All language subtitles for Deadwood.S02E04.720p.Bluray.x264.anoXmous_

anoXmous

https://thepiratebay.se/user/Zen_Bud

Let me light the lamp.

I've misplaced my boots.

I put them downstairs
by the kitchen door.

(sighs)
I was asleep...

when you took them and did that.

Yes.
Would you rather I not?

No.

No.

Only I had intended to be awake
last night so we could talk,

which, what with how it's been,

we have not done
in the peace of the evening

as I would like, since your arrival.

I would enjoy to converse
in the stillness

after the day like that.

Tonight I will have
two cups of coffee

and I will not fall asleep.

In the morning...

in the quiet before
we each take up our work

is also a pleasant occasion
for such intercourse.

Yes.

Would you like to start
a discussion this morning?

I wouldn't...
want to disturb the boy.

William sleeps soundly.

If you will see
to the bedroom door...

Mr. Bullock?

Have I killed him?

First, the dead don't shiver.

And next, you just done
what he asked.

(shuddering)

And ain't more likely what
turned him worse is underlying woe

than a thumb up his ass
attempting his fucking relief?

Go on, get the fuck out of here.

(whispering)
It's all right, honey.

(groaning)

(rig pounding,
laborers shouting)

(loud pounding)

Hello.

What's your business?

I'm Francis Wolcott.

My name's Ellsworth,
Mr. Francis Wolcott.

- Can you hear me?
- Yes, sir. How do you do?

- I'm well. Glad you make me out.
- Yes, sir.

Because them as poke
around Mrs. Garret's workings

without a by-your-leave
ain't welcome, Mr. Wolcott,

and you ought not to repeat
your fucking mistake.

Well, that's an uncivil response
to an innocent error.

Did you work in the Comstock
when you was beardless?

I did.

For Mr. George Hearst,
who has a keen eye for the color?

As a geologist for Mr. Hearst.

Well, you have the advantage
of me, Mr. Ellsworth.

That ain't a possibility, Wolcott.

No more than an error
of yours would be innocent.

I do dimly recall an Ellsworth--

superintended
the Consolidated Virginia operation.

I don't give a fuck what you recall.

A hero-- dug a week without respite
to save three poor souls from a cave-in.

And 46 corpses in a fucking hole
that ought never to have been dug.

Always a choice:
to count the saved or lost--

Get off this property.

--just as a man opposed
to inevitable change

needn't invariably be called a Luddite.

Another choice might be
simply to describe him

as slow in his processes.

You tell that cocksucker you work for

the next surrogate he sends oughtn't
to be bloody from the Comstock.

The noise is terrible,
isn't it, Mr. Ellsworth?

Like fate.

(rattling)

"Ox, box, fox."

(knocks on door)

Nora's attentions are wandering.

If I were you,
I'd bribe her with candy.

Good morning.

Please come in,
Miss Isringhausen.

Will you have a seat?

Do you remain of a mind, ma'am,
to dispense with my services?

Alma: I have immense respect
for your training

and intelligence, Miss Isringhausen,

and gratitude for your efforts
toward Sofia's education.

I am ill-suited temperamentally

to collaborate with you
as women in our positions must do.

I see.

I propose to pay you six months'
wages severance

and an additional $200
against the expense

of your journey here
and return to Chicago.

While you're making
your arrangements,

I will also continue to pay
for your room here at the hotel.

As to those terms, Mrs. Garret,

your behavior is very fair.

Miss Isringhausen,
Cotton Mather would have found

hard and joyless the standards

you so resolutely apply to me and Sofia--

and of course to yourself.

I wish you very well.

- Thank you, madam.
- Would you--

I will not say goodbye to Sofia
to spare her upset.

(door closes)

Dan.

EB. Coffee?

Please.

I'll be candid, Dan.

I did not sleep well last night.

I heard screaming from Al's room.

Happens up there
many a fucking evening.

Well, Al was fucking screaming, Dan.

And I'm wondering
how he's feeling this morning.

