Original subtitles

Good evening, and welcome to a private showing of three paintings, displayed

here for the first time. Each is a collector's item in its own way, not

of any special artistic quality, but because each captures on a canvas,

in time and space, a frozen moment of a nightmare.

Our initial offering, a small Gothic item in blacks and grays, a piece of the

past known as the family crypt.

This one we call simply The Cemetery.

Offered to you now, six feet of earth and all that it contains.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is The Night Gallery.

Anything more you need, Mr Hendricks?

Then I'll move you to the window, sir, for a few minutes.

Oh, appetite not so good today.

It never is at lunchtime, sir.

Well, then, why do you load it up that way, Porterfoy? That is wasteful,

Porterfoy. Mr. Hendricks doesn't complain, Mr. Jeremy.

And he also pays for it.

Tell me something, Porterfoy.

During all those 30 years, you have been waiting hand and foot on that dying

blob of flesh upstairs.

You didn't know there was a nephew in the woodwork, did you, Portafoy?

Nor did your uncle, sir.

Well, now you do.

So dwell on it, Portafoy.

Tell me something, Portafoy.

When did my uncle paint that one?

Just before his last stroke, sir.

How festive.

Which brings to question, Porterford, not only my uncle's minimal talents, but

also his somewhat morbid preoccupation with all things dead and dying.

Sir, what did my uncle do for kicks before his several illnesses? I mean,

all that money, what other interest did he have besides painting?

His painting has been his only pleasure, sir, in the house.

It's all he's cared for. Oh, I am.

So my dear late mother used to tell me, Portifoy, she herself died at a

relatively early age from overwork and a surplus of pride.

She couldn't bring herself to crawl across to that rich recluse of a brother

hers. She had her dignity to consider, Portifoy.

That was her long suit of dignity.

As a result, I have spent a good deal of my life acquiring a taste for the good

life, but somehow never acquiring the means.

How sad, sir.

It's only a pass in sadness, Porterfoy.

If Hinton was my uncle's only indulgence, I anticipate a much more

existence. As of today, he stops staring at this particular point of view

and becomes a part of it.

Why don't you say what you're thinking, Porterfoy?

I am a scoundrel, am I not?

You're a twine, sir.

Oh, what refreshing candor.

Well, now, you just get that right out of your system here, poor boy.

Because as of the day I take over here and you bear those ancient fangs at me,

I'm going to pull them one by one.

Uncle?

Uncle?

I've come to have a little chat with you.

Now, now, now, now, now. Don't you move. No siree.

You just sit right there and you let me handle all the conversation.

Oh, you know, I have had the most interesting morning.

Oh, I have.

I went through all the correspondence in your desk.

Yeah, guess what I came across?

Your correspondence.

Letters between you and your lawyer.

Having to do with... Having to do with your will.

Oh, Uncle, I tell you, I was really impressed by your literary style.

Yes, sir, Reed.

Cogent. Right to the point.

I mean, you say what you have to say.

Very impressed.

And as to the contents, more impressed.

I mean, to discover that you had made my mother your beneficiary, I tell you,

now, that touched me, Uncle. I was deeply touched.

Now, what was the other thing? Oh, yeah, I know. I wrote it down.

I've got it right here.

That should she not be alive,

it would go to her sole survivor.

Well, now, Uncle, can you believe me when I tell you that when I read that, I

wept. I actually wept.

Oh, what a good heart. What massive compassion.

It's stuffy in here, isn't it?

Don't you think it's stuffy in here, Uncle?

Oh,

yeah,

that's better.

I wouldn't call for Porter for you, Uncle.

Now, really, I wouldn't.

Now, why disturb that old gentleman?

I mean, he has been waiting hand and foot on you for 30 years, so why don't

just give him the afternoon off?

Now, I have been told by your medical advisors to

keep you away from drafts.

It seems that you are susceptible to colds, perhaps even pneumonia.

Well, now, let us just put that medical advice to the test, shall we?

Let us see just how susceptible you are.

Voila! Isn't that refreshing, Uncle?

Oh, for the cold, the wind.

Isn't that refreshing?

And think of this, if you will, Uncle.

Your last view of life.

That family graveyard down there.

Now you remember it well.

Drink it all in, Uncle, like a new tenant investigating his new abode.

Well, I shall leave you now undisturbed.

And neither Portafoy nor I shall come back in this room for, well, let us say

hour, Uncle, or perhaps two.

