All language subtitles for Night Gallery S02E22 EN INGLES

SERLING: Tonight's stars:

Laurence Harvey,

William Windom,

Joanna Pettet,

Ed Nelson,

and John Williams.

Good evening.

I'm your little old curator

in this museum which
we call the Night Gallery.

There are horror
stories and horror stories.

Elements of terror
that take myriad forms.

But this item has
a built-in terror

which can refrigerate even the
most dispassionate amongst us.

It has to do with a little
beastie know as an earwig.

A small bug that crawls
into the human ear,

and while inside, it doesn't
whisper sweet nothings.

It performs quite
another function.

Offered to you now
on Night Gallery,

a brand new nightmare
which we call The Caterpillar.

Does it never stop raining?

Sometime in March.

You'll get used to it, old chap.

Really, after a
while you ignore it.

I can assure you, I
won't get used to it,

and I won't ignore it.

A few more days of this, and
I'll go stark, staring, raving mad

and you can ship me back to England
trussed up like an old guinea hen.

Well, the unfortunate thing is, lad,
you really don't have much choice.

I don't know how you
can stand it. I really don't.

And I don't know how poor
Mrs. Warwick stands it either.

Poor Mrs. Warwick stands
it very well, thank you.

I count myself a
lucky man, Macy.

Not only is Rhona
young and beautiful,

but very patient with an
old colonial like myself.

You can have it. Both of you.

Borneo, the China and Java Seas
and the whole ruddy Malay archipelago.

Take it all with my blessings!

Well, the first few
weeks are the hardest.

I think I'll go out and
check the north sheds.

See if they plugged
up that leak.

Wet tobacco leaves are not
easily pushed in the market.

Put your coat on,
John. Bundle up.

My darling, I'm not 16, I'm 66.

I'll be back in
quarter of an hour.

You are a moody one, Mr. Macy.

You go from outrage to silence
as if it were a quick tram ride.

This place is
conducive to moods.

And the scratchings of that miserable
gramophone don't help either of them.

How can you stand it?

What? The music?

You make it sound
rather like medicine.

I don't stand it, I enjoy it.

I take comfort from it.

How incredibly easy
you are to please.

And that means what?

That means that you're
under 28 years of age,

you're an absolute knockout

and you waste away
here in a Borneo jungle,

5,000 miles from
everything you know,

with a husband who's
old enough to be your...

No more of that, please.

We judge things very
differently, Mr. Macy.

Please call me Stephen.

I'll call you Mr. Macy.

And if ever again you
mention my husband or me,

or the discrepancy in our ages

I shall call you
something else, Mr. Macy.

As you pass through the
door with your suitcase,

you'll hear what it is.

I beg your forgiveness.

You have my
forgiveness, Mr. Macy.

But I do suggest you
take each day as it comes.

Stop counting time.

In a year, suddenly,
it'll all be over.

And then you can
return to England

and the rains of Borneo will
be but a small, insignificant,

historical footnote
to your entire life.

Is that the way you do it?

Hardly.

John and I shall remain
here for all our days.

Our life is here.

Well, thank heaven, mine isn't.

People like us
don't belong here.

We become like
jungle vegetation.

We mildew and
rot and grow soggy.

Our brains and
our insides are...

I would not force a
wife of mine to stay.

If you had a wife who
loved you, Mr. Macy

force wouldn't enter into it.

Marriage is love,
not capitulation.

I'm here by choice.

And by love.

Now, if you'll excuse me,
I have to prepare dinner.

Mrs. Warwick,

I meant nothing personal.

I signed a contract for a
year and I shall honor it.

If I were to lose your
friendship, Mrs. Warwick,

that would destroy the only
pleasure I have in this place.

We are friends, aren't we?

Yes, of course we are, Mr. Macy.

Well now, didn't
mean to barge in.

Really I didn't.

But I've got a load of kindling
outside in the cart, Mrs. Warwick.

What with the wet
weather and all,

I thought you and Mr. Warwick
might be needing some.

We've got quite enough
kindling, thank you, Mr. Robinson.

Oh, you don't know what your needs
are going to be a few months from now.

Then ask my husband.

And, Mr. Robinson, we don't
observe many of the social graces here

but knocking before entering a
room is still considered de rigueur.

Oh, I don't doubt
that, Mrs. Warwick.

I don't doubt that at all.

I don't believe we've met.

Tommy Robinson's the
name and kindling's the trade.

Odd jobs, personal service,

almost anything in the
way of aid to me fellow man.

I'll keep that in
mind, Mr. Robinson,

as one of your fellow men.

