All language subtitles for The Living Idol - 1957.eng

Professor Stoner
had been strangely

secretive about what
we were to see at the top

of the buried pyramid.

He wanted to surprise us, and
as it turned out, he succeeded.

It was a frightening
climb at a dizzy angle.

The steep shallow steps
were negotiated, no doubt,

more readily by the bare feet
of the ancient Indians of Mexico

than by our modern shoes.

The tunnel staircase was dark,
the stone smooth and slippery.

A misstep could have led
to a fearful, perhaps,

fatal accident.

Professor Stoner led the
way, enjoying in advance

the shock that awaited us.

I did not sense in
his attitude any hint

of what was perhaps
already germinating

in his brilliant mind.

For in spite of the fame won by
his archaeological discoveries

in the rich soil of Mexico,
he'd remained simple, gentle,

and lovable, his charm
unspoiled by an erudition

that ranged over the whole
field of human knowledge.

The strain of mysticism
in his thinking

seemed a natural expression
of his bold and original

intellect.

I had a vast admiration for him.

29.

30.

31.

We're halfway up.

There are 62 steps in all.

How many are on
the outer pyramid?

95.

Well, how long do we have to do?

We dug down through the
floor of the outer temple

until we found
the inner chamber,

and we tunneled up
from below to reach it.

What a job.

It's harder than walking
up with a flashlight.

Well, what are we going to see?

Is the climb worth it?

You'll have to decide
that for yourself.

Some of my colleagues
consider it

the most startling
discovery in the whole

of Mexican archeology.

I hope I'm not so startled
I fall down these steps.

You'll survive, I think.

You're all right, Juanita?

- You're not scared?
- No.

I suppose your father
told you what you'd see.

I asked him not to.

I wanted it to be a surprise.

He didn't tell me.

Did you want to rest a bit?

Ooh, brother.

Don't look down, it's the worst
thing you could possibly do.

- Keep your head up.
- Right, you are?

Just keep your eyes on
the step you're taking.

We're nearly there.

Are you ready?

This better be good.

I give you something
to write about?

Was it worth the
trip to Mexico City?

What is it?

It's not alive or
anything, it can't eat you.

Juanita!

Juanita!

Juanita!

Father!

Father!

Father!

Father!

What is it, Juanita?

I want my father!

The jaguar in the buried temple.

It scared her, so she ran down.

It's a miracle she
didn't break her neck.

I should have warned her.

I never dreamed it
would frighten her so.

Well, it's pretty ferocious when
you come on it unexpectedly.

- You left this behind.
- Thank you.

I'm afraid this torch is finished
with the hurried

bouncing down the stairs.

We ought to have told
her what to expect.

I had no idea she'd be so frightened.

If you're so scared of a stone
jaguar, then what if

you ever met a live one?
- Don't speak of it.

Are you better now?

I don't know why it
frightened me so.

The blue of the temple
walls come up on your dress.

It was a mortal color
with your ancestors.

They painted their
sacrifices blue.

Oh, two grown men playing
such tricks on a young girl.

Of course, you were
frightened, darling.

Who wouldn't be?

I'm just going to take a
look at the new trench.

I shan't be long.

What you need is a
bowl of good, hot soup.

According to my wife, there's
no situation that can't be

remedied by a bowl of hot soup.

Well, I could do
with one myself.

I'll join you in a moment.

Your soup is good
medicine, Elena.

Now, I recognize the
girl I used to know.

Terry thinks I'm
still eight years old.

'Mn 2 grown woman now, terry.

You may be a woman,
but you're no lady.

Ladies don't sit on
gentlemen's laps.

At least not in public.

May I in private?

I'll spank you, you trollop.

Will you, Terry?

If he doesn't, I will.

Do you mind cleaning
this stone, Manuel?

I think we ought to
have a look at it.

Give me a kiss, Elena, darling.

I kiss you later
when you're cleaner.

Behave yourself, Alfred!

You've recovered, Juanita?

Quite.

You'd hardly think
that half an hour

ago, she was running for
her life from a stone idol.

What do you think, Manuel?

How do you expect your
daughter's reaction

to our jaguar?

It's a ferocious-looking object.

Ugly as old sin,
and it scared her.

You're wrong, Manuel.

It's not ugly, it's beautiful.

As powerful things are.

But even if you
are right, that's

hardly an adequate explanation.

How's your domino game, Juanita?

Has it improved
since you were eight?

I ought to help Elena.

Nonsense.

It's your vacation.

You're here to enjoy yourself.

You have a theory about
Juanita and the jaguar?

Yes, Manuel, but you
wouldn't agree with it.

It's not scientific.

Your theories rarely are, Alfred.

Girls of her age were
sacrificed to the jaguar god

on the top of that
pyramid ten centuries ago.

They were painted blue for
the occasion with a piece

cut them open with
an obsidian knife

and tore the living
heart out of them

as an offering to the idol.

You don't have to be so
bloodthirsty about it.

Alfred's naturally bloodthirsty.

Human sacrifice is a subject.

It's food and drink to him.

It's food to the ancients, too.

They hid the bodies
after the ritual.

The chief cut the fiber.

Incredible that a
culture so advanced

could have been so cruel.

Why not, cultured Terry?

Doesn't it present
the same paradox?

Beauty and cruelty, the
sick and the diabolic,

the dreadful coexistence of
all times as in all cultures?

Considering her
ancestor, Juanita

may have a racial memory
of such ancient sacrifices.

- That sounds plausible...
- But not demonstrable, and therefore,

of no interest to a scientist.

What do you think, Juanita?