However long it takes.

However long it takes to simplify things.

No change.

Doctor says he may remain in a coma for some time.

Pity.

I'm told you've become acquainted with certain aspects of the will.

Only certain aspects that were lying around loose and unattended in my

desk.

Tell me, who told you of my comfort in discovery?

A little bird.

A little bird in a butler's suit.

We should watch out that he doesn't get his little beak smashed.

However, Mr. Carson, seeing that my mother was the major

beneficiary and I am her sole survivor, that would mean that everything would

come to me.

The man's not dead yet.

Do you suppose you might stifle those great expectations of yours till the

body's cold?

Mr. Hendricks has passed on.

He never regained consciousness.

May I claim my inheritance now?

Would it be too much trouble to first go through the motions of a funeral and a

reasonable period of mourning?

Is that a legal requirement, Counselor?

let's say it's just what might be expected of a civilized man as an act of

respect and appreciation.

Well, you see, Mr. Carson, I'm not a civilized man.

I'm a black sheep nephew with an itch.

And now, Doctor, if I may impose upon you to take care of the burial and all

that and put it on the bill.

You'll be buried in the family plot.

He'd mentioned that to me many times.

Lovely. And now, if either one of you gentlemen should need me, I will be in

there.

Doctor!

Doctor, shouldn't he be covered or something?

Or his hands folded?

I mean, isn't that part of the ritual? That he look at peace?

He should be resurrected for as long as it takes to cut you off and boot you

out.

That would give him peace.

Never mind, Porter Foy, we'll show ourselves out.

Would you care to pay your last respects, Portafoy?

He's gone, sir?

Permanently.

Oh, um, item of interest, Portafoy. There is a small stipend mentioning the

for you.

I believe it's, uh, ooh, $80 a month for as long as you shall live.

$80?

I'd like to stay, sir, with your permission.

Oh, excellent.

Crazy. Well, I'll tell you what, Porterport. First thing on the agenda

to remove the bulk of this grotesquerie and... Something, sir.

Well, that's all.

Odd, sir.

Hey, look at this.

Look at what, sir?

The picture, the pain, stupid. Look at it.

I don't understand.

Look, haven't you got eyes, can't you see? Now, that has been altered.

Freshly dug grave.

I see nothing wrong, sir.

Well, forget it. Just forget it.

You may go now. I'd like my dinner at the usual time.

I breathe and live if it isn't Osmond Porterfoy.

Osmond Porterfoy.

If there's nothing else, sir, I thought I'd lock up and retire.

That is your life, isn't it, Porterfoy?

Locking up and retiring.

You know, to my dying day, I'm going to carry a picture of you, walk through

life, stiff back, straight leg, carrying a tray and towels over your arm, and

then for a Proven look in your eye.

Hey, you know that look, don't you, Portafoy?

How shall I describe it?

Ah, like a bank manager finding an incorrect balance.

It changed again.

Hold it, boy.

There is a casket in that painting now.

There is a casket in there now. Now, that was not there before.

What is happening?

What in God's name is happening?

Brought you some hot tea, sir.

I don't want any hot tea.

Suit yourself, sir.

Porter, boy.

Yes, sir?

Did you look at the painting like I told you?

Yes, sir. It's hanging there as usual.

As usual?

I don't understand.

I burned it. I threw it on the fire and I watched it bubble and crinkle up. I

watched it disappear.

And there it is on the wall.

As usual.

Imagination, sir.

Imagination.

Deliberately. Oh, no, no, Porterfoy. That was your imagination.

Yeah, the tray, the teapot, your scalded wrist. That's all your imagination.

I mean, isn't that the catch -all explanation to cover all the phenomena

goes on around here? I tell you, this is not a haunt. It's a prolonged

hallucination. Get out of here.

I want you. I'll call you. You call me, Mr. Jeremy.

You call long distance.

What are you talking about?

I do not intend to spend another night in this house.

No? No.

In life, he needed me.

But in death, it's obvious he's strong enough to take care of himself.

You look here, old man.

Death is final. Death is it.

I think not, Mr. Jeremy.

I think there are things stronger than death and more lasting than the grave.

Report a fourth.

I think hate is stronger than death, Mr. Jeremy, and I think you're beginning to

realize that. I shall spend the night in the hotel in town and send for my

things later.

But what about me? I mean, what am I supposed to do? Who's going to tend to

wants now?