You're that new bloke who
just arrived a week ago, right?

Saw your baggage
down on the docks, I did.

How you finding it?

Wet, buggy, humid and hot.

Don't doubt it.

Don't doubt it at all,
young gentleman.

I've been here 20 years, meself.

Twenty years?

Yeah, I had me a choice.

It was either a London
jail or a Borneo jungle.

Of course, that's
no choice at all.

What about you?

What are you trying
to escape from?

From dullness and
convention, I thought.

God, how wrong I was.

Well then,

you have to come down
to the village sometime

and have a snifter or
two with me and a chat.

There's not too many Europeans
in these parts, you know.

Sometimes it's good for
a bloke to be with his own.

It's a pity, you know,

I can't offer you
something of your own.

Say like that, what
just left the room.

Yes, that is a pity.

There are ways and
means and methods.

I'm afraid that eludes me.

Then we'll talk about
it again, Mr. Macy. Yes.

We'll talk about it
again, young gentleman.

What are you doing here?

I was just passing
by, Mr. Warwick.

I had some kindling to sell.

Well, sell it somewhere else.

Stay away from here,
I told you that before.

On your own way, Robinson.

Yes, sir.

Well, I see you've met
our village entrepreneur.

Robinson?

Yes, the only known rodent in
captivity with a Christian name.

What does he do around here,
besides peddling kindling wood?

Scurries back and forth,
selling contraband to the sailors.

Occasionally panders.
Frequently steals.

And when he's out of whisky, he
turns up here with a cartload of kindling.

Stay away from him, Macy. He'll
do you absolutely no good at all.

Hello, darling. Darling.

Dinner in half an hour, darling.

Good, I'm famished.

What about you,
Macy? An appetite?

Slowly growing.

Excellent! I know. Let's put
some candles on the table tonight,

make it a bit festive.

I'll go and wash up.

Mr. Macy,

I think, perhaps, I
do you an injustice.

Perhaps you do.

Then I'd like to offer
my apologies in advance.

But I'm not a child.

I do know what
loneliness can do to a man.

Loneliness and...

Abstinence.

Please, go on.

I have a suggestion.

A friendly suggestion.

Yes?

Take a cold bath, Mr. Macy.

Over here, Mr. Macy.

Over here, young gentleman.

Now then, what
can I offer you, sir?

Nothing, thank you.

If not a whisky, then what?

What had you in
mind, Mr. Robinson?

What have I in mind?

I rather thought
you had something.

You did send this, didn't you?

"Should like to talk to you at your
earliest convenience. Stephen Macy."

I rather thought that you had
something definite in mind to discuss.

I don't have anything
specific. It's...

It's just that I'm so bloody
bored over there that I...

You sought out a bit of
companionship this evening.

Understandable, young gentleman.

Understandable.

A man shouldn't be
by himself all the time.

That's not healthy.
It's not wholesome.

It isn't just being
by myself, it's...

It's being close to her.

Close enough to touch.

Close enough to fondle.

And a beautiful
thing she is, too.

And married to that old man.

It's criminal, is what it is.

And night after night

we just sit

and talk about the tobacco crop

and the amount of rainfall

and the payroll.

And as the hours go by...

As the hours go by, I
find it very difficult to...

I quite understand,
young gentleman.

I quite understand.

Now then, what's to do?

I haven't an earthly...

I think you have,
young gentleman.

I think you have
a very good idea.

You bloody fool!

I'm not soliciting
an assassination.

Assassination?

Oh, come new, young
gentleman! Assassination?

I shudder at the very word.

The thought of a killing
palpitates me, is what it does.

It sends shivers up
and down my body.

Oh, no, Mr. Macy. No.

Nothing as bloody
and violent as all of that.

What I had in mind was...

Well, it was more
of an act of destiny.

Let me tell you
something about Borneo.

We have here a kind of earwig.

A what?

An earwig. A
kind of caterpillar.

A thing almost as
fine as a spider's web.

It lives on wax.

Feeds on the innards of flowers.

And it has a decided
liking for the human ear.

The natives hereabout, they
have a distinct terror of it, they do.

You see, it moves and it rests
so lightly on a human being

that one is practically
unconscious of it.

Now, if you were to place one
of these earwigs in a man's hair,

just above his ear,

well, once in the ear,

it's a thousand-to-one chance of it
ever coming out the same way again.

You see, Mr. Macy,

it can't turn round.

Backing out is impossible.

So it continues
to feed as it goes.

And it crawls right
inside of the head.

The result that...

Dear God, no.

Think of it,
Mr. Macy. Think of it.

Ultimately, it
reaches the brain.

