Ishi.

I know this man as well as anyone can.

And it is not in his best interest

to be dumped onto some wretched reservation.

Well, at some point,

he is going to have to learn to look after himself.

Kroeber: I've seen to that.

I've hired him.

You've what?

Kroeber: He's on the payroll

as a, uh, museum helper, salary of... $10 a week.

I see.

Well, would you translate this to him, please?

Would you tell him that, if he wishes,

he is free to return to his homeland

on Deer Creek?

Ishi...

(speaking Yahi)

(speaking Yahi)

"I wish to stay where I am now," he says.

(speaking Yahi)

"I will grow old in this place,

and it is here I will die."

Is that an accurate translation, Professor?

Are you accusing me

of embellishing this man's speech?

Not at all.

I've seen your reservations.

I've seen how much the government

cares about these people,

and I won't let you have him, Mr. Whitney.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have much to do.

Good day.

Good-bye, Ishi.

I hope our Dr. Kroeber is worthy

of the trust you place in him.

That's just my point, Tom.

Everything is anthropology.

I'll give you an example:

women's fashion.

It seems whimsical enough, all these fluctuations--

skirt length, waist width, plunging and rising necklines.

But plot it on a graph, and what do you find?

You find that fashion will be at its most haywire

immediately preceding and following

periods of war and revolution.

The graver the crisis,

the greater the décolletage.

Now, who else but an anthropologist

would even think to ponder such a question?

More to the point, who else but Alfred Kroeber?

(laughs)

Careful, dear.

Gravy, Mr. Ishi?

Uh, Ishi doesn't really care for gravy, dear.

Oh.

Waterman: No, I'm afraid that he is

very particular about his liquids, Mrs. Kroeber.

You see, he prefers them transparent.

Won't touch coffee nor root beer.

So he's come into civilization full of opinions.

Kroeber: So it seems.

Well.

He reminds me of how you were among the Arapaho,

trying so hard to make a good impression.

(coughing and wheezing)

Please forgive me, Tom.

Alfred is used to my outbursts, but I think I've taken

you and Mr. Ishi unawares.

Waterman: Oh, no, ma'am, I just would hate

to think that you've tired yourself out on our account.

I wonder if he would tell us how he came to be alone.

I don't think that's a very wise question, darling.

Why not?

I don't think he's as fragile as you suspect, Alfred.

I think he may want to tell us.

Would you ask him?

Kroeber: Yes, of course.

(speaking Yahi)

(speaking Yahi)

Kroeber: He says that

the saldu, white man,

first came to Yahi lands before he was born.

There was always trouble between the Yahi and the saldu.

He remembers when he was very young that the, uh,

the world of the Yahi seemed unchangeable to him.

(speaking Yahi)

Kroeber: As permanent as the sacred mountain--

Waganupa.

*

Every summer, the Yahi lived in its shadow.

And in the cold winter months,

they moved down to the lowlands.

His strongest early memory is of a bear

that his father and his uncle killed.

They skinned it where it fell

and hauled the meat back to the camp,

and they buried the carcass there

and called the spot--

(Ishi speaking Yahi)

Kroeber: The bear's hiding place.

(speaking Yahi)

He remembers the day the saldu killed his father.

*

(man shouting in Yahi)

(gunshots)

(woman screams)

(shouting, screaming, gunshots continues)

(sobbing)

Kroeber: That evening, those that were left burned the bodies and sang

to help their friends find their way

to the trail of the dead.

That's enough for tonight.

But he's not finished.

Let him go on with it.

Kroeber: Henriette, I think I know best in this instance.

That's enough for tonight.

Yahi.

Yes, it is.

Ishi, you know--

Good night, Ishi.

Good night, Chief.

What did he mean, the trail of the dead?

Kroeber: That's their view of the afterlife.

The trail of the dead leads to the land of the ancestors.

When you die, you walk along the trail for a long way

until at last you come to your own lodge

where your family is gathered around the fire pit

waiting for you.

Do you believe in that?

The trail of the dead?

Well, not that-- something.

Heaven, I suppose?

Well, I don't think our view of the afterlife

is any more valid than theirs.

I didn't ask you if it was valid.

I asked you if you believed in it.

I shouldn't have had him over.

Why? He's upset you.

He hasn't upset me.

It's you who can't stand to know the truth about things.

The very point of my profession

is to search for the truth, Henriette.