Does it correspond
at all to what you

felt when you saw the jaguar?

Uh, I'm not sure.

I don't think so.

The jaguar counts as the oldest,
most persistent in Mexico.

To this day, the Indian
mothers make the children

behave by telling them
the jaguar will get them,

just as we threaten
ours with the bogeyman.

Juanita's mother,
God rest her sweet soul,

may have tried to
dispirit her the same way.

Do you recall anything
like that, Juanita?

I don't believe so.

She was only an infant, of
course, and wouldn't remember.

But the fear may have lingered
in her subconscious mind.

It's possible certainly.

My wife was too intelligent
to fight Juanita

with silly superstitions.

Superstition is the name
that science gives to truth.

May I quote that?

If that appears
in Time magazine,

the whole archaeological
fraternity

will descend on my shoulders,
but quote me if you'd like.

Don't, Terry.
He doesn't mean it.

But I do.

How do you suppose I find the
buried pyramid in the temple

with a jaguar in it?

How did you?

By believing in what
Manuel called superstition.

I heard the Indian
mothers threaten

their children with
jaguar in the hill,

and I took them at their word.

I dug into it and there, by all
the gods of the Mayan calendar,

was the jaguar himself
in the buried pyramid.

It was brilliant of you, Alfred.

No one will deny that.

The Indians believed there's a
living god in that stone idol,

and who are we to
say they're wrong?

Don't scoff, Manuel.

The legends are bound in
such divine petrifactions.

From the Iztaccihuatl
to the Popocatepetl.

I'm ready to
believe that Juanita

with a second sight
of her ancestors

could see the living
demon in the stone.

But what she saw was far more
terrifying than the sculpture

we see with our
more limited vision.

She saw him there--

the jaguar god incarnate.

And she trembled with
terror and ran for her life.

Oh, heaven preserve us.

Is he serious, Manuel?

You can never be
sure with Alfred.

He enjoys being provocative.

I'm not impressed by
your incarnate jaguar,

and I don't need him to explain
why Juanita was frightened.

You should have more respect
for the jaguar, Manuel.

We're surrounded by jaguars.

We counted 28 of them in
the temple of the tigers.

They may hear you
and be angry.

Jaguar's a powerful demon.

Could exact a ghastly vengeance.

I'll take my chances
with the ancient beast.

Take a look at
this stone, Alfred.

There's something on it,
but it's worn so thin,

I can't make it out.

The tortilla is the latest
tool of the archaeologist.

It's a jaguar, of course.

I'm afraid I've lost
my skill at dominoes.

Have I the sign as permission to
take his daughter to the fiesta

in the hacienda tomorrow?

Oh, yes, Daddy, yes.

Take her, Terry.

Will clear her mind of
this gruesome nonsense.

As for your jaguar, Alfred,
here's what I think of him.

You may have some
trouble digesting that.

Don't be too late, darling.

I won't.

Thank you.

Oh, no, no.

Terry!

Are you all right, now?

I think so.

You see how alive he
is, that old jaguar?

Have you had enough fiesta?

After 400 years of
Christian teaching,

the god of the jaguars, the
Festival of St. Francis.

But Juanita, those
dances weren't ferocious.

Why are you so
frightened of them?

I can't imagine.

We were having such fun.
Forgive me, Terry.

But I've had a wonderful time.

There's something about
Juanita and the jaguar.

I'm sure of it.

Something ancient
and mysterious.

If there is, it's because you
put the stuff of nightmares

in her head.

It is strange, Terry.

I'm not usually frightened so
easily, there is something.

I don't believe it.

When you're back in school,
you'll laugh about it.

I laugh now.

Well, that's better.

Look.

Isn't he adorable?

Terry?

- Juanita?
- Yes.

Turn your back.

You shouldn't
sleep naked, Terry.

Mosquitoes, ticks, tarantulas.

It's safe enough
with the netting.

What on earth are you doing
here at this time of night?

In your night gown and
bare feet and the ground

alive with scorpions?

Supposed you stepped on one?

All right, you can look now.

I couldn't sleep.
I had to talk to you.

Well, what have you to talk about that
couldn't wait until morning?

Here, put these on.

It's about us.

You and me.

Well, what is there
about you and me

that calls for discussion
in the middle of the night?

Do you think I'm pretty, Terry?

Certainly not.

I'm very pretty.

Everyone says so.

Your ears are too big,
your eyes are too small,

your nose is crooked,
you've got barbed wire

on your head instead of hair.

Shall I go on?

You think of me as a
child, but I'm not.

Look.

You ought to be slapped.

Do it, Terry, if you like.

What's come over you, Juanita?

I love you.

I love you so terribly,
I ache with it.

Now, do you believe
I'm grown up?

You're angry
because you love me.

If you didn't love me,
you wouldn't be angry.

You have an adolescent
infatuation,

and you think it's love.

You'll grow out of it.

I have loved you
since I was eight,

and I will love you
till I'm eighty.

I think you love me, too,
only you won't admit it.

A Mexican girl of good
family coming to a man's room

in the middle of the
night in her nightgown--

it's inconceivable!

What do you suppose your father would do
if he found you here like this?

- Here, put this on.
- I'm not cold.

I'm not thinking
of the temperature,

I've got to keep you decent.

Someone's coming.

Are you awake, Terry?

Come in, Manuel.

I couldn't sleep.
I saw your light.

I thought we might talk.

Course.

If you don't mind, I'm
not disturbing you?

Not at all.

It's about Juanita.

You know my wife.

Juanita's mother died
when Juanita was four.

I know.

We-- we were very much in love.