Use your imagination, Mr. Jeremy. You're rather good at that.

Tell me something, uncle.

Why don't you stay where you belong?

That is as close to a toast as you'll ever get from me, alive or dead.

Port -A -Port!

Yeah, would you put me through to the hotel in town?

Yeah, I know, I know, but, you see, I don't have the number.

Yeah, I would be grateful.

Hello?

Hello, would you connect me with Osman Portafoy? He checked in there this

afternoon.

What do you mean you can't ring his room? You've got to ring... Well, I

care if it's 3 o 'clock in the morning.

Hello, operator?

My name is Jeremy Evans. I'm at the Hendricks house, and there's an intruder

here. Now, would you call the police and have them come over right away?

No!

I tell you, I can hear him outside. Now, would you please call the police right

now and have them come over right away?

Yeah.

Who is it?

Who is there?

Who is out there?

Hello. Doctor, this is Porter Foy at the Hendricks' house.

I'm afraid there's been an accident, sir.

Yes, sir.

Mr. Jeremy seems to have fallen down the stairs.

I believe he's dead.

It appears his neck has been broken.

Thank you, Doctor.

I'll leave a light on.

So I think a long vacation would be in order for you, Gibbons.

You have performed your task extraordinarily well. You really have.

15 paintings at $500 apiece.

Cheap at the price, I'd say.

Indeed. Indeed.

Thank you.

Should I count it? If you like. It's all there. Plus 500 extra.

You're no Rembrandt, Gibbons. But you do have an uncanny knack of imitating

other people's style.

You can afford it, I take it.

The savings of a lifetime.

But... Just a temporary inconvenience.

Perhaps I neglected to tell you, Mr. Hendricks was a most thoughtful old

gentleman. In his will, he stipulated that if there were no surviving family

months after his demise, his entire estate would be inherited by his old

retainer, yours truly.

Run along now, Gibbons. Enjoy the fruits of your labors.

What if the nephew...

hadn't broken his neck, what would you have done then?

Put something in his brandy?

Don't be crude, Gibbons.

If that unfortunate accident hadn't happened to him, he would have gone

out of his mind.

And once he was committed, I would be just where I am now.

Same end, just different mean.

Would you throw this in a ditch someplace?

The trappings of death depress me.

From now on, this is going to be a place of cheer.

Well, good night, Gibbons. Good night, Porterfoy.

Mr.

Porterfoy.

Mr. Porterfoy.

Rest easy, Mr. Hendricks. Rest easy.

Dr.

Back, Jeremy.

Back, Jeremy.

Back, Jeremy.

Back, Jeremy.

Back into the ground. Let him alone.

Back.

Back, Jeremy.

Back, Jeremy.

Back. Back.

Back, Jeremy.

Back. Back.

Back.

Ogier d 'Ars number two.

A portrait.

Its subject, Miss Claudia Menlo.

A blind queen who reigns in a carpeted penthouse on Fifth Avenue.

An imperious, predatory dowager who will soon find a darkness blacker than

blindness. This is her story.

Oh, I'm sorry. You're looking for Miss Menlo? Mm -hmm.

Penthouse, you can't miss her. She's the only one in the building. Yes, I know.

You know her?

I've been her doctor for years.

Say, that's a very good likeness.

Not really, doctor.

There was one thing I couldn't capture.

What's that?

Her cruelty.

Well, Miss Menlo has been blind from birth.

Cause and effect, huh?

Mm -hmm.

I'll tell you, doctor.

I was commissioned to do this a month ago. One final application of lacquer

I am finished.

I used to wonder what kind of woman built an apartment house on Fifth Avenue

then installed herself as the only tenant.

Well, I'll tell you what kind of woman it is, Doctor. A tiny, fragile little

monster. That kind of woman.

Afternoon. Hello, Dr. Hetherton. Miss Menlo's expecting you. Thank you. Can I

take your coat?

That's all right, thanks.

How deliciously prompt you are, Doctor. You're only an hour late.

I saw your painting. I think the artist has done you justice.

If he has, Doctor Heatherton, he's the only one in the 54 -year history of my

sojourn on Earth.

No one has ever done me justice.

Beginning with God.

I'm sorry to be late. I've been in surgery most of the day.

I'm impressed.

I always am with you.

You're constantly and eternally the gentle healer.

Now then, what are we to talk about?

What we've already talked about on the telephone.