And you dancing around the pole
ain't allaying my fucking anxieties.

Well, do you hear
any screams from him now?

Silence ain't proof either way.

Take no tongue with me, EB,
or I'll slap you fucking silly!

He's on the mend,
and he ain't fucking receiving.

- That's all I was fucking asking.
- Then that's your fucking answer.

Convey my joy...

and tell him
numerous scores await.

Soft fucking day, Dan.

Morning, Crop Ear.
Oh-- sorry-- Eamon.

Take a good look.
It ain't growing back.

Is he about?

Al's out early.

To look at a place in Gayville.

Oh, yeah?

You must seize fortune
by the forelock, Dan.

That's why I'm here,
to put a matter before him.

- You know I'll not waste the man's time.
- No, you won't.

That's some fucking way
you have about you, Dan.

Now you could either say
your piece to me and Johnny,

or you can get the fuck out of here.

I'll say it gladly, and hope
you'll commend my words to him

who's in Gayville
at the earliest opportunity.

I contemplate a piece of activity.

I need to organize
some reliable fellows,

locate a right place to waylay that metal.

- Well, I'll let him know.
- Eamon: 25%.

One full quarter
of the proceeds in total

go to Al Swearengen,
The Gem Saloon,

or you and Johnny
as the fucking case may be.

You may need to clean
the wax out of your holes,

because I said I will let him know.

When do you suppose
I could expect a favor of a response?

Tomorrow afternoon.

He's overnight in Gayville then?

Then tomorrow afternoon it is.

Getting particular of where
he was gone, I realize now,

was a fucking mistake, which happened
because I'm so fucking upset.

From this point forward,
I'll handle that earless cunt.

Visitor: Top two bags.

May I help you
with your bags, miss?

No, you can't.

Or look at me or talk to me
until I've took a bath.

Follow the quagmire then, ma'am.

The establishment you want
is the last on the right.

Take this lady's luggage
to the Chez Amis.

Yes, sir.

Do not look at her or talk to her
until she's bathed.

Mr. Wolcott.

Deceptively fair weather

given the devastating rumors.

Less volume, Mr. Farnum,

more conviction.

Yes.

- Your hotel?
- Yes, it is, sir.

- EB: Your luggage?
- Man: Yes.

May I install it
in one of our better rooms?

Please.

Direct me to the Bella Union.

Not 50 yards as the bird flies,

or a man is led on by his prick

or needing to test his luck.

To whom shall I assign the room?

Hugo Jarry.

EB Farnum, owner-proprietor.

Also mayor, though that position
is largely ceremonial.

Lawrence County Commissioner.

The position is real.

Hello, Jarry.
Commissioner Jarry.

Commissioner Jarry now, yes,

as of the last five days.

Delighted to find you here, Adams.

You could have known my next whereabouts
if you had talked to me

in Yankton, where I sat outside
your office for half a fucking day.

It seemed to many of us in Yankton

that in the aftermath of
Magistrate Clagett's disappearance,

you chose different companions.

Last I saw Clagett,
he rode in here with General Crook.

I figured he left with him too.

And perhaps was plucked up

subsequently
from amidst the troops by savages?

Yes, such moonlight treachery

being their stealthy hallmark.

Maybe he took a bribe from someone,

didn't hold up his end,
got his just desserts.

That's of no personal interest
to me or anyone in Yankton,

any more than your choice of companions.

Adams: If you're trying
to freeze out Swearengen

before the governor makes his play,
you are betting the wrong way.

Someone certainly is.

Anyways, I'll tell him I saw you.

I have a close schedule.
Otherwise, I'd pay the respects myself.

I wonder if you will let me pass.

I only hope, Marvin, you ain't
privy to information that I ain't.

$600 US, Mr. Tolliver.

Claim 16 above Discovery.

That ain't responsive to my previous
fucking statement, young man.

I'll tell you what, sir.
It's the fucking altitude that's got to me.

- I see.
- Nosebleeds and every fucking thing else.

