Professor Stoner
had been strangely
secretive about what
we would 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
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.
Am I too loud?
Just keep your eyes on
the step you're taking.
We're getting 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 tour just finished
with the buried
bouncing down the stairs.
We ought to have told
her what to expect.
I had no idea how
she'd be so frightened.
You're so scared of a stone jaguar,
honey, then what will
ever you do with 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.
I'm a 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're 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 play now.
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 with
an obsidian Kn*fe
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 thr*aten
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 thr*aten
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 book of the.
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.
you
wouldn't 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 want 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 d*ed
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 a 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.
Would 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, hotcakes, 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 b*at?"
What song is that?
That's a beautiful song.
I want to learn it.
Elena's soup is waiting.
Come on.
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 k*lled 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,
while I'd still have my friend.
How could he have listened,
or any reasonable man
for that matter?
Manuel was not k*lled by
the stone that crushed him.
The stone was the instrument
of a deeper purpose.
What purpose?
Manuel was k*lled 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 I. 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 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.
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 research.
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 k*lled by it.
You'll probably find him
in the zoo right now..
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..
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 ghosts,
so that destroyed.
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.
Oh, Terry.
Terry.
Elena told me I
might find you here.
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 k*lled, 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,
sh*t 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
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 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.
Go dancing with our hair
down and our shoes off.
Can you dance the?
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... I... 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 pages are 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 consummate
dafter 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.
Some obscure St. George.
Out of the naked sphere of truth,
this legendary chant of
King Arthur's Excalibur
and with a name perhaps
no more heroic than Terry.
The resembles
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.
I have anyway.
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
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 d*ed 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 b*rned 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 man
to die fighting.
In Western Europe, the druids
put cattle, sheep, chickens,
and human beings into
gigantic, wicked images,
which were then b*rned
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,
no tin 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
would look upon the same
incredulous revulsion
with which we dare 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 d*ed 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 reach edits
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 accepting
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 Alb n,
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 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 I?
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 att*ck directly
but st*lks 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,
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 reenacted.
So if you insist, I say
it's, uh, more a 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 d*ed.
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.
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 maybe 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.
In prison, 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 my self 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.
Well, say, Juanita, my darling.
Will I do that, too?
How?
How did you know?
There's nothing else in
the place in one piece.
Look, she'll see me
shaking as I did.
I thought she'd fall and
break, but she didn't.
And the old demon gave up.
I knew you would k*ll
him until we're 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.
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,
walls
and made a shambles
of my ceramics collection.
You laughed, Manuel and you,
but I said there was
life in that whole.
They're ready to believe in
any pseudo scientific 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, in corporeally.
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.
Living Idol, The (1957)
Moderator: Maskath3
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