Well, as I've already told you, Miss Menlo, the surgical procedure you

questioned me about has been tried only on animals.

Successfully. A chimpanzee and a dog.

Both subjects had optic nerves regrafted from donors whose visual organs were

unimpaired. In both cases, they were able to see.

One for a few moments, the other for a...

period of hours.

The donors, of course, were rendered permanently sightless.

So you see, Miss Menlo, this is nothing more than a breakthrough, a beginning.

If it can work on animals, it can also work on human beings.

One doesn't have to be a high -priced Fifth Avenue surgeon to make this

altogether reasonable assumption.

High -priced or otherwise, Miss Menlo, no surgeon would ever make such an

assumption.

Nor would he put it to a test.

You must understand something, Miss Menlo.

In the first place...

The best you could expect on assuming the transplanting of the central optic

nerve was successful would be roughly 11 to 13 hours of sight, no more.

Then you'd be blind again.

And then, of course, there's that other insurmountable obstacle.

What is the insurmountable obstacle?

Put it simply, Miss Menlo, you need a donor, someone who'd be willing to part

with his sight for the rest of his life to give you roughly 12 hours of it.

I don't believe there's such a person around. Nonsense, Doctor.

Everyone has a price.

For their eyes?

I seriously doubt that.

Well, I tell you wrong.

My lawyer has found such a person for me.

He represented him in a criminal case some time ago.

The man needs the money desperately.

He's agreed to become the donor and part with his eyes for a sum of cash.

How much cash?

$9 ,000.

That's what the individual required. That's what I'm paying.

Miss Medlow, listen to me very carefully.

There are four men who could conceivably perform the operation you're talking

about. I'm one of the four, but I can speak for the others as well.

I would no more remove the eyesight of another human being so that you might

enjoy a few hours of sight than I would deliberately kill a child.

Is that clear to you?

I want you to read something, Dr. Heatherton.

In this envelope, I have a complete file on one Dr.

Frank Heatherton.

The impeccable Dr. Heatherton.

The respectable Dr.

Heatherton.

Go ahead.

Read it.

I told you all men had a price.

That's because all men have something to hide.

And you, Doctor... you have more than most.

All there, I believe.

Do you recall the young woman?

Miss Grace Reardon, age 22.

who died on a kitchen table because the abortionist had the hygienic habits of a

pig and the surgical deftness of a paper hanger.

She made the trip to that butcher at the behest of you, that rigidly moral,

antiseptically pure physician who might on occasion, as he did on this occasion,

reveal a slightly gamier side to his cast.

The release of this information would not enhance either your professional

standing or your marriage.

Would it, Doctor?

No.

No, it would quite obviously destroy me as a physician.

And it would wreck a 25 -year -old marriage.

If that's what you've set out to do, Miss Menlo, you've got all the proper

ammunition.

As must be obvious over your many protracted, loyal years of hand -holding

this dull, imperious woman, I have no interest in helping or hurting anyone.

I couldn't care less about your extracurricular activities or my

-Wall Street productions or anything else that doesn't involve me.

My abiding concern, Doctor, and my singular preoccupation is myself.

Eleven hours or twelve, fewer or more, it makes no difference.

I want to see something.

Trees, concrete, buildings, grass, airplanes, color!

The idle rich.

A little something to ease the boredom.

Like scrounging around in the dirt like a dog looking for a bone, and finally

unearthing whatever it is that a man must keep secret to guarantee his

All right, Miss Mendel.

Why, I don't know, but I put a premium on my survival.

I'll perform the operation.

The donor, who is he?

I'll have my lawyer contact you and give you his name.

He's an inconsequential little hoodlum.

You can arrange with Packer as to where it will all take place.

Because I want it to take place as quickly as possible.

Is that clear to you, Doctor?

What's clear to me, Miss Menlo, is that you're to be satisfied.

For a whim, a fancy, a few sweeps of some clock hands while you indulge

yourself, a man will deliver up his eyes.

Thanks to me.

I just hope the poor...

realizes how much he's sold for so little.

Lou, don't play games with me.

My stomach's coming up through my throat.

Hey, maybe you'll luck out and choke on it, huh? Please, will you have a heart?

I'm dizzy.

I'm telling you, this thing makes me sick.

Hey, this makes you sick?

Well, you don't know the meaning of the word.

I'll tell you about sick, Sidney.

You owe 9 ,000 bucks, and you bought it for too long.