Yes, yes,

yes, of course, the science of man and his works.

You're afraid of him, I think.

Afraid?

Yes, to truly hear what he told you.

You would rather plot him on a graph

like your skirt lengths.

One thing about facing death,

I'm not afraid to let anything into my heart anymore.

I won't stand for that attitude.

You're not facing death. Yes, I am.

It's just that you won't see it.

And that makes me terribly lonely.

You know what I worry about?

That when I die, you'll hold it against me.

Damn it, you're not going to die; you're going to get well.

Yes, of course, well, that's what we'll believe.

It's as if you took

some sort of pleasure in talking about it.

No, but I do take comfort in facing it.

And it would mean so much to me if I just--

What?

If I just knew that you would stand by me in this,

that you wouldn't hide from me when I need you so desperately.

But you must remember,

it is you who brought Ishi here, and you can't hide from him.

That man's soul is in your hands, Alfred.

In English.

Horse.

Horssse...

Forward with the tongue.

Sss...

Horssse.

Very good.

And this one?

Saldu. (chuckles)

Yes, but what is the saldu doing?

He's sleeping.

(speaking Yahi)

Sleep.

Sleep.

Ah, well, the picture doesn't tell us

what he's dreaming.

(Ishi speaking Yahi)

Yes, many soldiers.

Yes, yes.

Many medical people.

(knocks)

Here we go.

How are they treating you over there at the museum, hmm, Ishi?

(slapping Ishi's belly) Feeding you plenty of good acorn mush, are they?

(chuckles)

You know, you and I have

a great, great deal to talk about.

I have a pronounced interest in archery,

and I understand from Dr. Kroeber that in that field,

you are something of a virtuoso.

Fine, strong skull.

Handsome set of choppers.

No indication of...

tooth decay or pyorrhea.

Heart's as sound as a hide drum.

(sniffs)

It's an interesting odor.

It's faintly musty, like...

like tanned deerskin.

How did Henriette do over the weekend?

Well, she's holding up.

She's holding up.

If you like, I'll come by tomorrow and visit with her.

I'd appreciate that.

I know she would too.

Easily done.

Ishi, we will go

unloose some arrows one day soon, hmm?

Although I'm afraid you will find that among us white devils,

archery is something of a lost art.

You're probably the only human being left on the continent

for whom archery is more than just a hobby.

Perhaps you'll show us

your old haunts one day. Oh, wouldn't that be splendid?

Visiting the wilderness in the company of an expert guide?

What do you say to that, Kroeber?

Well, I'm afraid Ishi, uh, doesn't care to return.

What a pity.

That is a beautiful example

of what the human foot should be.

Look at those toes. They're graceful,

unspoiled-- the longitudinal arch

is so well-preserved it brings a tear to my eye.

If only you and I had feet like that, Kroeber.

Have you ever seen an appendectomy?

There we are, Dr. Ishi--

the vermiform appendix.

An obnoxious little thing.

It's quite useless, but it is potentially quite deadly.

Clamp, please, Agnes.

There we are... thank you.

Oh, I suppose it served some sort of function

for our primitive forbearers in the dim past.

But I can assure you that it is of no further use

to our Mr. Palmfred.

Sleep?

In a sense, yes.

man: Dr. Pope, should I close him up now?

Yes, if you like.

I assure you, Ishi, he is quite oblivious.

Aren't you, Mr. Palmfred?

I say, aren't you, Mr. Palmfred?

(laughs)

Mr. Palmfred?

Oh, don't be alarmed.

This is Ishi the Indian.

He was good enough to look in on your operation,

and he has been particularly vigilant ever since.

I couldn't quite convince him you weren't dead.

You let an Indian operate on me?

Well, it's a different kind of sleep.

How many kinds?

That's a good question.

I don't know.

Let's see if we have this.

(click, whirring)

(Ishi singing in Yahi)

(exclaims in Yahi)

That's you.

(Kroeber on recording) Get closer now. That's me.

Get a little closer. (Ishi resumes singing)

That's you again.

(singing continues)

Sounds good.

*

(weakly) Alfred...

Alf...

Alfred!

I'm here. I'm here. I'm here.

Come on, I'm here. Okay.

Hold me.

Yes, okay, shh.

Don't let me go.

I'll keep you safe.

I don't want to die, Alfred.

(sobs)

I'll keep you safe.

Now, this basket has been part of our museum for nine years.

