All language subtitles for Night Gallery S02E17 The Miracle at Camafeo.DVDRip.NonHI.en.UNVSL

SERLING: Tonight's stars:

Harry Guardino,

Richard Kiley,

Julie Adams,

Ray Danton,

and Jill Ireland.

Good evening.

In another world inhabited
by ghouls, goblins, gremlins

and the generally grotesque,

it's occasionally possible to put this
sundry and myriad crew on canvas.

And this we do in this
arcade of the outrageous.

Painting number one.

A small item of hope
and faith and despair.

An excursion into the eerie,

in which we touch base with
that fraternity of the dispossessed

who seek out something
miraculous in the way of cures

and in the way of hope.

Our painting is called
The Miracle At Camafeo.

And it's offering number
one in this, the Night Gallery.

Who are they?

The lame, the sick, the
blind, and the doomed.

Where do they all come from?

From everywhere.

They come by airplane,
by car, by crutch.

And they all have
two things in common.

Yeah. Suffering would be one.

Mmm-hmm. Faith
would be the other.

They go to the shrine,
and they pray for a miracle.

But you, Mr. Rogan,

you have youth and health.

And this is not Acapulco.
What brings you to Camafeo?

Maybe I'm looking for a miracle.

Hi.

You mind if I join you?

Have I a choice?

Well, you can scream,

tell me that you don't
want to be bothered,

that you're not that
kind of a girl or...

Or what? Give
me the bottom line.

Well, the bottom line is
that you ask me to join you

and let me buy you a drink.

My name is Rogan.

My name is Melcor. Mrs. Melcor.

And I'll try a margarita.

Good.

Amigo, margarita for the lady.

It's haunting, isn't it?

Very.

Candlelight procession.

It's kind of a story
book, don't you think?

I'm not much of a reader.

No?

Well, I kind of
fancied myself a writer.

I make up stories.

Would you like to hear one?

Do I have choices
on that one, too?

No. As a matter
of fact you don't.

This story begins in Chicago.

Yeah.

A guy about 30, 35 years old.

Well, we'll call him Melcor.

Joe Melcor.

Why don't you drink
your drink, Mrs. Melcor?

Now, about this hypothetical
character that we'll call Joe Melcor.

About a year ago on
a rainy day in Chicago

he enters an intersection

and a bus skids and
sideswipes him, so he says.

And he's immediately
rushed to the hospital.

X-rayed from his
arches to his eyebrows,

and they can't find anything wrong
with him, everything is in place.

Outside, of a few bruises,

he's okay.

But

now this Joe Melcor,

he's a thinker.

Yeah, he's a
schemer, a conniver.

I don't have to listen to this.

Well, now you don't have
to listen to it, Mrs. Melcor,

but it would be
courteous if you did.

I'm almost at the end.

Mr. Melcor

decides while he's
lying in his hospital bed,

or maybe even 24 hours
before he had the accident,

that there are all sorts
of ways to make a buck,

and only one good way
to make 500,000 of them.

So he tells his doctor

and the nurses and the
press that he can't move.

He's paralyzed.

So he sues the transit company.

They fight him on
it, it goes to court.

Now here's the heart-rending
part of the story, Mrs. Melcor.

Every morning he's carried
into court on a stretcher

flat on his back,
crippled for life.

Poor Joe Melcor.

So there's no contest.

Joe Melcor, lying
flat on his back

versus that big,
heartless corporation

and its insurance company.

Poor Joe Melcor.

That crippled, beautiful David

against two big, ugly Goliaths.

He deserved the half million.

No, he deserves
an Academy Award,

that's what he deserves.

For best performance given by

a perfectly healthy con
man in a three-day trial.

Either that or a swift
kick in the keester

to get him back up on
his two perfectly good feet,

and a few laps around a
prison yard to keep him healthy

while he's serving
time for fraud.

You got no right to
talk about Joe that way.

Lady, I have
$500,000 worth of right.

You see, I'm an investigator.

I work for one
of those Goliaths.

I investigate claims for them.

So that's why you
followed us down here.

That's why you've
been hounding us.

Oh, I don't figure that I'm
hounding your husband, Mrs. Melcor.