That's sick, Sidney. That's terminal, you know? Lou, I'm going to get the 9

bucks tomorrow.

I'm going to be some kind of a guinea pig for a doc.

I'm going to have an operation of some kind.

I'm going to get the whole 9 ,000 bucks for it.

You don't stop, do you, Sidney? On my father's grave. The truth. Nothing but

truth.

I'll give you this. You've got some imagination.

It's the latter.

What kind

of operation?

I'm not allowed to say.

I swear to God, Lou, that's it.

It's an operation and I'm not allowed to say anything about it.

It's illegal or something, but I swear that's the goods.

I'm supposed to have a meeting about it tomorrow afternoon with a lawyer and a

doctor and then tomorrow night I'm supposed to check into a private

And I get my money when?

Soon as they give it to me.

Anytime after three, you come to my place.

I'll have it for you.

All right, Sidney.

I'll be in your room tomorrow afternoon.

If the 9000 isn't there with you, you get 15 seconds to say your prayers.

It's been nice having this little chat with you.

Well, what do you think, Doctor?

Will he pass?

Yeah, I think so. I'll have to do some more extensive tests at the hospital

tonight, but I think he'll do.

After all, we're not asking too much of him. That's his damned eyes, that's all.

She's got you, too, huh?

That's her style.

She knows precisely what wheels to put in motion, this fragile, bird -like

little thing.

The threat to destroy passed down through channels. You do it to him or

it to you till it reaches the bottom echelon.

Then there emerges one poor hapless soul who can find no one lower, more

vulnerable than he is, and this is the one who is destroyed.

Mr. Resnick, a little something for you to sign here.

It's to laugh.

I swear it's to laugh.

You gotta be a Philadelphia lawyer to read this thing.

On the bottom line, Mr. Resnick, just above the word donor... Hey, just for

kicks.

Really, just for kicks.

What am I giving and what are you getting?

Mr. Resnick, you are donating your eyes, specifically the central optic nerve.

Now, I could give it to you medically. I could...

talk about the nerve fibers or the actions of the ganglion. I believe it. I

believe it.

I got no choice.

No choice.

Here, you take the eyes. Outside, they take the body.

Here you are, Mr. Resnick.

My son, the donor, huh?

Sidney.

The sight giver.

So, what's left to see, huh?

Strussing.

I've seen

everything there is.

I've seen a second Louis Schmeling fight. No, I want a bundle.

I've seen the Kentucky Derby three times.

And I've seen the home run that Bobby Thompson hit that killed the Dodgers.

Oh, I've seen everything, man, everything.

But the thing of it is... May I? Yes, of course.

The thing of it is...

What's it going to be like when it's midnight all the time and nobody's paid

electric bill, huh?

So what do I do?

White cane, tin cup, pencils?

So what's to do?

Grieve a little, maybe.

Plenty of time for that. Ooh, plenty of time.

I'll still be able to cry out of them, won't I?

To your heart's content, Mr. Resnick.

To my heart's content. Oh, Doc, baby, you do turn a phrase. I swear you turn a

phrase. Here's your money, Mr. Resnick.

With an extra 500 thrown in by the doctor and myself and the address of the

hospital, you're to be there at 7 this evening.

It's got a nice heft to it.

I hope I don't meet a cookie on the way.

I'm a sucker for a game of chance.

Honest as a fact, anything at all.

For example, gentlemen, I'll lay you five to one to 24 hours after you make

blind, I'm going to want to cut my throat.

And I'll lay even money I do it.

When I see, I shall drink up Central Park.

I shall let it pour through my eyes until it floods my brain.

I shall maintain a reservoir of things that I've seen during that brief time to

remember for the rest of my life.

So what's to do, huh?

Nothing.

That's the story of simple Sidney's life.

Hey, put it on the tombstone with you, fella. Huh?

Here lies President.

He wanted Miami Beach and a 50 cent cigar.

And that's all he really wanted.

So learn the lesson, huh?

This is what you get for cheap tastes.

You get your eyes cut out.

Miss Menlo, the United Hour can be any moment now, as I told you, any time

five o 'clock.

May I make a few suggestions?

Remove the bandages very gradually.

I'd keep my eyes closed if I were you throughout the process. Also, I'd keep

room dark. The introduction of light should come in stages, in degrees.

In a way, it's sort of like becoming used to an artificial limb.

It may...

It may take time for the eyes to focus, to accept light.