Well, your health's got to come first.

Leon!

Light as my kit has got,

we can go ahead and say done.

$600, Con.

Right here, sir.

Jesus Christ, don't pay it to me.

Marvin here will shoot us both.

Here you go, Marvin.

Are you lettered, Marvin?

I'm up to making my X, sir.

Con, you sign as witness.

Will do, sir.

Don't be looking over my shoulder
when I'm signing my fucking X!

Don't ever say that to me again.
You surprised yourself.

It's what happened.

I don't want to hear it spoken of,
because it darkens my thoughts.

About who you're partnered with?

Exactly.

They get led by their dicks.

Our cunts lead us,
we lose our only edge.

Joanie:
That wasn't what was going on.

Was it worse?
Were you angry at him, Joanie?

Was that what surprised you,

how angry you were

that George Hearst's second
was a cruel and evil man?

Did you think maybe you'd shoot him

to get us little people even?

I took that gun into the room
with me to protect myself.

Who fucking asked you
to go into the room with him?

Nobody gets even.
We get dead.

But before I go I intend a long
and comfortable retirement,

and that cocksucker
is gonna pay the freight.

Something terrible
is going to happen here.

You don't even know
the girl he wants to harm.

- You stay the fuck out of it.
- (door creaks)

Woman:
He tipped you!

This whole place smells like shit.

It is no disloyalty
to be a realist, Richardson.

We are mortal.

One hopes for the best.
One perseveres.

One reevaluates constantly.

One is an asshole if one doesn't.

Loyalty expanded
is not loyalty betrayed.

I contemplate no disloyalty
to Al Swearengen.

I feel exposed.

I don't like being weak,

and I know that I am.

I yearn to rely on a stronger will.

I fear what I'm capable of
in its absence.

Whereas you, Richardson,

know nothing of yourself.

Are you shitting or going blind?

Or on foot or horseback?

You vile fucking lump!

Bury that offal
in the shepherd's pie.

(yawns)

(mutters)
Oh, God damn it.

(sighs)

- May I go up today?
- Huh-uh.

How long is
my fucking sentence?

Any messages?

Is there any fucking chance

you and me don't end up in blood?

Any of you realizing that the sun
don't rise and set on me and you?

What the fuck does
that fucking mean?

Means there may be other fucking factors
factored into my decision-making.

Besides the fact that I find you
to be a pain in the balls, personally.

Please report
Commissioner Jarry from Yankton

has arrived to the camp
and intends to fuck Al up the ass.

Said he to you
while doing the same?

It is important that he hear that.

You do him disservice not to tell.

(softly)
Listen, Adams.

Al is fucked up bad.

May be dying.

- Jesus.
- Goddamn right, Jesus.

Them stones have done plumb
blocked off his piss passage.

Fuck.

Okay, all right.

It's all backed up in him.

Shit, he's got piss in his lungs.

- Can he talk?
- Fuck no, he can't talk.

He just lays there and shivers
and stares at nothing.

He screams when Doc abuses him

with them fucking prick poles of his.

Sorry I broke your balls.

Well, I'll see to it
he gets your news

if he gets to a point I think he
can understand my meaning.

Listen, how's--
how's your little buddy,

- the one I put the beating on?
- Hawkeye.

- Yeah, Hawkeye.
- He'll live.

It's something anyway.

Morning, ma'am.

- Good morning, Mr. Ellsworth.
- I'm sorry I'm late.

I hope you spent a restful night?

I did. And you're forgiven.

But this morning
I note an amount of confusion...

and anxiety abound,

and words of panic about
Yankton's disposition of the claims.

Panic's easier on the back
than the short-handled shovel.

I see.

The Creator in His
infinite wisdom, Mrs. Garret,

salted His works
so that where gold was,

there also you would find rumor.

Though He decreed just as firm

that the opposite wouldn't always hold.

You understand
I needn't be comforted

at the expense of the truth.