Let's just say that I'm a guy
working out of an insurance office,

coming down to
Mexico to do a job.

Peeking in on one Joe Melcor

to see if he's still horizontal

and to keep him honest.

There were doctors who
said that he wasn't lying.

They said that under oath.

No, ma'am. They didn't
say that he wasn't lying.

They testified that they
couldn't be sure he wasn't lying.

Oh, wait a minute, Mrs. Melcor.

I'm almost finished now.

It's the last chapter.

Joe Melcor's halfway
home now. Yeah.

He's got a half million dollars voted
to him by 12 compassionate dupes.

But how does he spend the
money flat on his back, hmm?

Drugs, medicine, surgery?

Some dramatic breakthrough
at somebody's clinic

where good old Joe Melcor can
get up and walk right out the door?

Negative.

Because there was nothing wrong

with Joe Melcor
from the beginning.

So we strike out medicine.

And now, Mrs. Melcor,

comes the finale.

Yeah.

There's a small Mexican
village called Camafeo.

There's a shrine there where
people come from all over

to pray for miracles.

And this is where Joe
Melcor gets his walking papers.

That's right.

They carry him up on
his stretcher to the shrine

and he comes running down.

Now who do we call as
a witness to this miracle?

God?

I don't care for the
story, Mr. Rogan.

I suggest you
stick to insurance.

Mrs. Melcor.

Could you deliver a message
to your husband for me?

Tell him there's a man
named Rogan down here,

who has a nose for fraud.

It's an instinct, a sixth sense.

You tell him that I can
smell out a bunco quicker

than a beagle can
smell out a bird.

You tell him that for me, huh?

I'll deliver the
message, Mr. Rogan.

Mr. Rogan.

I know it's none of my business

but you derive pleasure
treating a woman like that?

No, amigo.

No pleasure.

You want to know
why I was tough on her?

Look at those people out there.

They limp, they
stumble, they grope,

trying for a miracle.

And that husband of hers

is going to get carried
up there first class.

He's going to go through the
motions of moving his lips in prayer

and then walk down

with no regrets, no conscience.

Well, when he robs
me, that's fraud.

But when he robs the kingdom
of heaven, that's sacrilege.

I'm desperate.

And I want him caught
before he dirties up your shrine.

Close the door.

Keep it dark.

Where have you been?

Out for a walk.

And then I stopped
at the bar for a drink.

Well, I envy you on both counts.

But that doesn't look
too good, does it?

I mean, you down there drinking,

while your poor, paralyzed
husband lies up here all alone.

Joe?

You know that man, the
one who keeps popping up?

His name is Rogan.

He's from the insurance company.

Yeah, well, that figures.

He has that look.

That tough,
bulldog, flatfoot look.

He'll probably come
nosing around here.

And if he does,

he'll find poor old Joe

just like the bus
company left him.

Joe.

Oh, I don't know. I don't know.

You don't know what?

Well, I don't know
if what we're doing

is right.

You don't, huh?

When I was outside, I
was watching those people,

the ones on their
way to the shrine.

They go up there to pray.

We go up there to cheat.

We go up there so
that people like Rogan

won't be waiting for us
every place we check in.

I don't want my life bugged.

So, tomorrow,

after I say my prayers and I
get up and I walk down that hill,

I want you smiling, because
that's part of the deal.

And if you blow it, honey,

if you start acting like the fallen
woman on her way to a confession,

then my first act as a whole man

will be to play handball
with you against the wall.

And you'll be up at that shrine
asking to have the blue marks removed.

Do you dig?

Yeah, Joe.

I dig.

Here, let me help you.

Would you like me to
carry him up the hill for you?

That a boy.

Here we go, son.

I pray the child will see again.

I pray for a miracle.

The fruits of prayer.
No longer needed.

Left here as a
token of the cure.

God, of course,
does make promises

to those who come here and pray.

It is all left up to Him.

But there are miracles.

Frequently.

Camafeo is a
shrine city, my son.

The Virgin appeared
here many years ago,

so we know that God
has blessed this place.

It is a holy spot.

Tell me something, Father.

The ones that don't get
cured, what do you say to them?

I'm not sure I understand.

Well, what
happens to their faith

when they come here with crutches
and they leave with them the same way?

