All language subtitles for The.Last.Of.His.Tribe.1992.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[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.

*

*