I'm late, ma'am,
over shooing a man away

from your diggings
named Francis Wolcott,

that scouts for George Hearst,

who wouldn't spare attention
for a camp or the sun itself

if he didn't think it likely
to fill his coffers.

Nor the sort that would
shrink from a lie,

or more than one
to advance his purpose,

or be ignorant of how
to circulate his falsehoods

without anyone
knowing their source.

And now I come to camp

to hear the waters called muddy
and the current quickened,

though I see no change in the creek.

And the hooples,

certain sure the flood crest
fast approaches,

have begun to think keenly,

"I'll get ahead of the event.

Maybe I'll sell my claim
at discount."

Anything to unharness so they
can head for the higher ground.

Myself, ma'am,

I'd be betting
that the levy will hold.

William: Did you speak of it
to Mr. Bullock, Mama?

Not yet, William.

Will you speak of it today?

- (footsteps approaching)
- Good morning, Mr. Bullock.

Good morning.

Oatmeal...

Seth?

Please... Martha.

Mr. Bullock, Mother was
wanting a kitchen garden,

which I would have care of.

Have you chosen a spot yet?

I paced one out in the back
of the house, sir.

Yesterday, I would have
broken the ground,

but from wanting the tools.

Would you like to go now and tell Mr. Star
you need shovel, hoe and a rake?

Yes, sir.

Do you recall your way
to the hardware store?

I do, sir.

Is it okay if I go now, Mama?

(door closes)

(sighs)

(sniffling)

(men's voices overlap)

Mrs. Garret.

Mr. Farnum.

Mrs. Garret?

What male would not trade

our small superiority of intellect

to possess that gift of intuition

so bountifully bestowed
on the lesser sex?

Mr. Farnum,
your meaning is beyond me.

I imagine you, madam,

awakening the other morning,

suddenly and for no earthly reason

convinced the camp was at peril.

"My gold should be
spirited to Denver,"

I imagine you thinking,
maybe as you brushed your hair.

And without worrying the conviction

or studying upon it,
sending the gold away.

At peril, Mr. Farnum, the camp?

Oh, your meaning is beyond me.

Ma'am, if a Nubian genie
were at my disposal,

I would see his great nigger fingers

whisk up my hotel
and deposit it in Denver,

just as you did your gold.

Because the camp's at peril?

Yes, madam, yes. Peril.

(whispers)
And worse than peril.

Perhaps you should sell.

Mrs. Garret, had I your intuition,
would I not have done.

I'll buy it.

Aren't you wonderful and kind

and intuitive and generous?

No, I couldn't burden you

nor impose upon your generosity,

tremendously wealthy as you are.

Name your price, Mr. Farnum.

We'll close the transaction now.

Madam, now you unsettle
and trifle with me.

Ugh-- and make me
nervous and uncertain.

My intention is quite otherwise,

- and intuition.
- Oh, your intuition?

Name your price.

How do you males put it?

"Shit or get off
the chamber pot."

Oh, Mrs. Garret--
shit, indeed. Oh dear.

Unless, Mr. Farnum...

Unless what, madam?
Do you reconsider?

No no.

I would understand.
It's your sex's prerogative.

Unless, I meant to say,
you're lying about the camp's peril?

Lying? I?

But why would you do that?

Exactly.

You will make a price for me then.

Let me consider, Mrs. Garret.

Don't, Mr. Farnum.

Trust your instincts.

They'll have you in a dress in no time.

Miserable, haughty cunt.

Putting me beyond my depth.

We've come to a crisis, Al,
and I have to say my piece.

The stones can be excised surgically
in one of two ways.

The so-called "high method,"
which cuts into the bladder

from above your penis,
and the other which enters from below.

- Below what, Doc?
- His balls.

So the "low" entails
cutting through his taint.

(sniffing)

Now I have seen
the high method performed.

I assisted at a closing,

afterwards discussed it
with the surgeon.

Come to it, that is the one
that I would prefer.

- Al's with you.
- Doc: How did he indicate it?

A hard blink for the upper

and a scowl for cutting
through his taint.