And just recently, Ishi informed me

that it was made by a member of his own family.

He tells me that its construction

mirrors the course of a human life.

The tight weave at the base

represents the time of childhood,

when all should be simple and secure.

This part stands for a man's middle years,

when he will make his statement,

determine the way in which he'll be remembered.

Finally, his life nearly over,

he will return to the simplicity of his beginnings.

Quite lovely.

Ishi has yet to find any comparable meanings

in our own tableware.

The most exquisite china, I regret to say,

makes no impression upon him at all.

(all chuckling)

Speaking of our friend,

he often drops in on my lectures

just to make sure he doesn't catch me in a lie.

(laughter)

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to introduce you

to Ishi, the last Yahi,

and one of the most admirable men of my acquaintance.

(applause)

(whispering)

Excuse me.

Alfred, I am so damn sorry.

I sent for you the moment I suspected.

What are you doing?

Alfred, what are you doing?

Taking her to a hospital.

Alfred, she's gone.

She's gone.

Let her rest.

Put her down.

Go ahead.

That's right.

Good man.

(bell tolling)

Ishi, you just follow my lead.

You just... do what I do and...

you'll be fine.

(stone cracking)

No.

Not always.

Kroeber: Ah, you're here.

This is interesting.

The Museum of Natural History

wants me to come to New York for a year.

They're looking for someone to put together an exhibit

on the Indians of the Northwest.

I don't see how I can do it, however,

not with all the work that's to be done here.

Professor... are you all right?

Yes, thank you, Mrs. Gustafson.

Now, where's Ishi?

He's supposed to have built me a house.

Well, it's all wrong, isn't it?

I mean...

people are going to see this, Tom.

Is this the best we can do?

Look.

Well, under the circumstances, yes, it is.

Bad wood.

It's the wrong sort of wood,

wrong everything.

We need the materials that he has in Deer Creek.

I want this authentic.

We'll go there.

What?

We'll go to Waganupa.

You and I will map the Yahi territory.

We'll find out once and for all

where the Southern Yana and Maidu left off

and where Ishi's people began.

We'll take Pope with us.

He can shoot off arrows to his heart's content.

In two months, with Ishi with us in the field,

we can do the ethnography, ethnobotany--

We can't; you have a conference in Chicago.

I have a paper--

Trivia, Tom, academic trivia.

Listen...

the Yahi are gone.

They're dead.

But if I can learn enough from Ishi,

I can make them live again.

I think you may want to ask him first.

Ishi.

Will you take us to Waganupa?

So... we can know the Yahi better.

I'll write it all down so people can understand and remember.

*

Pope: For Christ's sakes.

(chanting softly in Yahi) Ishi, what on earth are you doing now?

Why are you--

Waterman, why is he scraping himself?

He's preparing for the hunt, Dr. Pope,

in his way.

Intriguing.

Ishi...

without incurring the wrath of Zeus,

is there an abbreviated version of this ceremony?

Saxton, this is what we're here for, isn't it?

We want him to do it his way.

Let's have a little patience.

Pope: Then of course there's the Mediterranean release

developed by the Greeks,

widely preferred in medieval times,

still preferred to this day by some English archers.

But with that Mongolian release of yours, Ishi,

you must achieve a 40-, maybe 45-pound--

(laughs)

Ooh, hoo, hoo, we got it!

(laughing)

Pope: No, over here.

Ishi, whose arrow is it? Do you know?

(laughs)

Did you hit it or I?

Oh-ho, your arrow or mine, Ishi?

Ah... yours.

Good shot, Ishi.

Good meat,

not raised on anybody's farm, wild, rangy.

(gags)

Hoo... stinking meat.

Waterman, take a photograph of this beast for us, will you?

Have two copies made--

one for my scrapbook and one for Ishi's.

You do have a scrapbook, don't you?

Hmm?

(speaking Yahi)

Pope: Wouldn't it be nice if he could stay,

if we could put him back

the way you'd release a trout into a stream?

He'd have all this.

It's not enough, Saxton.

Not if there's no one to share it.

Pope: * "Oh, Fred, tell them to stop" *

* That was the cry of Maria

* But the more she said "Whoa" *

* They said, "Let it go"

* And the swing went a little bit higher *

Ishi, how much farther is Waganupa?

Ishi: Soon.

Wait, stay, stay there for just a moment, will you?

Stand.