Juanita can hardly
remember her mother.

Yet, she has so many
of the same mannerisms.

Her way of walking,
of standing-- it

makes me catch my
breath sometimes.

Yes.

Sometimes it's difficult
to express a sentiment

to your own flesh and blood.

I can tell you, but I can't tell
her how much she means to me.

I understand.

I won't say my life
hasn't been a lonely one,

but I've had my work.

And the happiness of
seeing my daughter grow up.

You never thought
of marrying again?

Once.

Some years ago.

But I wasn't sure it
would be good for Juanita.

I see.

You know, Juanita's
in love with you.

She fell in love with
you in 3 way when you

first came to Mexico years ago.

But she was only a child.

She feels the same today, and
she's not a child any longer.

I have an idea you're
not indifferent to her.

I love her dearly.

Enough to marry her?

She's so young!

Her mother was only a year
older when we were married.

Well, it may be no more
than an infatuation.

She's not really old enough
to know her own mind.

Juanita won't change,
she's like her mother.

Where her heart is
fixed, there it remains.

You're surprised
that a father should

make such a proposal
for his daughter,

above all a Mexican father.

It's just that I'm
worried about Juanita.

Oh, I understand that.

She's high-strung,
moody, impulsive.

Gay and sad by turns.

I know that's part of growing
up, but it troubles me.

The business with the jaguar.

I don't put any stock in
Alfred's speculations.

It's just that Juanita's
emotionally a little unstable.

Marriage would be good for her.

It would be a
steadying influence.

And later on with
children of her own--

what I'm trying to say is, if
it were you, I should be happy.

Well, there is something I
haven't told you, Manuel.

Another girl?

No, not that.

Well, then?

I'm going away to Korea.

As a soldier?

Nothing so heroic.

As a reporter.

How long will you be gone?

Well, I'm not optimistic
about the situation.

It could run on
for quite a while.

You couldn't take her with you?

I'm afraid not,
but when it's over,

I'll get another
assignment in Mexico.

Juanita will be older,
maybe better in any case.

She'll probably meet some
handsome boy at the university

and fall in love
in the meantime.

I don't think that's likely.

Tell us Juanita.

Will you wait for Terry
to come back from Korea?

If I didn't know you,
if I didn't know him.

When a child has no mother--

it's not your fault.
I don't blame you.

Only myself.

Forgive me, father!

Get on my back.

I'll carry you to your bed.

We can't have you walking
in your bare feet,

the place is alive
with scorpions.

Suppose you stepped on one?

Can't see what's
funny about that.

You won't be
leaving immediately?

I have several days.

Maybe a week, we'll
have time to talk.

- Good night then.
- Good night.

Good night, Juanita.

Buena noches, mi vida.

Will he come back, father?

Yes, he'll come back.

How's it going, Manuel?

Fine.

Where's Juanita?

I think you'll find
her at the cenote.

OK, Pedro!

What are you doing over
here all by yourself?

I like it here!

I am alone and I can sing.

I sing out loud, and
no one can hear me.

Except the parakeets
and iguanas.

There's one over here listening.

They look downright Darwinian.

They ought to be extinct
like the dinosaur

and the pterodactyl.

I think they're sweet!

I'd like one for a pet.

The neighbors might object.

Why do you sing so loud?

I thought that sort of thing
was reserved for extroverts

and shower baths.

You know what I'm doing?

No, what are you doing?

I'm making you breakfast
while you sing in the shower.

What am I having for breakfast?

Orange juice, cantaloupe, bacon
and eggs, hot cakes, waffles,

sausages, toast, and coffee.

No kipper?

You're starving me.

This cenote is spooky.

It's just a pool of water.

Cenote is the word for one.

It was a sacred word.

You know what they use it for?

That's what virgins think to
eat to appease the rain god.

That doesn't disturb you?

Why should it?

Oh, so you're willing to be
sacrificed to the rain god,

but you're terrified
of the jaguar.

Yes.

I've written a poem for you,
because you're going away.

It's called "Parting."

"When, when shall we meet,
like days of sun and rain,

sad joy and joy is pain,
canst my heart still beat?"

What song is that?

That's a beautiful song.

I want to learn it.

Elena's soup is waiting.

Manuel!

Don't look, Juanita.

Don't look.

When the broken body of his
friend had been taken away,

the professor asked
me to return with him

to the scene of the tragedy.

I observed then for the first
time something extraordinary

which has escaped me before.

A jaguar with a human
heart in its claw

was carved on the
monumental stone.

Our reason tells us
it's a coincidence,

this jaguar on the stone
that killed my friend.

You don't think so?

You take refuge in
a word to escape

from a monstrous reality.

You seriously believe
that supernatural forces

had something to do
with this accident?

There are no coincidences,
no accidents.

I loved Manuel.

I saw him every
day for 20 years,

and he kept my
feet on the ground,

even when my head
was in the clouds.

But if he had listened to my
fantasies as he called them,

this need never have happened,
and I might still have my friend.

How could he have listened,
or any reasonable man

for that matter?

Manuel was not killed by
the stone that crushed him.

The stone was the instrument
of a deeper purpose.

What purpose?

Manuel was killed by
the disease of our time,

which believes in flying
saucers and has no faith.

A world without faith
and devout humility

will surely perish
as my friend did,

from the presumption of
which the gods inspire

those they wish to destroy.

Strange words coming
from a scientist.

The deeper that science probes,
the more mysterious life

becomes.

Even the scientists
are returning

to the mystic philosophies
like those of India,

which have something in
common with the beliefs

of ancient Mexico.