Doc:
With a knife in expert hands,

two men in 10

survive the procedure
we contemplate.

But at what point
without intervention

will your condition so worsen
as to put you beyond recovery?

I believe we approach that point.

I am not an expert,

but I will give it my best effort,

and I ask you now for your consent
should we need to proceed.

He's with you, Doc.
He wants the upper.

Hey, that's it. That's the final call.
Right, Al? The upper?

He wants the upper.

Well, I guess you better
go make ready.

All right. All right.

Come with me, Johnny.

- Help me with the stove.
- Sure. Sure, Doc.

(sniffling)

As to claims filed and worked
prior to the new treaty--

in essence from when the Hills
still belonged to the Sioux--

the presumption
of legitimacy will apply,

subject to qualification,
according to mitigating facts.

In short, with no controlling
principle being invoked,

title will be determined
on a case-by-case basis.

When claims are overturned,
new title will be awarded at said prices

via lottery
to those submitting verified offers.

I only hope territorial officials

will be excluded from eligibility.

- Yes.
- Better tell your friends and relatives

to pick their lucky suits out
for that drawing.

Only after Mr. Wolcott's
have picked out theirs.

Of course, anticipation
of the forthcoming judicial holding

may itself largely cleanse the market.

It's always preferable to allow
the market to operate unimpeded.

Would that argue for allowing
word of my presence

to circulate a bit

before presenting myself officially?

Man might use that time
to put some stink on his Johnson.

Hello?

Sol: Down here.
Behind the counter.

Taking inventory.

(tearfully)
I can't do a lesson today.

All right.

He's too sick.
Maybe he'll fucking die.

But I can't stay.

But it would be smart to stay

and learn to calculate fucking interest
on that accommodation paper

(voice quavers)
and those fucking discount notes

- and whatever the fuck...
- Another time.

- (sobbing)
- It's fine, Trixie.

- Did I hurt your shoulder?
- No.

(softly)
I gotta go.

You want to go out for a bit?

She says Swearengen's bad off.

Last night I heard him
screaming out again and again.

I guess he's...
worsened with the day.

Thanks for outfitting the boy
with garden equipment.

Oh, he's planning to take
some prizes come harvest fair.

He mentioned corn and squash both.

I had some news from Denver...

concerning our proposal on the bank.

We'd need to find 15%
of our proposed capitalization.

If we capitalize at the two million
we figured on--

$300,000 separate
from what Denver will underwrite.

Or they would credit Mrs. Garret's
accounts as collateral.

- Not doing that.
- I don't advocate it.

I'm informing you of a communication
they volunteered.

We're not doing that.

Suppose I'll have to dip
into my own kit then.

Even so, it's back
to cutting my own hair.

I'll take the idea around.

- Swearengen would put it up.
- Fucking reputable people.

If money had to be clean
before it was recirculated,

we'd still be living in fucking caves.

- Your old man?
- Me.

Mr. Lee will provide opium to you
exclusively for sale to whites in the camp.

You will receive 50% of the gaming
proceeds from Celestials' Alley.

My men will lamp the take.

It will spare Mr. Lee here
explaining how slow business was

'cause of Buddha's
wedding anniversary.

Your men lamp the take-- also on
proceeds from Celestial prostitutes.

How many do you want?

How many can you bring?

- How many?
- That--

that sounds like a man
with an inexhaustible supply.

How much English
do you have, my friend?

Maybe when we get
to know each other better.

I'll take a dozen and I don't
want them fucked out.

I set the rates.
The upkeep's on him.

And my understanding is
the upkeep is quite minimal.

Good. Gives him more
to spend on mah-jongg.

(chuckles)

I won't question the apparent
one-sidedness of our arrangement.

The arrangement is not yours
and Mr. Lee's alone.

Yes, and in ways
I don't understand,

it must benefit you and the man
whose name I must never say

to have Mr. Lee in camp

and perhaps Mr. Wu out of it--

maybe among the spirits
of his ancestors.