They continue to pray

and they continue
to look for a miracle.

Their faith stays with them.

It is all that keeps them alive.

I carried a four-year-old
boy up here.

He was blind.

What about him, Father?

Who is to tell?

Perhaps God will not see
it fit to cure his blindness.

But what God will cure
is all sickness of the soul.

That every person
here can count on.

Except one.

I'm sorry, my son,
I did not hear you.

Oh, nothing, Father. I
was just talking to myself.

Thank you.

Well, Mr. Rogan.

I didn't know you
were a religious man.

I'm a deeply religious
man, Mr. Melcor.

What about you?

Well, what does it look like?

I'm on my way to
pick up a little miracle.

If you stick around, I'll
see you on the way down.

Just look for a guy wearing a gray
suit and looking properly grateful.

I'll tell you what I'll
be looking for, Joe.

I'll be looking
for a two-bit bum,

and he'll be the smallest
thing in the parade.

Anything else, Mr. Rogan?

Yeah. Tell me something.

Don't you feel a little ashamed?

Let's move it.

Good morning, my son.

May I help you pray?

Don't trouble yourself, Father.

I can handle this myself.

May God hear your
prayers, my son.

You can count on that, Father.

I want to add
something, Mr. Rogan.

Add something to what?

To the story you were
telling me last night.

You don't have to. I
already know the ending.

That conniving night
crawler you're married to,

in a few minutes, he's
going to walk past here

and there isn't a bloody
thing I can do about it.

He'll be walking by himself.
He won't have me alongside.

That's the one thing
I can do about it.

Oh, there's another
thing you can do.

You can sign a deposition

admitting that there was
nothing wrong with your husband

and you can state that
you'll testify to that in court.

No, Mr. Rogan, I won't do that.

I won't hurt him.

I haven't got that much courage.

I just won't help him.

I still have that much honor.

He makes the lame to
walk and the blind to see.

Hey, Father! Look, huh?

Now here's a...

Here's a little token
of my appreciation.

Now don't look so surprised.

You'll give the
place a bad name.

Help me.

Somebody please help me.

Help me, somebody, please.

Joe?

What's the matter?

Help me.

Somebody.

Help me.

I can't see! I can't see.

I can't see.

I can't see. Help me.

Somebody please help me.

I can't see.

I can't see.

Somebody please help me.

I can't see.

A bit of gossamer and lace
as befits a beautiful woman,

fragile and ephemeral,

in keeping with the soft
mystery of the female.

But to the gentlemen amongst you

who like, all your male predecessors
since the beginning of time,

have been mystified and
miffed by a female counterpart,

this one is for you.

A beautiful lady
in a strange house

and also inhabited, alas,

by the Ghost of Sorworth Place.

Oh, good afternoon.
I think I'm lost.

You're at Sorworth Place.

Sorworth.

I meant to be in Drymen.

I don't think Sorworth
is even on this map.

Got no need to be.

Anybody comes here knows
where it is to begin with.

Who's out there, Mrs. Ducker?

It's a gentleman out on a
walk, got himself lost, ma'am.

Good evening.

How do you do?

You've gone astray, then?

Yes.

There's supposed to be a
bed waiting for me in Drymen.

Oh, it'll go unslept in tonight.

You'd have to run like the wind
to reach Drymen before 12 struck.

Oh, well...

Well, is there anyplace around
here I could put up for the night?

A hotel or an inn or a pub?

There's the King's Arms
in Sorworth town itself.

Would I have to
run like the wind?

Walk with a purpose,

keeping Sorworth Water to
your left the whole distance.

You should be there in time
for two nips and your dinner.

If you'll excuse
me, Mrs. Loring,

I've set out your tea for you.

And you know,
darkness is coming on,

and you know that Tom Ducker, as
he always wants me home before dark.

Of course. Good
night, Mrs. Ducker.

Good night, Mrs. Loring.

Good night, sir.

Well, good night. Good night.

Mrs. Loring?

That's right.

I'm Ralph Burke.

From America.

You guessed.

Well, I guessed it
wasn't from Glasgow.

Well, this certainly is a
wonderful old place. I...

If you cut it too fine, Mr. Burke,
you'll lose yourself again.