With the result that...

It's the end of it.

The complete end of it.

But while it's happening...

Oh, while it's happening,

well, it's a living
torment, is what it is.

Torture.

But the net result, Mr. Macy.

There's the beauty of it.

The net result is what
it is we're looking for.

I want no part of it.

Mr. Macy!

Don't you want to know how we'd get
the little earwig into Mr. Warwick's ear?

How?

Well, I have some
friends, I have.

Stealthy chaps, you might say.

They walks on
cat's feet, they do.

I could send one of them
over there in the dead of night.

And I could tell him
what was needed.

And in the morning...

Well, young gentleman,

in the morning
Mr. Warwick would wake up

with a little visitor
inside his head.

But the pain?

Oh, it's horrible, horrible!
There's no doubt about it.

For how long?

Some say two weeks, sometimes.

Sometimes three.

The longest three weeks
a man could ever spend.

And the cost?

Oh, well, I'm not a man
to haggle, Mr. Macy.

It's against my nature, it is.

The cost!

Hundred pounds.

Done. When?

This very night, if
that's your pleasure.

None of this is my pleasure.

Call it call it my...

Call it call it my
ultimate desperation.

Then that's what
we will call it,

if it's just a
question of words.

And as to what
you're paying for,

well, we won't call
that assassination.

No, now what we'll call it is

prodding fate.

Yes, that's what we'll
call it, prodding fate.

Call it what you
damn well please.

When this is over,

I never want to see you
again, you understand?

Mr. Macy.

You know, with your fine airs

and your London
drawing room manner,

and your Mayfair proper talk,

down deep inside, you're a
treacherous, murderous animal,

just like all the rest of us.

The only difference is

that you disdain a bit
of blood on your hands.

You like to keep a
clean shop, you do.

So, as to our seeing
each another again...

Darling, tea?

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

Sit down, old chap.

How did you sleep?

Fine, thank you. And you?

Oh, first rate.

Spot of breakfast?

Oh, just some tea please.

You know, it may
be my imagination,

but I'd say the rain let
up a bit during the night.

Oh, you'd be the
better judge of that.

It all sounds the same to me.

Oh, thank you.

What's the matter, Mr. Macy?

Your ear bleeding? Must
be some sort of bug bite.

It's in my ear.

The damn thing is in my ear!

What's in your ear?

Dear God, not an earwig.

It's not possible.

We'd better get you to bed
immediately. Come on, lad. To bed.

They put it in my ear!

Oh, my dear God,
they put it in my ear!

What in heaven's name
is he talking about?

I'm afraid to guess.

Doc?

Doc?

What do you want, Robinson?

I thought Mr. Warwick told
you to stay off his property.

I heard about their misfortune.

The young gentleman
with the earwig.

Well, you can't help him.

No one can.

Bollocks! It's been
two weeks now.

Yes. Two weeks of hell.

Oh, I don't doubt it.

Don't doubt it at all.

The thought of that thing
crawling into your brain...

I don't require your
analysis, Mr. Robinson.

I'm quite aware of what's
happening to that poor soul.

Lying there with his hands bound

to keep him from
tearing his own face apart.

But I think it's
almost over now.

Might he have a visitor?

You? What for? The
man is half insane now.

As you, or I, or anyone else would be
with that monstrous thing in his head.

Mr. Macy! Mr. Macy!

I came to offer
up apologies, sir.

Can you hear me?

Can you understand?

The native bloke which I
sent over here that night

obviously got into
the wrong room.

I want

to die.

Oh, yes.

Well, you'll die all
right, young gentleman.

Have no fear of that.

You will die.

It's just that I regret
what happened.

The mistake, I mean.

I distinctly told that native
bloke which room it was.

But there is this language
difficulty, you know.

Mistakes will happen, you know.

Nobody's fault, really.

But I'm truly sorry for what
happened, if that does any good.

Truly sorry.

Well, I've got to be off now.

But I did want to
pay my respects.

And you might comfort
yourself, young gentleman.

It won't last too much
longer. Really it won't.

Not much longer at all.

Bye-bye.

I still don't
understand, Doctor.

It's quite simple, really.

The earwig traveled
through the ear

and through the brain and...

Oh, forgive me, Mrs. Warwick.

Continue, please.

It came out the other ear.

And the damage?

To the brain, we
can only conjecture.

Perhaps little. We don't know.

There's no need to
stop on my account.

Please continue.

Do you realize, Macy,

that you have been the
recipient of a miracle?

And an undeserved one, at that.

In all my experience,
I know of no man

who has survived
what you have survived.

