The Quiet Man

Well, then... Urrmm, now.

Ill begin at the beginnin.

A fine, soft day in the spring it was

when the train pulled into Castletown,

three hours late as usual,

and himself got out.

He didnt have the look

of an American tourist at all about him,

not a camera on him and, what was worst,

not even a fishing-rod.

Castletown?

- Castletown?

- Could you tell me the way to Inisfree?

Inisfree? Aw, five miles and maybe a half more.

- Do you see that road over there?

- Yeah.

Dont take that one, itll do you no good.

Now, the best road to Inisfree, and many...

Oh, Inisfree you want. Be savin your breath,

let me direct the gentleman.

Happen to know the way to Knoghenor?

If you knew the way there,

would he be asking the way to Inisfree?

Theres many knows Knoghenor

that doesnt know Inisfree.

If youd take the time to study

your countrys history, Mr Maloney...

- ...youd be the first to admit it.

- Dont send the poor man there.

The fishing is finished there entirely.

Tell me, Yank, what is it that youre after?

- Is it trout or salmon?

- All I want is to get to Inisfree.

Ah, now youre talking sense.

The best fishing in the country.

- True.

- Trout as long as your arm.

And salmon! The last one I got,

I expected Jonah to pop out of his mouth.

Ah, Inisfree. Id bring you there myself,

only I got to drive the train.

Hey, was I tellin you about that trout

I got two summers before last?

- At Inisfree?

- Not at all!

At Ballygar, over the other end of the country.

My sisters third young one is living at Inisfree,

and shed be only too happy

to show you the road.

- No, no, if she was here.

- Its Inisfree the man wants to go to.

- You see that signpost over there?

- What do you know...

Inisfree, this way.

I wonder, now, why a man would go to Inisfree.

- Six foot six?

- Four and a half.

- Cincinnati?

- No, Pittsburgh.

Pi..Pitss...

Dont you remember, Seaneen, and how it was.

The road led up past the chapel,

and it wound, and it wound,

and there was the field where

Dan Tobins bull chased you.

It was a lovely little house, Seaneen,

and the roses.!

Your father used to tease me about them,

but he was that proud of them, too.

Thats nothin but a wee humble cottage.

That little place across the brook,

that humble cottage. Who owns it now?

The widow Tillane. Not that she lives there.

- You think shed sell it?

- I doubt it.

Dont bet on it cause Im buyin it.

Why...why would a Yankee from Pittsburgh

want to buy it?

Ill tell you why, Michaleen Oge Flynn,

young small Michael Flynn,

who used to wipe my runny nose

when I was kid.

Because Im Sean Thornton,

and I was born in that little cottage.

And Ive come home, and home Im gonna stay.

Does that answer your questions

once and for all, you nosy little man?

Seaneen Thornton... The...

And look at you now.

What do they feed you,

all you men who are in Pittsburgh?

Steel, and pig-iron furnaces so hot

a man forgets his fear of hell.

When youre hard enough,

tough enough...other things.

Other things, Michaleen.

Now then, here comes myself,

thats me there, walking.

That tall, saintly-looking man.

Peter Lonergan, parish priest.

Good day, Father. Sean, this is Father Lonergan.

Father, would you believe it?

This is Sean Thornton,

born right here in Inisfree, home from America.

- Hello, Father.

- Ah, yes.

I knew your people, Sean.

Your grandfather...

He died in Australia, in a penal colony.

And your father, he was a good man too.

Bad accident, that. And your mother?

Shes dead. America, when I was twelve.

Ill remember her in the mass tomorrow.

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