And I wouldn't want
it on my conscience

if you ended up drowned
in Sorworth Water.

Sure.

Well, nice meting
you, Mrs. Loring.

Thanks for getting
me turned around right.

Goodbye.

Good night.

Good morning, sir. Good
morning. Good morning.

Did you find your
bed to your liking?

Yes, I did indeed.

Thank you for
everything, Mr. MacLeod.

I didn't akin that you were
acquainted with Mrs. Loring, sir.

Well, I'm not.

You're not?

No.

I only met her
yesterday afternoon.

Why? What makes you think...

I beg your pardon,
I'm sure, sir.

But when she stopped
by here a wee bit earlier...

She was here? How long ago?

Oh, she'd have gone back
to Sorworth Place by now, sir.

Her shopping bag was full
when she left the letter off.

Letter?

Yes, right here, sir.

Thank you.

Mr. Burke, if the demands
upon your time do not forbid it...

Mr. MacLeod.

What can you tell
me about Mrs. Loring?

Nothing, sir, that wouldn't
break your heart in the telling.

Well?

Well, sir?

Mrs. Loring.

And Mr. Loring?

She's a... She's a widow, sir.

Oh.

About...

About a year, sir.

Well, how did her husband die?

It's...

It's opening time, sir.

To your good health, sir.

Thank you.

They gave out that it was
the drink that destroyed him.

And many's the time I've had to send
him home from here in the dog-cart

with Boots driving him.

But it was never the drink, sir.

It was the evil.

And I'd take an oath on
that in any court on the land.

The evil?

Oh, yes.

In those days there were
servants up at the home.

Cooks, butlers, parlor maids.

And there were talks

about his doings, his
drinkings, his smashings.

And there he was, sir,

with a bride that was
the beauty of the county.

But was he satisfied? Oh, no.

Not Alistair Loring. Not he.

There was not a chambermaid
in the whole of Sorworth Place

that wasn't expected
to obey the master.

And obey him in any
way that took his fancy.

And there were whispers
about those fancies of his

that were a disgrace to all the
lairds of Sorworth that ever lived.

And he beat her, sir.

He beat her until they
could hear her cries

down to the gardener's cottage.

Why did she stay?

Why did she stay indeed?
Why does she stay there now?

You've seen Sorworth Place.

Only the outside.

Well, you'll do yourself no
favor by seeing the inside.

Oh, it's cold, sir.

It's cold and
clammy like a grave

with hardly a bench to sit on,

or a lump of coal
to light a fire with.

When he died,
the creditors came.

When they moved on,

they left an empty
shell behind them.

Why does she stay there now

when she could have the pick of
the countryside if she wanted it?

Like another drink?

No. No thanks. One's my limit.

Is this what brought
me to Sorworth?

It was something.

It wasn't me.

Was it you,

Ann Loring?

Oh. If everything's to
your satisfaction, ma'am,

and with darkness coming on,

and you know how Tom Ducker is.

Thank you, Mrs.
Ducker. Good night.

Good night, ma'am.

Good night, sir.

Good night.

Milk and sugar, Mr. Burke?

Yes, please.

He's sounds like quite a
worrier, this Tom Ducker.

Oh.

It's Mrs. Ducker
who's the worrier.

She won't let the sun set on
Sorworth Place with her still here.

Oh. What's she afraid of?

Of me, I think.

Oh, is this too strong for you?

No. It looks just fine.

Afraid of you? Why?

You know, she's rather got
the idea that I killed my husband.

Seriously?

Oh, she's quite serious.

She's got it little
backwards, hasn't she?

According to
Mr. MacLeod at the inn...

Oh. What's he been
telling you, Mr. Burke?

Well, not... Not
very much. Honestly.

It's about Alistair, I expect.

Well, I'm sure it was
all an exaggeration.

Oh, I shouldn't think so.
Quite the reverse probably.

You see, my husband
was landed gentry,

and Mr. MacLeod's
great grandfather

was the third Duke
of Sorworth's steward.

So he'd naturally prefer
to represent Alistair

in as favorable a
light as possible.

Well, he did a lousy job of it,

if you don't mind my
saying so, Mrs. Loring.

He said Mr. Loring...