But what a blessing for me,

finally to reach a point in life

where I don't feel I have to know.

(chuckles)

A creature walking around
on hind legs,

just like Crop Ear and them
half-dozen bushwhackers

out in the forests--

ones I would fall in with or out,

whatever suited my daily purpose...

that's what I was

till I crossed paths with Al.

Well, bang the drum
and play the pipes

and I'll rend our fucking garments.

I was just saying.

I ain't hearing confessions
this afternoon.

Say you'll burn it down
with me, Dan.

What?

This fucking place--

before letting Tolliver take it over.

Done.

(door closing)

Well, open your mouth, Jewel, and say
something we can't fucking understand.

(lisps)
He's asking for you.

Don't die with your fucking secret.

Clean the number three.

Dolly said she bled.

God damn it.

(pants) I may get me a whiskey, Doc.
You want a whiskey?

No, I do not want
a fucking whiskey.

Well, maybe as far
as steadying the hand?

How dare you?
You shut your fucking mouth!

I didn't mean nothing by it.

Whiskey does not
steady the hand.

It just dulls the worry

over the hand's unsteadiness.

Jesus Christ!

Jesus Christ,
I do not need to kill another man!

(sniffling)

(screams)

Top left corner of my fucking bag.

- What?
- Balm, you fucking idiot,

against the burn
you fucking just sustained.

Thanks, Doc.

All right.

- Wu: Dan!
- Go away, Wu.

- Swedgin.
- No.

Swed-gin!

Well, it ain't gonna happen.

- Swedgin!
- No, Wu! He's fucked up.

Now, Al can't talk to you right now,
and I can't understand you,

- so you go the fuck back to Chink Alley!
- (mutters in Chinese)

Do not start drawing air
to talk gibberish to me!

Cocksucker.

- Oh, for Christ's sake.
- Cocksucker!

It's wasted on me, Wu.

Mmm-- cocksucker!
Cocksucker!

I don't get it, Wu.

I am not as smart as Al.

And there's too much on our
fucking plate right now to deal with it.

Cocksucker!
Cocksucker...

- San Francisco.
- Jesus-fucking-Christ.

All right, there's an invisible
cocksucker next to you,

and he's from San Francisco.

Cocksucker!
San Francisco cocksucker.

I'm going with you--
you want me to tell Al

that there's a cocksucker--
he looks like--

he looks like you,
and he's from San Francisco

and he's got your dander up.
I'm going up now. I'll go tell him.

- Johnny: Tell him what?
- Dan: Oh, God only knows.

(yells) Why don't you learn
to talk American!

Save us all a lot
of fucking trouble!

Wu no Englishee!

(swearing in Chinese)
Swedgin!

(softly)
"Swedgin."

(knocks on door)

Mr. Adams? Good day.

Good day, Miss Isringhausen.

I can't imagine what you must
be thinking at the moment.

Please, come in.

I can offer you a whiskey
or water that I just washed my face in.

I will have whiskey, sir.

Sure.

I've just been discharged.

Sacked.

By Mrs. Garret?

As tutor for her ward.

Well, I hope you
punched her in the nose.

This is a day of firsts.

Dismissal from employment,

unchaperoned presence
in a man's room.

I'm sorry for your news,
Miss Isringhausen,

but if that's your first taste of liquor,

I'm sorry for the hand you've
been playing your whole life.

You mind if I drink
from the bottle?

No, sir.

(sobbing)

Oh boy.

(sobbing)
No.

- Adams: Oh boy.
- I'm sorry.

You want me
to get out of here?

- It's your room.
- That's okay. You're not a thief.

Or would you feel better
if I shot myself?

Why do you say that?

I apologize.

It was just a stupid way
of trying to be funny.

Because I fear I may be killed.

What?

I can't explain.

It's nightmarish.
It's incomprehensible.

Who's threatening your life?

Mrs. Garret.

I know it sounds impossible,

but I can testify to you, Mr. Adams,

I would not be
the first person she's killed.