Perhaps hours.

What's the matter, Doctor?

Looking at my gallery, are you?

You've got it all planned, haven't you, Miss Medler?

Indeed.

All the paintings and all the statues, they're right there where I can see

And so is the rest of the evening and the night.

My eyes will take pictures, Doctor.

Pictures of everything to be filed for future reference.

A rather long future reference.

Whatever is the length of my life.

And now, if there's nothing else, Doctor... Miss Menlo, I hope you enjoy

the next 11, 12 hours.

I hope that your eyes will see whatever is important to see.

I hope that my efforts have made it possible. For both our sakes, I hope

have.

I'll say good evening, then. Say goodbye, Doctor. We'll not be seeing one

another again.

I said.

How revealing.

I'm to be discarded, then.

The used light bulbs of Miss Menlo's life. When they cease lighting her way,

they go.

Of course.

Doctor.

Flick on the light switch, if you will. The one in the hall.

Of course.

Perhaps if you're around town this evening, Doctor, you might introduce

yourself. It occurred to me that I've never seen your face.

Oh, you can't miss me, Miss Menlo.

I'll be the tall man with the sick eyes.

The one with the ache in his gut.

The infection in his conscience are miserably incurable.

You can't miss me, Miss Menlo.

Thank you

I can see.

That's the sun I'm seeing.

And the sun is... It's a golden yellow.

That's color.

Oh, God, it's beautiful.

It's going away.

No. No, wait. Not yet.

And now, the final painting.

The last of our exhibit has to do with one Josef Stroba, a Nazi war criminal

hiding in South America.

A monster who wanted to be a fisherman.

This is his story.

I'll put you there!

Bravo!

Next time, less noise, please.

Bravo! You are so persuasive, Hesterow! My proximity to a noisy tramp makes that

imperative. But if someone were to cut off your fists, how would you ever prove

a point?

You must learn to live with a little pain, my dear.

It's what the world is made of.

So get used to it.

I am quite used to it.

It is the nature of my business.

It's what gets deducted from my body.

But we all have a... suffer a few deductions along the way, don't we?

Instead of a few thousand a day in the girl's chamber?

No.

Oh, now, it must be an occasional drunk in a sailor suit.

Or a lady of commerce who speaks my language.

That is an accident of birth, Herr Strobe, the language. That is all we

common. No.

Good night.

and have one of your frequent nightmares.

When I hear all that fear coming through the wall, it

is a lullaby.

Gruppenführer Helmut Arndt, alias Joseph Strobe.

Last known whereabouts?

Caracas, Venezuela.

Known to have left the country April 1961.

Assumed present whereabouts?

Buenos Aires.

Is there anything on him here?

Usual thing, been here, been there.

Supposed to have been working in a beer mill.

Checked them all out, nothing connected.

Checked out beer gardens, German social groups, everything.

Nobody remotely resembling him.

Avram, he is here.

This time I go in my instincts.

He could have had plastic surgery, wear a beard, or a mustache.

black Homburg hat and sell securities.

He's here and we will find him.

Let's get out of here. Oh, look how you're talking to me. I wish we were

married. You have to get there. No, that's enough.

Nightmare. He has captured a nightmare.

I saw such a thing.

I was there.

My friend Jacob Sternbach, they crucified him that way.

It took him two days to die.

Forgive me.

I was affected by the picture.

It brings back certain memories.

I hope I haven't disturbed you.

Excuse me. Yes?

I've... That is... We've met before, haven't we?

I think not. I've only just arrived here.

You're German, aren't you?

No.

Hungarian. You look... You look familiar.

You were never in a camp, were you?

Auschwitz or Anienburg?

I was at both places.

My name is Blum.

I told you I am not German.

The museum closes its doors in the next three minutes.

The museum closes its doors in three minutes.

Three minutes to close.

Please follow directly to the exit doors.

The museum is closed.

Kindly leave the building, please.

Señor!

Kindly leave the building.

Please?

Nightmares again, Herr Strobe.

Go to hell, my dear.

I hear you've become quite an art lover.

My girlfriend told me that she saw you this morning in the museum.

What disturbed you tonight?

Gretchen.

Talk to me for a moment.

What do you want to talk about?

Something happened last night.

And again today.

What? I was looking at a picture.

Picture of a fisherman.

On a mountain lake.

And after a while, it seemed as if...

As if what?

As if it were me in that boat.