Mr. Burke, would you mind?

Sorworth Place is tumbling
around my ears, I'm afraid.

Is there anything
the matter, Mr. Burke?

Hmm?

No. I'm all right.

You've gone positively
white, Mr. Burke.

Oh, do sit down. I'll
fetch you some brandy.

No, no. No, thanks.

I'm all right. Brandy'd
only lay me out.

Mrs. Loring, do
you live here alone?

Well, when stout-hearted
Mrs. Ducker flees at dusk,

I've no company
here at Sorworth.

Except of course, for all
the ghosts of the Lorings

who were ever born,
or whoever died here.

Why do you ask?

Nothing.

One could almost believe
there were ghosts in this place.

Oh, indeed you could, Mr. Burke.

Almost.

Hello, Mrs. Ducker.
Well, here I am again.

Mr. Burke, could I
have a word with you?

Mrs. Loring is expecting me.

Please.

Well? Not here.

Is anything wrong?

You've been here for the
best part of a week, Mr. Burke.

Your friends in Drymen,

won't they be wondering
where you are?

Don't worry about
me, Mrs. Ducker.

There's nobody waiting
for me in Drymen.

There's nobody waiting for me
anywhere in the whole wide world.

Oh, yes, there is, sir.

Really? Who?

Take my advice, Mr. Burke,

from one who's seen the blackness
of evil descend on this house.

Go to Drymen before you
get caught up in it yourself.

Mrs. Ducker, what the
hell are you talking about?

I'm talking about
the one in there,

waiting for you.

That's hardly any way to
talk about one's employer.

My employer, Mr. Burke,
is Alistair Loring,

the seventh Duke of Sorworth.

Oh, really?

Well, I hope I'm
here next payday.

I'd like to see him
hand over your salary.

Please.

You wouldn't be so quick
to make the jokes, Mr. Burke,

if you've seen what
I've seen in this house.

Aye, and you'd have a
little bit more understanding

why you'll never catch me out
when darkness is coming on.

Just exactly what have
you seen, Mrs. Ducker?

The master, that's who.

Lying dead and broken at
the bottom of the stairs in there.

And herself, with the look
of a sorceress upon her,

standing there at the top.

Are you trying to tell
me that Mrs. Loring...

What was he doing
there, may I ask?

He was so deathly ill,
so wasted with sickness.

He was like a skeleton.

What was he doing there
at the bottom of the stairs,

dressed in his clothes?

Dressed?

Aye.

In his heir's tweeds with
the patches on his elbow,

as if he was going
out for a day's hunting.

Ralph.

You're here.

Yes.

I'm so glad to see you. Shall
we go and have some tea?

What is it?

Hmm?

Oh, nothing.

Well, how about that tea?

Of course.

You should get rid
of that Mrs. Ducker.

Short of burning Sorworth
Place to the ground,

I really can't
see how I'd do it.

She was devoted to my husband.

I believe she really
thinks of herself

as the rightful heir
to the family fortune,

what's become of it.

Sometimes I'm tempted
to hand her the keys

and run until I reach Glasgow.

Well, why don't you, Ann?
Why do you stay here?

Why did you come here?
Drymen's miles to the south.

I lost my way.

Or found it?

Have you wondered
at all these past days,

why I asked a stranger to tea?

Have you wondered
why you accepted?

When a lovely lady
sends me an invitation,

I'm not about to go for
a hike or for the moors.

But, okay, why did you
ask a stranger to tea?

When I saw you
standing there that day,

I heard a voice.
It was my voice.

It said, "This is the one.

"This is the one
to do it, perhaps."

To do what?

To protect me.

From what?

From my husband.

But he's dead, Ann.

Yes, quite.

He's dead. And I'm
in deadly fear of him.

You've seen him, haven't you?

What? Who?

Alistair. You've
seen him. I could tell.

I don't know what
you're talking about.

Tell me. Tell me
what you've seen?

What did he look like?

Was he a skeleton of a man

in a tweed suit with
patches on the elbows?

It's almost a year
since he died.

And in the past fortnight
I've begun to see him, too.

Ann, these... These
things just don't happen.

Yes, now I'm sure of it.

You are the one.

Let me tell you.