You must understand, my friend,

there is such a thing as being too civilized.

Pope: What would your animal be, Waterman?

Waterman: An eagle.

Pope: Hmm-- sea lion's what I'd be.

(laughs)

Wallowing in my blubber all day,

wagging my whiskers.

Or a trout.

Seems like a safe enough life.

Kroeber: Waganupa.

Yes.

Waganupa.

What is it?

(speaking Yahi)

(repeats)

The bear's hiding place.

Pope: Bloomin' idol made of mud. (clanging pot)

What they call the Great Gawd Budd.

Plucky lot she cared for idols

when I kissed her where she stood.

(clangs, laughs)

On the road to Mandalay,

where the flyin' fishes play,

and the dawn comes up like thunder

out of China, 'cross the Bay.

(faint drumming)

For the temple bells are callin',

and it's there that I would be,

by the old Moulmein Pagoda,

lookin' lazy at the sea.

(drumming, eerie chanting)

Ship me somewhere east of Suez,

where the best is like the worst,

and there aren't no Ten Commandments,

and a man can raise a thirst,

where the temple bells are calling,

and it's there that I would be,

by the old Moulmein Pagoda,

lookin' lazy at the sea.

On the road to Mandalay,

where the old flotilla lay.

Can't you hear their paddles clunkin'

from Rangoon to Mandalay?

On the road to Mandalay,

where the old flotilla lay,

and the dawn comes up like thunder

out of China, 'cross the Bay!

(animal cries)

Looks like we raised up some ghosts.

(bird screeches in distance)

Ishi.

What is it?

Come.

That's your village.

Remarkable.

Look at this.

Look at this.

Remarkably intact.

No!

Ishi house.

Oh.

(speaking Yahi)

*

(dogs barking)

Saldu!

(speaking urgently in Yahi)

(dogs barking)

(gunshots)

(grunts)

(woman panting and gasping)

(speaks Yahi)

(sobs)

*

Kroeber: Ishi?

Uh, yes. Mm.

I don't know-- I think so.

What she sing?

Sing it.

(sighs) I, uh...

I can't.

Sing it.

Ishi, I can't.

Ishi last... Yahi.

(sobbing)

(singing mournful song in Yahi)

(sobs, continues singing)

(sobbing, voice falters)

Well, I hate for it to be over.

I'm thinking of going to New York for a year

and work for the Museum of Natural History.

New York?

What about your work here in San Francisco

with, uh, with Ishi, for instance?

Well, I suppose Waterman can keep the ball rolling

while I'm gone.

(chuckles)

I suppose he could.

And then I suppose I could too.

But you're the chief.

You're the one he's counting on.

Counting on for what?

I think I'm... tired of this profession, Saxton.

Well, then you must find a new one.

Door is always open for a man of genius.

(train bell clanging)

Don't-- I'll pick it up.

Go home, Professor.

Go home and get some rest.

(knock at door)

Mr. Ishi.

I'm Miss Edna Block.

Your friends thought we might have something in common.

I like your friends.

They're very generous.

They told me you're very clean.

This is perfectly in order, Mr. Ishi.

People do this all the time.

You must have heard of it.

All perfectly in order.

(Ishi singing in Yahi)

Morning, Ishi.

Morning, Chief.

Sleep well?

No sleep.

No sleep at all?

No.

Is something the matter?

Nothing matter.

Well, good job, you're cleaning them all.

Clean them all, Chief.

(resumes singing)

(chuckles)

(door opens)

Ah, Kroeber, have you seen this?

This is Ishi's. Beautiful.

I suspect Tom of something serious.

Thought I'd check with you before I spoke with him.

How serious?

I can't conceive of Waterman committing a hanging offense.

Both the groundskeeper

and Mrs. Gustafson, who happened to arrive

especially early this morning,

saw a woman coming out of the museum.

And I think I know what she was doing there.

Yes, she's a prostitute.

I engaged her for Ishi.

Don't blame Tom, he didn't know anything about it.

Damn it, Saxton. What were you thinking of?

Well, I was thinking of doing a favor for my friend.

I will not have that man exploited.

Exploited?

What on earth gives you the right

to judge me in that manner?

And what the hell business is it of yours

what I elect to do for poor old Ishi?

She might very well have had a disease.

Well, she didn't.

I examined her. He's vulnerable, Saxton,

here in our world, so far away

from everything he loves and understands.