The Mayans, too, believed in
the soul and reincarnation.

You sound as if
you believe in it.

I do.

Alfred wants to say
something to you, Juanita.

It's something
we've talked about,

Elena and ll. Your father--

your father was my
friend for 17 years.

Your mother was the
friend of both of us

even before you were born.

We had such wonderful times
together, your parents,

Elena and I. And now, you--

you're all alone.

Elena and I have no children.

We want you to feel that
you're our daughter now,

just as if you really
were our daughter.

It would make us so happy
if you would agree to this.

When we get to Mexico City,
I'll cook you

a bowl of wonderful hot soup.

Now, you are crying,
and that's good.

Mexico, Mexico, ra, ra, ra!

If I had not gone to Korea,
if I had yielded to the impulse

to marry Juanita when she was
alone and might have needed me,

perhaps the death of
Manuel would not have

had so violent a sequel.

But it did not occur
to me that Juanita

would be anything but safe with
the professor and his wife.

During my absence, the
University of Mexico

had acquired a
beautiful new home,

but the professor
was now lecturing.

I had the exciting experience
of driving through University

City, as it is known, on
my way to the professor's

house, which was nearby.

Unique architectural
genius of Mexico,

both ancient and
modern, had expressed

itself dramatically
in the design

of this great, new university.

I was not at all prepared
for this strange situation

I've found.

It was reassuring to see
that Elena, at any rate,

had not changed.

Have you been to the university?

Have you seen Alfred?

Well, I went through on
my way, but I didn't stop.

- I came straight here.
- He may be at his museum.

He's usually there
in the afternoon

when he isn't
working on his book.

His classes are in the morning.

He's well, then?

Oh, yes, quite well.

Alfred!

This is where he writes.

He's almost finished his book.

Has he given it a title?

"A History of Human Sacrifice."

It represents his
whole life's researches.

Isn't that the jaguar
from the buried temple?

He persuaded the government
to let him borrow it.

Later on, it's going
into the national museum.

What does he want it for?

He's been fascinated
by jaguars ever since--

since Manuel was killed.

You'll probably find him in
the zoo right now at Chapultepec Park.

He goes there in
the afternoon when

he isn't working on his book.

What does he do at the zoo?

It relaxes him, he says,
and he has a friend there.

Not in a cage, I hope.

It is in a cage.

Fortunately, it's a jaguar.

Yes, he talks Mayan to it.

Huh. Sounds like he's
going out of his mind.

Sometimes I think so.

He says it's not
an ordinary jaguar.

He is the living
incarnation of the jaguar

god in that stone idol.

Ah, he's joking, of course.

I've been married to
Alfred for almost 30 years,

and I'm not sure yet when he's
joking and when he's serious.

Come and see Juanita.

Isn't she at the university?

- She's in her room, in bed.
- Is she ill?

She's right there now, but
sometimes she's too late to get

up and go to her classes.
- What is it?

- What's wrong?
- The doctors don't know.

They can't find anything wrong.

Alfred has a theory about it.

Surprise me if he hasn't--
what does he think it is?

Loss of soul sickness.

Loss of soul sickness?

What on earth is that?

It's described in the books
of the ancient Indians.

They believed you could lose
your soul from pride or someone

could steal it from you.

Some ghost in need of a
soul or a werebeast.

- From fright?
- Yes.

Alfred thinks it
happened when she

was so frightened of the
jaguar in the buried temple.

It's a lingering disease,
you don't die of it.

And what, say, how you can
get your soul back again?

Juanita!

You can get your soul back
if you conjure up the ghost

of the werebeast and destroy it.

Evil must be brought into
the open, Alfred says.

It is the way you're
facing reality instead

of running away from it.

Kind of magical
psychoanalysis apparently...

Oh, Terry.

Terry.

You're back at last.

Elena told me
I might find you here.

I hope you're well again.

I want to ride the train.

I remember the thrill I
once had ringing that bell.

Well, I'm in love
with this place.

Oh, it's enchanting.

I come here so often, I believe
the animals recognize me.

At least there's one that does.

I want you to meet him.

It's a pity that they
have to be in cages.

Aren't we all?

We're in the revolving squirrel
cage of our inheritance.

Wheel of destiny,
as they called it

in India, from which
only a divine aspiration

can set us free at last.

You haven't changed, I see.

Yes, but the animals are in real
cages, and I'm sorry for them.

Do they mind terribly,
do you think?

There's one that does.

Balam doesn't like his cage.

Balam?

It's the Mayan word for jaguar.

I don't suppose he'll
upset you, Juanita.

I don't think so.

Well, I know how you used
to feel about jaguar.

They used to worship him,
make sacrifices to him.

Now, he's shut up in the cage.

It's humiliating, and
he doesn't like it.

Well, he has to be caged
or killed, I imagine.

Yes, because he's evil.

He's the demon of darkness.

We know he swallowed
the sun four times

and brought dreadful
calamities to the world,

until the plumed serpent,
Kukulkan, the great, good God,

shot him up like Lucifer
in the pit of hell.

Here he is.

He seems to know you, Juanita.

Don't be upset,
he can't get out.

Come on.

Well, we can be glad
that one's in a cage.

I've never known him
to behave like that before.

Can't think what's
possessed him.

Come on.
My car's right outside.

Alfred's working, I
won't disturb him.

He's been in good spirits,
since the day you arrived.

But Juanita-- it's no
wonder she's awake.

She's hardly eaten
a thing for days.

Got to strengthen those hands.

She's always been musical
since she was a child,

but I don't know
how she stays alive.

She doesn't even taste my soup.