Or suffered the
way I've suffered.

As you would have had
this gentleman suffer.

Mr. Macy, did you
believe that once a widow,

I'd turn to you?

And for that, you were
willing to commit murder?

Or two, or three.

If you're expecting
contrition, Mrs. Warwick,

you may cease your expectations.

What I did,

I did for love.

Dear God. Love?

Have you any remote idea
as to the meaning of the word?

Whether I do or don't,

I've spent two weeks in hell,
and paid the price, haven't I?

Well...

What happens now?

Am I to be placed under arrest?

Not at all, Macy.
You won't be arrested.

Really?

Of course.

The scandal. Quite.

Good show.

Then I presume I
am free to leave?

Any time.

There's a boat
tomorrow afternoon.

I'll be on it.

For your professional
interest, Doctor,

since I am the first
person who has survived,

I'll tell you what it's like.

It's an agonizing, driving,

itching pain.

Anything would
have been preferable.

To be flayed alive.

To be burned at the stake.

To be put on a rack.

To be hanged, even,

would've be an act of mercy.

I've told you, Macy,
you're free to go.

You've told me,

but there's obviously
something you haven't told me.

When I step off
the boat in England,

that's when you mean
to have me arrested.

Damn it all!

Somebody speak!

Somebody say something!

No, Mr. Macy, we have no
intention of having you arrested,

either here nor in England.

We will not bring you to trial.

We will not see you flayed alive
or burned at the stake or hanged.

Although any one of these
might be an act of mercy.

Considering...

Considering what?

Sit down, Macy.

There's no need.

I think there is. Sit down.

I took a look at the
earwig that came out.

I killed it, as a
matter of fact.

I squeezed it.

And?

Rhona, I think you better leave.

It was a female, that earwig.

A female.

And a female

lays eggs.

Our next painting
on Night Gallery

tells the story of an illusion.

An invisible specter, which
guides and motivates and drives.

And though you'll never
see her, this childish wraith,

you'll know she's there.

And we venture to suggest that
you'll be chilled by the knowledge.

Our painting is
called Little Girl Lost.

When did this happen?

Six months ago.

How?

A hit and run driver.

The police never
did find out who.

And the mother?

Died in childbirth.

What's the little girl's name?

Ginny.

What's your reaction?

Why me?

You cleared security.

And I loathe to mention it,
but our Professor Putman

has a natural sympathy
for the afflicted.

It's important that he like you.

He certainly doesn't
like any of us here.

I can't do anything if you
don't tell me why I'm doing it.

It wouldn't be an
exaggeration to say

that the future of this country
depends on the Professor.

He was working on something
when his little girl was killed.

It destroyed him.

He only began working again
after he established his delusion.

Now he refuses to work here

and we can't keep him here
except as, well, as you saw him.

Now, we want his genius,

and in order to get it, we
have to play the game his way.

Then let him work when
he wants, where he wants.

Exactly, and he
needs protection.

But you're not
only his bodyguard,

you're his friend.

Pass over his findings to us.

And above all keep him happy.

Well, does he give any reason
for wanting to leave here?

He says it's not the right
place to bring up a young girl.

Ginny.

Very pretty.

This is taken on
her eighth birthday?

Well, Ginny was...
Ginny is very pretty.

Good morning, Mr. Burke.

Good morning, Professor.

Well, good morning, Ginny.
Did you have a good breakfast?

I'm afraid not. The
weather, I think.

But a trip to the seaside
will be the antidote for that.

Some sunshine will
do her a world of good.

She is a bit pale.

But what about your work?

Oh, that won't interfere.

You see, we will each
have our own rooms.

Well, my darling, when
would you like to leave?

Right away?

Well, that will be
fine with me. I'll pack.

And, Ginny, I won't forget
your favorite red dress.

Now, I might
have forgotten that.

Come in.

Mr. Burke.

Ginny tells me you two
had a wonderful time today.

Yes, she really has some
appetite for cotton candy.

You found out about that, huh?

And her swimming!

You didn't let her go
out too far, did you?

Oh, no. No, sir.

And I didn't trust her
to the lifeguards either.

You kept her in
sight the whole time?

Absolutely, sir.

Good, Burke.

Incompetence, you
know, that's another thing.

Oh, it's easy to deal
with deliberate evil,

but think of what
the incompetence...

And, sir, if you remember she really
doesn't need anyone to watch over her.

That's right. Half fish.

I'd say.

Here, sir, let me do that.

You? Yes.

Ginny, you don't mind if
I brush your hair, do you?

No, I won't hurt you.

As a matter of fact, I brush
my own hair every day.