All the more reason to help make him feel at home,

wouldn't you think?

Kroeber...

Ishi is a grown man.

What other chance do you think he's going to get?

Do you really suppose he's going to meet

an attractive widow...

(chuckling) at a tea...

and dazzle her with his conversation?

You've dishonored him.

Dishonored him. I've not dishonored--

deflowered him, perhaps.

That's not funny.

Kroeber, I don't understand you.

For whom are you keeping Ishi pure?

Of what possible benefit is it to humanity

that poor old Ishi never gets a chance

to know what it's like to be with a woman?

He's just a man, Alfred.

A poor chump like you and me.

Let him live his life.

I won't have this kind of thing happening again.

Don't order me about in my own office.

If you want to be a policeman,

do it somewhere else.

Ishi?

Chief.

Come, sit.

Ishi, I know that, uh, a woman has visited you.

It is better that this does not take place again.

Why?

It is not wise.

Saldu not do this thing?

Chief not do this thing?

I'll say it again, Ishi.

It is not wise.

Ishi?

Back to work.

Okay work, Chief?

You must trust me.

Do you trust me?

Ishi...

(boys shouting)

No! No!

No, Ishi's house!

Saxton. Alfred.

Have you seen Ishi?

As a matter of fact I have, yes.

I have been instructing him as usual

in all manner of perversions.

I don't wish to have our argument again.

He's been wandering about.

He was with Mrs. Channing,

the woman who just had her spleen out.

He was singing one of those atrocious Yahi songs to her.

She likes hearing him drone on and on.

It seems to comfort her.

Where is he likely to be now?

Well, he could be anywhere, I suppose.

He likes to explore, you know that.

Why, is anything wrong?

You gentlemen seen Ishi?

Uh, we just passed him down the hall.

Thank you.

Ishi. Come on in.

Don't worry, they won't bite. (chuckles)

Ishi.

Not to all, to some.

It is not for you to say.

What you believe is not what we believe.

Chief believe nothing.

You tell them stop.

I will not.

How dare you speak to me about my wife?

(clock chiming, Kroeber sighs)

Well, he can't be all that lost.

He knows how to ride the trolley.

I'm sorry, what did you say?

I said he knows how to ride the trolley.

Yes, that's true.

(coughing)

Hey, digger.

You want a job?

Job?

Got job. You've got a job?

And I bet it's a picnic of a job too.

Well, why don't you go back to it then

and get the hell off of my property?

(Ishi coughing)

Waterman, he's here!

(coughing)

Ishi.

Let's get him to his room.

Here you go.

(coughing)

Kuwi cut Ishi?

No, no surgery.

I'm sure just a little rest.

Afraid kuwi place.

What place is that?

Place where kuwi cut saldu,

place we sleep not sleep.

You're angry with me.

Why are you angry with me?

What have I done to you?

Book.

This?

You put Ishi here.

Yes.

Not here.

Well, there are no bacilli in the sputum.

It appears to be a simple upper respiratory infection.

You can go back to the museum whenever you like, old friend.

Saxton.

Hmm? I'd like a word with you.

Yes, of course.

I've made up my mind about New York.

This might not be the best time to leave.

I had such an opportunity, Saxton--

so much to learn from him, so much to teach him,

but I ruined it.

I think he'll be better off without me.

You'll keep an eye on him, won't you?

Of course.

(door opens)

Kroeber: I want you to close down the Pacific Islands exhibit.

Waterman: What about the new building?

Well, apparently, we won't know anything until next fall.

I should be back by then.

Waterman: He wanted to be sure

he had a chance to say good-bye.

Big trip now, Chief?

Yes, big trip.

It's better that I go.

I'll see you again.

Chief.

Yes, Ishi?

Send postcard.

Good-bye.

*

Ah, Mr. And Mrs. Whatley,

may I present our guest of honor, Dr. Alfred Kroeber?

Mr. And Mrs. Whatley are extremely good friends

of the museum.

And delighted to have you, Professor.

I'm delighted to be here.

We know of your work, of course,

particularly in regards to that Indian.

Uh, what's his name? Ishi.

Ah, a fascinating case.

You'll write a book, I assume.

I think not, Mr. Whatley.

Oh, I'd like to urge you to do so, sir.

Thank you, but my mind's made up.

Well, I have a number of close friends

in the publishing business who would be more than happy--

Mr. Whatley, I do not intend to write a book about Ishi.