I have to eat it all myself.

Would you like some?

No, I've had dinner.

I'm worried about Alfred, too.

What's wrong with Alfred?

He goes out somewhere by
himself late at night.

Last night, he didn't
get in until 3 o'clock.

He wouldn't tell
me where he'd been.

You don't think there
is another woman?

Oh, I shouldn't think so.

What do you suppose he
is up to prowling around

in the middle of the night?

He's probably having an affair
with the night-blooming cereus.

What's that?

It's a flower that blooms late
at night, one night a year.

It takes some watching,
and you'll miss it.

He's never been
interested in botany.

Well, it's something
innocent and scientific,

you can be sure of that.

Then, why does he
keep it a secret?

Why doesn't he tell me about it?

Because it's more fun to
keep you guessing I imagine.

Look at me.

Oh, you're dramatizing it,
darling, beyond all reason.

I can't get it out of my mind.

Go dancing with me tonight.

No place elegant.

We'll dance with our hair
down and our shoes off.

Can you dance the Tepo?

No, but I'm willing to learn.

We'll see if we can't
get your mind out

of this groove it's caught in.

Juanita loved to dance.

She seemed happy at last,
her frightening experience

with the jaguar forgotten.

It was as if she and
I alone were alive

and all the others no
more than ghostly figures.

My doubts fell away.

I knew that I wanted
more than anything else

to keep her as happy always
as she was at this moment.

It's peaceful here.

Yes.

I've been happy tonight.

So happy.

I love you, Juanita.

I've wanted so much
to hear you say that.

It isn't easy to say it.

I know.

What is it?

Will you marry me?

It's all I've ever wanted.

Well, what's troubling you?

You haven't changed
your mind about me?

Only to love you more.

And I didn't think
that was possible.

Well, then.

This illness I have--

even the doctor
don't understand it.

I-- 1-- thought sometimes
that I have no right to marry,

that I'd be a burden or trouble.

And I want to be a
joy, only a joy to you.

You know you are.

Don't say anything
to Alfred or Elena.

I have an intuition about it.

Almost a premonition,
I can't explain it.

Be patient with me, darling.

I'm so happy just
knowing you love me.

I won't say a word
until you tell me.

Alfred's working late tonight.

Let's say goodnight to him.

Of course.

He's not here.

His car's gone.

Well, he left the
light in the museum.

Where would he go at
this hour of the night?

I can't imagine.

There's no sign of him.

I'm not sure he'd like you
coming here when he's away.

I wonder what he's up to.

It's not the first time.

Elena worries about it.

I know.

But he doesn't
bother you anymore

does he, that old jaguar?

I've grown accustomed to it.

I think perhaps my
father, if he had lived--

Yes, there's no
question that Manuel

kept him from going overboard.

Listen to this.

"It is easy for people who see
the world die and renew itself

year after year to transfer
their observations to the soul

and believe in reincarnation.

It is a belief common
to all religions

in one form or another, because
it answers a universal need.

The Greeks created for it
the symbol of the Phoenix,

eternally born again
from its own ashes."”

He's marked a passage
here in Plato.

"The soul can wear
out many bodies."

What is it?

It's very strange.

You might have posed for it.

It's Alfred.

- Alfred?
- Well, Terry.

We saw your light and
thought you were working.

We dropped in to say good night.

Where have you children
been at this hour?

We wondered the same
thing about you.

We've been dancing.

I've got something quite
remarkable to show you.

It's extraordinary,
don't you think?

It could be a portrait.

There are some people in
whom the past is alive,

recreated in some curious
and significant way,

and I believe that
Juanita is one of them.

I'm glad you're here, Terry,
because I want you to help me

move the old jaguar,
so that he faces

this ancient image of Juanita.

They were contemporaries,
no doubt of it.

And the odd thing is they
still are, that both of them

are alive today.

"The soul can wear
out many bodies."

- Plato said that.
- Yeah.

You know your Plato so well?

I saw the passage you marked.

So I have no secrets from you.

On the contrary.

Where do you go so late
at night all by yourself?

I think I'll keep that secret.

Good night, Terry.

Good night, Alfred.

Good night, darling.

Juanita.

Thank you, Terry, for trying.

Come in here, will you, Terry?

I need your help.

A confrontation consummated
after centuries.

Give me a hand, will you?

"Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
in the forests of the night;

what immortal hand and I,
framed by a fearful symmetry?"

A magnificent poem.

The most profound in
the language, perhaps

in any language.

You're covering a lot of
territory, aren't you?

Not a lot of reason--
to break the tiger

was the eternal symbol of evil.

Did he who made
the lamb make thee?

Exactly.

When was the problem of evil
more beautifully expressed?

The soul of evil, hence, the
mortalities, whether imprisoned

in idols or incarnate in cages.

But one day to be free again,
the Tyger burning right,

to seek its
unravished sacrifice,

the incarnate maiden.

Juanita and the jaguar.

And how is she to be
delivered from the foul fiend?

By some unsung Perseus.

Some obscure St. George.

Out of the naked
sphere of truth,

this legendary chant of
King Arthur's Excalibur

and with 2 name perhaps
no more heroic than Terry.

The resemblance
unfortunately is less

striking than that of Juanita
to this old clay figure.

But tell me, will the
hero marry the maiden

and take half the kingdom?

And where is he to find a magic
sword in this day and age?

An old wizard will
give it to him.

The jaguar is the demon
that must be destroyed

by each generation
all over again,

because the world is no better
than the individuals in it.

Save the world, we
would save ourselves.

Have you a practical suggestion?

The perennial jaguar is locked
in the cage by a personality.