And look, if I catch a snag,

then I promise I'll tell
you a bedtime story, huh?

Oh, honey, I'm sorry.

Well, I promised you if I hit a
snag I'd tell you a bedtime story.

Which one?

Well, she told me today that
her favorite was The Three Bears.

You're right, she
adores that one.

There you are.
Now, we're all done.

Kiss your daddy good night,

and then I'll take you
and tuck you in bed, huh?

Oh, come on now.

There we go.

Once upon a time, there
were these three bears.

The papa bear, mama
bear, and the little baby bear.

And they lived in the forest,

in a pretty little cottage.

One day, the three bears

went out to look for food.

And while they were gone

a little girl came
to the forest,

and she saw the cottage,

and she thought it was pretty.

And she went inside

and...

Good, he's working.

Yeah, he's working,

but I don't like it.

Neither do I.

I'm a doctor of the
mind, my job is to heal.

What would you think of a doctor

who deliberately
encouraged cancer in a man

because it increased his IQ?

Well, I think that would depend
on what he does with that IQ?

Well, I can't tell you
what he's working on.

I will say I feel he'd be
much better off dead.

A stranger, some incident,
any number of a thousand things

could make our professor realize
that he's been living in a dream.

If you can't live with
something, you escape it.

He's escaping by forgetting, and
the trouble is he can't forget enough.

So, he keeps on trying.

Dementia praecox
isn't very nice.

Yeah, I know, but
with proper therapy...

Oh, proper therapy, man.

Damn it, they won't
allow us time for that!

So, they give him his dream

until he's done his
dirty work, and then...

And then what? Forget
him? Let him go mad?

Why not?

What better way to
safeguard the knowledge,

by allowing his mind to
lapse into total insanity?

Well, Ginny, I imagine that after
two weeks of cotton candy and sweets,

I wouldn't be hungry either.

She does looks
wonderful, though.

Nothing like sea air.

I'm sorry, sir,
this seat's taken.

Oh, it is, huh? Then
where's the plate?

Look, I said...

Now, listen you, there's not another
chair in the place, and I'm hungry!

There is a larger
table just over here.

Please.

I'm sorry, sir.

Oh, that's all right.

Tom, the world is
full of bad people.

Oh, that guy? Forget him.

How's the work?

Oh, it's finished. You can
have the results tonight.

That's what you
wanted, isn't it?

The final set of equations
so they can begin testing.

Look...

Tests on controlled fission
of non-radioactive materials.

Bigger and better bombs
at a fraction of the cost!

Oh, the demented fools!

What don't we get
out of here, huh?

Why don't we take Ginny for a
walk? Why don't we buy her dolls?

Such eagerness.

A General himself
fetching the papers.

Enjoying the ride, honey?

Well, good. Oh, we'll
stop for lunch soon.

Murdering fools.

Sir, that kind of talk, I'm
afraid, is scaring Ginny.

Sir! Sir! Ginny!

You could've killed both of us.

I know.

I'm sorry.

Okay, I'll drive.

Yes, you drive.

Wherever.

And what then?

I took the wheel.

Well, anything else? Did you
do something, say anything?

I said...

He could've killed
us both and he...

Both of you!

Oh, dear God!

You stopped him just in
time from committing suicide.

But why should he
want to kill himself?

I don't know.

The papers have arrived by now.

And they're hard
at work on the tests.

I want to see the Professor.

Oh, Ginny. Ginny.

We'll all be with you soon.

Me and Mommy, Tom.

You like Tom, don't you?

The world is rotten, darling.

Bad men, all bad.

Better dead.

All the same, all together.

No matter. He can't hear us now.

What do you mean, Doctor?

You can't fool the subconscious.

He knows she's dead!

I didn't mean to...

It's not your fault, Burke.

It's us. All of us.

Can a man remain a genius when
his mind is clouded by delusion?

No!

But by your pretending
that Ginny was still alive,

you took over his delusion.

He could be objective
and finish his work.

But he was talking as if
he was going to see her.

Yes, and the only
way to do that is to die.

And he can't commit
conscious suicide.

You see, that's the conflict.

The conflict that
leads to insanity

and the desperate need to
escape from opposing problems.

And that is the man

who worked out the
means to create fission

with non-radioactive materials!

What are you saying, Doctor?

Do I have to explain?

But, look, it's madness to
give them the wrong formula.

Madness, or perhaps
the perfect solution?

Is it too late?

I'm afraid it is!

When our world
goes up in flames,

he'll be revenged on
the murder of his little girl.

And, at the same time,

he'll be with her in
the only way he can.