But I... thank you for your interest.

Certainly.

Excuse me.

(coughing)

(knock at door)

Hello?

Mrs. Gustafson: Good morning, Ishi.

Mail's come.

Professor Kroeber sent you this.

Looks good.

And this.

(exclaims in Yahi)

Here, let me show you.

I never met a man who didn't love a fine knife.

Waterman: Mrs. Gustafson just got back

from visiting her mother in Santa Monica.

The old lady's 96 years old, she says,

and remembers when California was part of Spain.

In her absence all was quiet,

and Ishi and I had a fine time running the museum.

He took me out to dinner yesterday.

He has quite a bankroll by now.

He is still plagued with a series of colds.

Pope says the high temperatures he has are due to reinfections.

And we all share your concerns about tuberculosis.

Pope did another sputum test, and still no bugs.

Of course, that's no guarantee,

but Pope says not to worry;

the kuwi has his eye on Ishi.

I was just double-checking the measurements.

We should have three feet of clearance once it's standing.

The carving is beautiful, isn't it, sir?

Whoever made this is more than just a wood carver.

(Ishi coughing in distance)

(louder coughing)

Good Lord.

(coughing and gasping)

Please, we need some help here!

Pipe waters taste bad.

Yes, it does.

Can I get you anything else?

Sweet water.

Spring water?

Oh, Ishi.

I'll get you spring water.

Just like water from Waganupa.

(footsteps approaching)

Well, the bacilli have shown up.

But by now, the symptoms are plain enough without them.

What are you saying?

Galloping consumption, I'm afraid.

He's a goner, Tom.

Waterman: Pope has thought it best not to keep Ishi in the hospital.

There's not much they can do for him there

that we can't do at the museum.

His fever persists, I'm afraid.

We've had the devil of a time getting food down him,

but he wants to cooperate.

And it breaks your heart to see him eat.

You know he's doing it more for our sake than his own.

How long he'll last, no one can say.

Pope says he's developed signs of pyloric obstruction

and that a single pulmonary hemorrhage

could finish him off.

I don't like the look of it.

Why?

If we wish to depict the Modoc accurately,

we should present them with flattened heads.

Flattened?

Yes, the back of their skulls are compressed at birth,

so the back of the head has more altitude.

Well, I don't see how we can flatten a dummy's head.

Well, it's inauthentic!

At least get rid of the grinding stone.

A metate would be more representative.

But I don't believe we have a metate, sir.

Nonsense, you have a vast museum here.

If you can't find one, I'll do it myself!

Is this it?

Yes, sir.

Then there should be one here somewhere.

Kroeber: What's this?

Um, Paiute, Blackfoot,

Comanche--

Oh, my God.

Seminole,

Miwok.

I have to go.

San Francisco?

But the exhibit is opening this week.

What will I tell everyone?

Tell them... I've been called to the bedside of an old friend.

I'll be away for some time, Miss Berney.

Is there some emergency?

Uh, afraid so.

Professor Kroeber, this just came for you.

Oh, God, I must stop it.

Just say "No autopsy.

"Repeat: no autopsy.

Confirm immediately, Kroeber."

That's K-r-o-e-b-e-r.

That all?

No, add this:

"Science can go to hell."

I'll wait for a response.

Sir?

Pope: Instructions for autopsy arrived too late.

Procedure performed with great reverence

in spirit of scientific inquiry.

Sorry,

Pope.

*

(train whistle blowing)

That's very nice, thank you.

Mrs. Gustafson: Professor.

We didn't expect you back so soon.

I'd like to go to his room, see his room.

His belongings are safe.

I've had them stored.

We had him cremated.

Beforehand, we put some things in his coffin--

some fire sticks,

some dried venison, tobacco,

and his bow, of course,

and a quiver of arrows.

Oh, he left money behind, you know--

nearly $400.

I used about half of it to pay for the cremation.

And I didn't think you'd mind.

I donated the other half to the hospital

for teaching purposes.

Make it pay

for some kuwi's education.

Pope took his death mask.

(singing Ishi's mournful song in Yahi)

(singing louder)

(singing louder)

(voice falters)

(Kroeber continues singing)

(Kroeber finishes singing)

(wind whistling)

I heard your singing.

Yes, so you did.

Are you tired?

No.

I feel strong.

I could travel forever.

Your people are waiting for you.

Yes.

Go to them, Ishi.

*

*