The evil within us
that devours our soul.

We must let him out, face him,
and conquer him, before we

can call our soul our own.

But when all the
dragons are slain,

what are we to do for heroes?

In utopia, there are no heroes.

There, that does it.

Since you've been
looking at my papers,

perhaps you might care to come
to the university on Wednesday

to hear my lecture
on human sacrifice.

Juanita will be there.

Is it necessary for
her to be there?

Don't you think the
subject might upset her?

Attendance is required
of my students.

I don't see how I
could make an exception

in the case of Juanita,
unless, of course, she's ill.

Well, if she feels well
enough, I'll bring her.

May I bring a photographer?

Of course.

I made up my mind to
follow the professor

and discover, if I could, what
he was up to at such an hour

and in such secrecy.

I had lost sight of him while
circling one of Mexico City's

glorietas, but it was
already apparent to me

that he was on his way
to Chapultepec Park.

I knew then where I
ought to look for him.

Buenas noches, Balam.

He had secured a key to
the gate and the wire fence

rounding the cage.

The thought moved like
a ghost through my mind

that he might be
able, then, to obtain

a key to the cage itself.

A chill of premonition
Shivered through me.

I tried to tell myself that
my fears were fantastic,

but I made a resolution
to take Juanita

away as soon as I could from
this oppressive atmosphere.

What would you do if
I were to let you out?

Where would you go?

It was later than I thought.

The Carthaginians
sent their first born

to the hungry deity Balack.

The innocent victims placed on
the sloping arms of this brass

idol rolled down into the
blazing belly of the god, whose

powers were, doubtfully,
sufficiently restored by this nourishment

to repel the enemies of the
city and win new conquest

for mighty Carthage.

The cretin monster known
as the minotaur inhabited

the labyrinth and was regaled
by periodical sacrifices

of Athenian youths and
maidens, until the hero,

Theseus, the original
matador, destroyed the beasts

and put an end to the tribute.

The legend obviously derives
from an ancient practice

of human sacrifice to
an animal divinity.

The practice of human
sacrifice died hard

amongst the ancient Hebrews.

Jehovah demanded the sacrifice
of Abraham's only son, Isaac,

as a burnt offering.

But that story, as we all
know, had a happy ending.

Once the piety of the
patriarch had been adequately

demonstrated by his willingness
to give his son to the Lord,

Jehovah allowed a ram to
be burned in his stead.

This is a reference to
the transition which

took place in most
early religions

between human and
animal sacrifice.

The gladiatorial
contests of imperial Rome

were a survival of an
ancient form of sacrifice

in which the victim
was allowed to defend

himself against hopeless odds.

No doubt there was some
satisfaction to these brave men

to die fighting.

In Western Europe, the druids
put cattle, sheep, chickens,

and human beings into
gigantic, wicked images,

which were then burned
with their living contents.

I made no reference to
Africa, New Guinea, Australia,

or the islands of
the South Seas,

where ritual cannibalism
was widely practiced.

The most systematic
use of human sacrifice

was, as we have seen, not
in primitive but in highly

developed cultures.

Practice, however, dates back
to the darkest antiquity.

This stylized human frame, which
I borrowed from the National

Museum, comes from New Guinea.

The body was designed to hold
in the socket to the neck

the skull of a human sacrifice.

The skull which you see is
that of a veritable victim.

It's reasonable to
assume that the art

of sculpture originated
with functional

use in such magical ceremonies.

The rites included chanting,
percussive music, and dancing,

together with old invocations.

And so lead in times the
invention of the other arts

as attributes of
ceremonial magic.

Perhaps that's why today
when we see a work of art,

we say it casts a spell over us.

This is not a figure of speech
but a statement of fact.

Human sacrifice was
inspired by the most

profound of hopes and fears--

the underlying principle
being that individuals

should give their lives for the
benefit of the whole community.

In this sense, the death of
a soldier in modern warfare

may be considered sacrificial.

Perhaps in a more
enlightened future,

the bloody wars of
so-called civilized nations

will be looked upon with
the same incredulous revulsion

with which we today regard
the ritual sacrifices performed

by so-called primitive peoples.

The practice of
capital punishment,

still unfortunately prevalent
in much of the civilized world,

is the survival of
human sacrifice.

Even though in this case,
the goddess of justice

takes the place of a
less abstract divinity.

Even the rudest, most
barbaric origins, the most

sublime development's a puzzle.

Jesus suffered on the cross
in order to take upon himself

the sins of mankind.

He died for all of us and
by his voluntary agony

on Calvary redeemed the world.

In the ceremony of the
communion and in the symbolism

of the host and the chalice, we
may see the ultimate apotheosis

and sublimation of all the vain
gropings and aspirations of man

toward divinity.

From that pinnacle of
holy love and charity,

we may look back without
despair on the long history

of human cruelty.

I've spoken of the
practice of human sacrifice

by nearly every ancient
race and religion in order

to avoid any feeling of
self-righteousness over its use

here in Mexico, where it reached
its extreme expression among

the Aztecs five centuries ago.

The art of
pre-conquest Mexico was

as magnificent and inventive
as any of the world

has seen, not excepting that
of Egypt, Greece, India,

China, and Western Europe.

Yet, with it went
this cruel ritual,

creating a paradox of
culture not unique to Mexican

but universal.

All right, Carlos, start
the Mexican slides.

The gods of ancient Mexico
demanded from mankind the most

precious gift he had to offer--

human life.

And from the human body, they
required the most vital organ--

the heart.