You want I should tie 'em
high or tie 'em low?

Tie 'em high.

Should we go ahead and put a good
fucking hit of dope down him, Doc?

Yeah, go ahead and get a hit ready.

(yells) Al, I have
to secure you for surgery!

What is it, Al?

(faint wheezing)

Dan: He's afraid.

You afraid, Al?

You've got a fear of the knife.

He wants to try passing
them stones natural.

Are you afraid, Al?

Trixie: Are you afraid, Al?

Oh God!
I'm on his fucking nuts!

Goddamn smelling salts is what

we're going to administer!
Do you hear me, Al?

Here is a fucking dose

of smelling salts to your nose!

- (Al groaning)
- What are you doing, Doc?

Doc: Be quiet! Sit him up and get him
to his goddamn feet!

Doc: Take his prick out!

(Al moans, wheezes)

(gasping)

Trixie: There you come, Al!
There you come!

- (Al screaming)
- Dan: There you go! You're doing it!

There you go,
you ox-minded son of a gun!

Doc: Push at it, you bastard!
Push at it!

- Dan: Come on, Al!
- You'd do a horse proud

- with the strength of that fucking stream!
- Doc: Lay him down.

Lay Al down on the bed!

Now we are gonna take care of this.

I'm gonna put this instrument
back inside you

and clear that cocksucker
you've been making progress with,

and we are not gonna cut you!

Bring his knee up to his chest.

You hold him down.
Johnny, you...

- go on out to the balcony.
- I have charge of the salts!

(whimpering)

- Doc: All right--
- (Al groaning)

- All right!
- (instrument clicking)

I can feel the fucking click
of the gleet.

All right, now I want you
to milk his prick

from top to bottom,

and I want you to bring
that cocksucker down.

- Doc: That's it. Now.
- Trixie: Come on, Al.

All right! Look at it!

One gleet chasing
a-fucking-nother!

- God---
- (Al moaning)

God bless you, Al!
Thank you.

Thank you for saving me.
God...

(weak moaning)

- Wolcott: Are you uncomfortable, girls?
- They're fine.

You're paying them
to stand in that position, Mr. W,

they'll stand in that position.

They've been in more
awkward positions before.

Thousands of years ago, in Cyprus,

women went about their own lives

only after first spending time
as prostitutes at the temple of Aphrodite.

The tribute of their promiscuity

meant to secure for the island
the goddess' grant

of bountiful crops
and beautiful weather.

A woman's generative instrument

on the altar of the race's necessities,

have we not come
some far piece since then?

(chuckling) Who, for example,
fucks on altars anymore,

or pretends anything can make up
the weather's mind?

Are you gonna fuck me tonight, Francis?

I bore Carrie.

You were peeking.

- I asked you not to look.
- Sorry.

Why not just go do
what you're gonna do, Mr. W?

Am I on a schedule then?

She only meant
our educations can wait.

I quite enjoyed our talk
the other night.

Do you want to fuck her?

No, Carrie, no.

Or I'd say so.

The atmosphere of the room
turns against me.

A growing collective impatience,

where should be
a haven of indulgence.

- (pouch thumps)
- Won't you indulge me?

We're trying, Mr. W,
but you are behaving badly.

Disappointing, from you
who I thought to regale

with details of the myths--

gods fornicating with mortals,

the endless incest,

fathers upon daughters
upon sisters--

Take her in or get out, please.

- Wolcott: Excuse us.
- Of course.

Er, be generous.

I think I've upset her.

(jowly blubbering)

Well, whatever were you aiming at?

Your titties!

(playful blubbering,
woman snorts)

Any chance in here
of an imminent finish, Commissioner?

My thought being you might want
to deliver our newspaper editor

a certain document before
he's too drunk to make it out.

I think not,

until my bath is finished.

Uh-huh.

And I think a finish
would involve you

blowing some of them
bubbles underwater, honey.

Whew--!

(piano playing)

Dan: Eamon.