Just fishing.

No pain.

No running away. No looking over my shoulder.

What do you expect to see?

Ghosts.

Israeli ghosts.

They have a list, it appears.

They have a list.

And after Eichmann, it is you who are on the top of that list,

Herr Staube.

Very likely.

What do I ask of anyone?

So much is it to stop running, to stop trying to find shadows to

hide in.

Where is this compassionate and forgiving God they talk of?

Let him show himself to me now.

Let him give me a chance to survive.

Yeah, yeah.

You know, if I had concentrated with

all my might, if I had exerted all my will,

I could have moved into that picture.

You surprise me here, Strobe.

Who would have thought?

But all you hunger for is a robot.

So?

You black uniformed gods who put barbed wire

around the earth and all you want is a whole boat!

Your things are really quite expensive.

You yearn for the most, the most expensive and unobtainable

thing.

Peace and immortality.

Forget it, Herr Strober. The price is the soul and the conscience, and you

are liar.

Your best.

Good afternoon.

Rather taken with it, aren't you?

Is this a quality?

And the concentration camp picture that has no quality here aren't?

I beg your pardon.

I think you've made a mistake.

My name is Strobe.

Josef Strobe.

You called me something else.

Forgive me.

I guess I did.

You reminded me of someone.

A certain Helmi Arndt.

Herr Arndt was not an admirer of Jews.

He would stand by the front gate at Auschwitz with a riding crop in his

would indicate which of the incoming people would die.

and which would temporarily stay alive.

And how are you so fortunate, Herr Blum?

A concentration camp can be a university of higher learning when it comes to

teaching a man to stay alive.

Good day to you, Herr Stormy.

In ten minutes, it closes.

In ten minutes, it closes.

The museum closes, its doors open.

Thank you.

I couldn't forget a man like you very easily.

I'm touched.

Shall we have a drink, Heblum?

Or shall we talk of old times?

What shall we do?

What would please you?

Tell me and see if I can't accommodate you.

Tell me, Heblum.

Ever changed, Ma?

No.

No, Robin Führer.

You've changed very little.

Excellent.

Excellent, Herr Blum.

The memory is still intact.

The body is somewhat the worse for wear.

Body has had much done to it.

This was done to me with a lit cigarette during an otherwise dull afternoon.

Your kind of sport, Grubenheuer.

Something you would understand.

To reminisce about these things?

Or have you seen fit to... Tell others?

What do you think?

I think have you.

But if you have something to say to the God of Israel, now

is the time.

I've made my peace.

Something you shall never be able to do, Gopinfela.

You have put... Too many Christ's own courses for any God to give you

an audience.

Pilgrim Martha, huh?

No, I am simply the six minions plus one.

What time is the next bus?

The next bus to where? Where would you like to go? Just anywhere, out of the

city. As far as it is, we'll take one.

That will take you to Mar del Plata.

Lucky for you, it stopped raining and you have kind of a long wait.

For 20 years, not so long.

Excuse me.

Do you have a mutual acquaintance?

Do you know a man named Bloom?

Excuse me, I don't care what Bloom told you.

He's mad, you know. He's out of his mind.

Listen to me.

I'm not the one you want.

There are others. Big ones.

There's Borman.

Martin Borman. He's still alive.

Believe me, he's still alive.

And Bullard. And Rick Miller is still alive. Insulated.

This one.

I know this man. I can find this man for you.

Please. There must be a prize, huh?

Is there some prize?

Any prize?

Don't let those paintings get wet.

You were hired to put them in the truck.

Go put them in the truck.

All right, all right. No wonder we have no culture in this country.

Sure, sure. Get a uniform and right away you are a king. Nobody cares for

paintings. All right, he take them in.

And be sure and dry them when you get them in the truck.

Now get moving, get moving.

All right, all right.

Very late.

Who is in there?

Who is in there?

Shalom, Gruppenführer.

Shalom.

God, let him show himself now.

Get me into the picture.

I must get into the picture.

Please. Please.

God, Christ, anyone.

Get me into the picture.

I must get into the picture.

What's the matter?

What do you hear now?

Don't you hear it?

Dog or something. Must have been Ronald.

Everything seems intact.

If there was someone here, they're not here now.

What happened to the fisherman?

Was that one of the loaners? Yes, sir. It was taken away tonight.

The director had that concentration camp thing put there in its place.

Hateful looking thing.

Luis?

Luis?