Four priests held the
victim spread-eagled

over the sacrificial stone,
while a fifth cut open

the breast and ripped the
living heart from the body,

which was afterwards
ceremonially burnt

and offered to the god.

The sacrifice took place at
the summit of the pyramid

in front of the temple,
and from this high place,

the body was
afterwards thrown down

before the assembled people.

The odor of sacrifice
was copal, still used

in the manufacture of perfume.

And such as this, discovered in
the excavation of Monte Albán,

were used for
burning this incense.

I have here one of
the obsidian knives

used at these rituals,
which I myself discovered

beside the image of a jaguar god
to whom the sacrifice was made.

The natural volcanic glass
is as sharp as a steel blade.

The calendar of the Aztecs
called for monthly variations

on this theme.

There might be
differences of detail.

The victims might be
men, women, or children.

The dances, costume,
and incantations

might be varied to suit
the nature of the god

or the season, but the
sacrifice culminated almost

invariably in the same way.

It was the living heart which
the gods required and received.

Do you mind coming up
here a minute, Terry?

I need your help
with this costume.

When Montezuma the First
grandfathered the

To come to Cortez, dedicated
his great city of Tenochtitlan,

now Mexico City, 20,000
victims were slaughtered

in a single festival.

The conquistadors who came
from Spain with Cortez

counted 60,000
sacrificial skulls

at one time and the
skull rack which

arose in a vast
architectural cube of horror

in the center of the main
square of Montezuma's city.

I'm now wearing a replica
of the costume of a Chilan,

or officiating priest of
the sacrificial ceremony.

Do you mind turning
that light on me, Terry?

Thank you.

Some of you, I see, seem to
be amused at this costume.

It would be less so, I
imagine, were it to cover

the tattooed nakedness of a
veritable priest presiding

over your own immolation.

The rites were not
always performed

on the platform of the pyramid.

In one case, the sacrificial
virgin was bound to a two-post

sit up in the form of an X.

This was the method used in
an extraordinary sacrifice

designed to
propitiate the oldest

of the Mexican divinities,
the jaguar god.

Juanita, I have another
costume here or part of one

that I'd like to
share to our friends.

A girl's costume.

I also have a sample
of the jewelry worn

by the victim of this ritual.

Would you mind putting
them on for us?

That might not be
such a good idea.

As you know, she
hasn't been well.

It's only for a moment if
you'll feel up to it, Juanita.

Of course.

My foster daughter is
of pure Indian ancestry

and will make an
excellent model for

these sacrificial accessories.

I shall not paint her face
blue as her ancestors did.

I think I can spare
you that one, can 1?

The person was set
up in the jungle

at a place where the live jaguar
was known to have his lair.

The ceremony took place
at night by torchlight.

The girl was painted, dressed,
and bound to the cross

to await the arrival of
her bridegroom, the living

incarnation of the jaguar god.

You will observe that
Juanita's dress resembles

that worn by the Mayan
girl being sacrificed

in this illustration.

The Chilan shouted
his invocation

summoning the jaguar,
leading his attendant priests

at the same time in a
dance around the girl.

The dance was accompanied
by choral chanting

and an insistent, hypnotic,
percussive music beaten

out on drums and gourds,
mingled with the shrill sound

of flutes.

At the conclusion of
the dance, the priests

withdrew to a safe
distance in order

not to bring upon themselves
the dangerous attention

of the living god,
but the girl was

left alone to face the jaguar.

Beaters deployed around
the place of sacrifice

began to strike about with
sticks, shouting and yelling

to frighten the
beasts of the jungle,

driving them towards
the helpless girl.

Gliding and crawling
things swarmed about her

in sheets of hurried movements.

The snakes, the iguanas,
the lizards, the toads, and

a multitude of small vermin.

After them came the
running animals--

the weasels, rabbits,
rats, and wild pigs.

From the larger beasts,
the deer and the coyotes.

They did not molest
her but moved

past quickly in a panic to
escape the advancing beaters.

Suddenly, the shouting
stopped and a fearful silence

fell up in the jungle.

The jaguar had appeared.

The jaguar does
not attack directly

but stalks its prey
in narrowing circles.

She could see the burning
eyes moving around her.

The people waited in
breathless silence.

They, too, could
follow the advance

of the guardian incarnate
as they believed her to be.

Ahh!

Don't be alarmed.

She'll be just all
right in a minute.

Hello, Terry.

What's all this about?

I've searched the books.

Your books.

There was no such
sacrifice, you made it up.

Well, at least you're
getting a good education.

And anyhow, you're wrong.

I synthesized it from
authentic detail,

I can give you chapter and
verse for the cross beings

and the animal beaters.

Why did you synthesize it?

Why did you deliberately try
to scare her out of her wits?

Well, the idea isn't
exactly new or original.

I got it from Hamlet.

Play within a play.

Hamlet wanted to find out
what the king would do

when he saw his time re-enacted.

So if you insist,
I staged, uh, a small play.

What did you expect to prove
by that grotesque performance?

Do you mean you're not convinced?
Not even yet?

I don't even know what I'm
supposed to be convinced of.

You've forgotten how
frightened she was of him?

At the jaguar dances
at the fiesta?

You remember how
her father died.

And you saw what
happened in the zoo.

Are those spells she has, which
the doctors can't diagnose?

Do you suppose all this
is pure coincidence?

There's a natural
explanation for all of it.

And her reaction to my
description of the sacrifice,

was that natural, too?

It would have been unnatural
if she hadn't fainted

after the act you put on.

Who do you suppose
would be impressed

by your demonstration?

Your colleagues
at the university?

They'd think you were
out of your mind!