Has he per any fucking chance
returned from Gayville, Dan,

which he had never been to?

Al's upstairs.

Now if you agree
to a few fucking rules,

I'll give you
a brief audience with him.

Don't it feel good
to play at "boss," Dan?

Unless you want to sit down here
and bust my fucking balls

over you never learning to move
amongst civilized people?

No, an audience
is more important.

All right.

Now you listen careful
while we walk up.

You get up there,
you propose the robbery.

You give him the location,

the take that you are
prepared to guarantee,

Al's fee on that take,
and then a bonus for overage.

And then, Eamon,
you shut the fuck up.

Al has had a tough fucking day.

Now you let him indicate to you however
he fucking chooses as to a yes or a no.

Now that's fair, ain't it?

You're a great man, Dan.

It's you that's the great one.

Don't bust my fucking balls.

Don't call me Crop Ear,
you gutless son of a bitch.

Eamon, we live life
however we choose.

And you choose life
as a cunt standing behind a bar.

Just trying to do you
a fucking favor.

I'll have no favors from you.

All right, then. Crop Ears.

Or whatever the fuck it is
you want to be called!

(gagging)

Trying to gauge Al's recovery
and do you a fucking favor.

Crop Ears is dying up there.

You take him over to the Chinaman's
and you throw him away.

Sure, Dan. Sure.

Yeah, I'll go get the sled.

I don't have the patience
for this fucking bullshit!

I have had a tough fucking day!

Were you seeing a relative, Carrie,

or did the madam
withhold you to frustrate me?

She doesn't tell me
why she does things.

But you'd know
if you were seeing a relative?

Yes. I wasn't.

Were you seeing anyone?

A wild Indian.

I fucked him and I fucked his horse.

You hate it here.

I suppose you don't.

I don't, no.

The rocks tell me stories.

And now I have you.

Well, I'm not a crazy person,

so they don't talk to me.

And I'm with me wherever I am,

so I wish I was in fucking New York.

The rocks don't "talk" to me,

but still, I learn their stories.

Oh, I understand now.

Thank you for saying it
like I'm a baby.

(stammering)
Well, uh...

these hills are unimaginably rich.

So what?

To compel even the vagrant attentions
of someone like my employer.

I won't stay for any amount.

For a large amount,
will you stay for a little?

Give me some now.

Of course.

It's more than I gave the madam.

And you mustn't hit me
like you do the others.

You've never displeased me.

Don't fucking hit me, Francis.

Done. Agreed.

I will run away to the Indians.

You would change
the course of history.

Be the first of the women chiefs.

(moaning)
Oh...

(sighs)
I'm too quick.

You can't be too quick for me.

You might try it sometimes
with your prick outside of your pants.

I sense Miss Stubbs
has fucked a relative.

It's a big club.

(sighs)
Pff-ff!

(fiddle, guitar music playing)

♪ Now the fox went out
on a chilly night ♪

♪ Prayed for the moon
to give him light ♪

♪ He had many a mile
to go that night ♪

♪ Before he reached the town-o ♪

♪ Town-o, town-o ♪

♪ He had many a mile
to go that night ♪

♪ Before he reached the town-o ♪

♪ Well, he ran till he came
to a great big bin ♪

♪ The ducks and the geese
were kept therein ♪

♪ He said, "A couple of you
are gonna grease my chin ♪

♪ Before I leave this town-o" ♪

♪ Town-o, town-o ♪

♪ He said, "A couple of you
are gonna grease my chin ♪

♪ Before I leave this town-o" ♪

♪ Well, he grabbed
the gray goose by the neck ♪

♪ Slung the duck across his back ♪

♪ And didn't mind
the "quack-quack-quack" ♪

♪ And the legs all danglin' down-o ♪

♪ Down-o, down-o ♪

♪ Well, he didn't mind
the "quack-quack-quack" ♪

♪ And the legs all danglin' down-o ♪

♪ He had many a mile to go that night ♪

♪ Before he reached the town-o. ♪