He lay at the
foot of the stairs.

At the foot of the stairs?

It was our first
wedding anniversary.

How did he get there?

I poured his medicine
down the drain,

and he needed it to
keep his filthy body alive.

And he knew the nearest
place he could get it

was the chemist in Sorworth.

We're not on the
telephone, you see.

So he dragged
himself out of bed,

flung on a suit of clothes.

He was cursing me all the while.

But why did you do it?

Because I could no longer stand
his vile tongue and his scornful talk

or the humiliation
of his hands on me,

tearing at my clothes, and
then leaving me in my nakedness

to go to the servants' hall and
have his way with the scullions.

He called me cold.

Cold as the stones in the
ancestral burial ground.

And he swore that only a
corpse could have love out of me.

And as the sickening worsened,

so did the foulness
of his accusations.

Until at last I knew

that one of us must die
before another day came.

And if it wasn't to be
me, then it had to be him.

And that's why I did it.

What happened?

He lasted as far
as the stairway,

and there he sprawled,
and down he went,

and there he lay.

Dead?

With what was left in him,

he looked up at me and he said,

"You think you've won
free? Well, you're wrong.

"In a year's time, I'll return,

"and I'll celebrate our
second wedding anniversary."

And then he was dead.

It's tonight.

What's tonight?

The anniversary of our wedding.

He's back already.
We've both seen him.

But he hasn't come for
me yet. But he will tonight.

To do what?

That's what I don't know.

And why I'm frightened,

and why I need you.

What can I do?

Keep him from me tonight.

Get between us.

I have a feeling that if tonight
can pass without him reaching me,

then he'll stay in
his grave forever.

Can you do that, Ralph?

Can you battle my ghost for me?

It has to be an outsider.

I couldn't trust my story
and my life to a local.

Having met Mrs. Ducker, you
can understand why, surely.

Yes.

I've waited 12 months for that
special someone to arrive in Sorworth.

And when I saw you
standing at the door that day,

with your haversack and the
look of the wanderer about you,

I had the wild feeling
that it could be you.

You were right, Ann.

And you were right
about the other, too.

I didn't lose my way,

I found it.

I'll bury your
ghost for you, Ann.

Maybe

because, you see, I have
some ghosts of my own as well.

Maybe I'll bury mine
in the same grave.

When they're back in the
ground where they belong,

we're free of them forever.

Maybe...

And now I'll tell
you the final thing.

And you'll take
your hat in your hand

and slam the door behind you,

and be done with
me forever, as well.

There's no love in me.

Not for a tree,

nor a blade of grass,

nor man, nor beast,

nor any other thing
that breathes God's air.

That's what turned Alistair
against me from the start.

And what sent him to the servants'
quarters the whole year we were wed.

I did the duties of a wife
on our wedding night,

and when that was done,
he never touched me again.

There can be nothing
between us, Ralph, as it is.

And if your ghosts need
that to send them to their rest,

you'll be making a
bad bargain for yourself.

One ghost at a time, okay?

We'll deal with yours tonight.

Tomorrow, well...

We'll let tomorrow
take care of itself.

Now we've got work to do.

Where is your bedroom, Ann?

Ann, what do you take me for?

I'm going to stand guard
duty outside your door.

It's the far end of the
second story on the left.

I'll wait down here.

When you've locked
yourself in, I'll come up.

Shall I put a chair
outside then?

And risk me falling asleep? No.

I'll walk guard
duty until daylight.

Good night, Ann.

Good night.

Get back in your
grave, you lousy corpse.

You're not getting
in here tonight.

How the devil did you get...

What are you doing here?

I don't know. I don't
know what I'm doing here.

I must have wanted
to run, to escape!

No, no, Ann. He's out there.

Go on back up and
lock your door, quickly!

Take this. Hurry. Hurry!

No, no!

How many times do
you need to be buried?

Well, my friend, you'll soon be
as dead as you're supposed to be!

He's gone, Ann.

Midnight's past, and
he's gone for good.

You're free of him forever.

Ralph.

You left your door
unlocked, Ann.

And you went down
to unlock the front door.

But then you said you could
never love anything alive.

Come to me, my Ralph.

In a year.

In a year I'll come to you.

My Ann.