I've convinced myself.

Now, I'll find a way
to convince them--

and you, too.

I'll not have Juanita
subjected to any more

of these gruesome experiments.

You're wrong, Terry.

She's a sick girl.

Her illness goes
deeper than you think.

There's only one way to save
her in a desperate and dangerous

way but the only one.

She has a disease--
you invented it.

Anyhow, Alfred.

Juanita didn't want me to tell
you, but you may as well know.

We're going to be married.

I haven't much time then.

Time for what?

Well, my experiments, of course.

The gods demand maidens
for their sacrifices.

But seriously, I'm
delighted, Terry.

It's what he wished, Juanita's father,
and Elena will be very happy, too.

She'll be busy with the
wedding dress and 1,001 things.

We must have a church wedding
and all that goes with it.

This calls for a drink.

There's no other way, Manuel.

Quiet, you beasts and birds.

You think you are all gods?

They may be after all.

The Egyptians had 73
animal divinities.

There was a time when
I could name them.

For you, Juanita, my darling.

If I'm wrong, may
heaven forgive.

Balam?

It's waiting, Balam.

Ingratitude is not
exclusively a human attribute.

It belongs to divinity as well.

The incarnate jaguar
god had a curious reward

for his benefactor,
who came to free him

from humiliating imprisonment.

You know your way, Balam.

It was at about the time the
professor opened the cage.

Perhaps it was at
that moment precisely.

Juanita was awakened by the
sound of a strange commotion

coming from the darkness
of the professor's museum

across the garden.

The noises were mysterious,
ghostly, as if they

belonged to another world.

It was as if a tiger had somehow
materialized in the museum

and as if it were
trying to break out.

Growls and roars were mingled
with the crash of clay figures

falling and shattering,
and with the dull blows

of a heavy object striking
against the walls.

But there was no
light in the museum,

and Elena had seen the Professor
leave half an hour before.

They thought of
calling the police,

but Elena was afraid of
involving her husband.

I told them to stay
in the house and to do

nothing until I got there.

Hurry, Terry, hurry.

By what strange influence
did the professor

succeed in drawing a wild
Jaguar through the empty streets

to university city?

Was it by the force of
his intense resolution?

His will as it is called?

Or did the beast,
suspicious of his liberty,

find assurance in the proximity
of a form familiar to him?

The professor would
not have accepted

So rational an explanation.

The idea that the jaguar,
a demon incarnate,

was aware of his goal
and of the road to it

would not appear to
him as it did to me.

Monstrous, unnatural
beyond reason.

The soul of evil has
also, he once said

to me, a corporeal immortality.

Imprisoned though it may be
for centuries in figured stone

or incarnate in
cages, until one day

it is liberated like a
beast of the apocalypse.

By what miracle of memory
do fish find their way

to the distant and
obscure streams

of their nativity to spawn
where they were spawned?

By what incredible navigation
do birds arrive at far havens

over seas and continents?

We are prepared to accept
these common miracles,

but how are we to believe
that a savage jungle

beast out of his cage
in a zoo traverse

the city to a predictable goal?

Balam.

The professor is steeped
in ancient superstitions.

Drew no sharp lines between
the real and the imaginary.

I prefer to believe that
he was able by ultimately

leading and following to coax
the jaguar to his destination.

There is a light on
now in the museum.

Do you think someone--

Juanita!

I fought not for myself
only, not only for Juanita--

the concentrated force
of evil was attacking me.

I fought with a sense
of enormous, almost

unbearable, responsibility
sustained by a strength

beyond myself.

The struggle seemed immense,
eternal, unreal, outside

of time and place and the
natural order of things.

And in fact, so
it may have been,

because we had to understand
the extraordinary revelation

in store for me.

It stopped now, the
noise in the museum.

He's dead now.

Yes, he's dead.

Like that?

Yes, like that.

You're safe, Juanita, my darling.

But I knew that, too.

How?
How did you know?

There's nothing else in
the place in one piece.

You should have seen her shaking,
as I did.

I thought she'd fall and
break, but she didn't.

When the old demon gave up.

I knew you had killed him
and she was safe.

My hand comes from
the mountains.

It was a desperate
measure, but it succeeded.

She could call us.

You will be as happy with
her as I've been with Elena.

Wait, Elena.

Wait.

Don't move anything in here.

Get your camera
and take pictures.

Promise me you'll do that today.

They'll never
believe it otherwise.

Not even if you swear to it.

I'll do it, I promise.

Write the story now while
it's fresh in your mind.

Publish it with the pictures.

I will.

Don't bother to
explain anything.

Nothing worth explaining
can be explained.

Let them do the explaining.

Ask them how a stone sculpture
moved all around this room,

broke my walls
and made a shambles

of my ceramics collection.

You laughed, Manuel and
you, but I said there was

life in that old stone.

They're ready to believe in
any pseudoscientific absurdity.

A part of the soul.

Nobody believes in
the soul anymore.

Give me a kiss, Elena, darling.

Call a doctor, if you want to.

It's a priest I need.

I think I'm beyond doctors.

I think I'm even beyond the
bowl of your good, hot soup.

When doctor and priest
had done what they

could for his body
and his soul, I was

permitted the last interview.

He made me promise not
to postpone the wedding.

He would be there, he
said, incorporeally.

I had a curious
feeling that he was.

Juanita was so happy.

So wonderfully happy.

I've never seen anything
So happy as Juanita's face.

I made a mighty oath
to keep it that way.

I've written this story
just as it happened.

I have the photographs, too,
if anyone wants to see them.

"The soul can wear out many bodies."