Lavoura Arcaica (2001) - full transcript

I wasn't expecting you.

I wasn't expecting you.

We love you so much.

We love you so much.

Button up your shirt, Andr?.

Andr?!

Andr?!

Andr?!

In the sluggish,
lazy afternoons at the farm...

I hid away in the woods...

from my family's worried eyes.



Soothing my feverish
feet into the ground,

and cover myself up with leaves,

I slept as quietly
as an ailing plant...

wilted by the weight
of a red blossom...

Were those stems
around me all fairies...

patiently, watching
my adolescent slumber?

Where those ancient urns...

calling me out from the porch?

Andr?!

Andr?!

And was the use of those calls,

if faster messengers...

rode the wind skillfully,
corrupting the atmosphere?

When my slumber was ripe...



I harvested it as a fruit,
voluptuously and religiously.

I remembered my father's sermons.

He said: "Our eyes are
the lanterns of our bodies.

If our eyes are good,
our bodies shall carry the light.

But if our eyes are blurred...

it means that's a dark,
gloomy body."

The shutters...

Why are the shutters closed?

"TO THE LEFT OF THE FATHER"

BASED ON THE NOVEL
"LAVOURA ARCAICA"

BY RADUAN NASSAR

A FILM BY
LUIZ FERNANDO CARVALHO

Don't you worry, brother.

Find the serious voice
you're looking for

Ask me what's been going on.

Disagree with me...

and shatter the family
chinaware against my eyes.

This is how we used to sit
around the table for meals...

or for sermons:
Father at the head...

to his right,
ordered according to age,

There was Pedro, Rosa,
Zuleika and Huda.

To his left, Mother, myself...

Ana and Lula, the youngest.

The right branch...

had grown spontaneously
from the trunk.

But the left branch was scarred,

as if Mother, where the left
branch started, were an anomaly,

a morbid offshoot,
weighed down by affection.

You have no idea of what
we've been through since you left.

You would be shocked to see
our family's strained face.

It's hard for me to
say this, brother...

but Mother can't hide
her sobbing anymore.

She didn't tell anyone
you had left.

That day, at lunch time,

each one of us felt

the weight of your empty chair.

The day dragged on while
we worked with Father...

we thought about
our sisters at home...

busy in the kitchen,
or embroidering on the porch...

sewing, or cleaning out the pantry.

No matter where the girls were...

they would never be
the same after that day.

They no longer filled
the house with joy.

You should have
been there, Andr?.

You should have seen Father,
locked up in his silence.

Right after dinner he left
the table and went outside.

No one saw him withdraw.

He stood there...

staring blankly
into the dark night.

Finally, at bedtime,
when I went to your room...

I opened your closet
and pulled the empty drawers...

only then I understood...

as the eldest brother,
what had really happened:

The family's destruction
had begun.

It began long before you think.

It began at a time when faith grew
malignantly inside of me...

when I had more passion
than anyone else at home.

Me...

a pious child...

would set my Marian society ribbon
next to my bed at night...

and think about God waking me
everyday at 5 AM...

for early communion.

Wake up, sweetheart.

Wake up.

Don't wake up your brother,
sweetheart.

- My heart.
- My heart.

- My eyes.
- My eyes.

- My lamb.
- My lamb.

My heart, my eyes...

As soon as I got up...

God was there in front of me,
on my bedside table...

and it was a God
I could hold in my hands...

and it filled my innocent chest.

And I went to church
like a balloon...

The light we had at home during
our childhood was fine:

Home baked bread, hot milk
and coffee, the butter dish...

The brightness
of our home...

seemed to be even brighter
when we came from the village...

That clarity...

later started to disturb me.

It would make me strange
and mute to the world.

The more united a family,
the worse is the blow.

A family's strength and joy
can be destroyed in one blow.

In the woods,
behind the house...

under the taller trees,
when the sunlight created

a gentle and joyous
play of shadows.

After the smell of roasted meat...

was gone, through the leaves
of the fuller trees,

the cloth, that was spread over
the calm grass, was folded away.

And I watched it,
sitting next to a trunk,

the frantic preparations
for the dance;

young men and women
rushing around,

my sisters joined in,
with their country ways...

wearing light,
bright dresses...

along with love's promise
of a greater love.

Running graciously,
they filled the woods with laughter...

they carried baskets of fruit to
where the tablecloth had been.

The melons and watermelons
were joyously split.

And I imagined, once the wine had
dampened his solemnity...

the happiness
in my father's eyes...

he felt reassured, then that all
would not rot in the ship's hold...

And seated like that,
seemingly relaxed...

I imagined from a distance
the fresh skin of her face...

her lavender aroma,
her full, tender mouth...

full of sweetness, mystery and
malice in her date-like eyes.

I wanted to dig my nails
into the soil...

and lie in that pit,
covered with damp earth.

Come on, sweetheart.

Come play with
your brothers and sisters.

Leave me alone, Mother.

I'm having fun.

That bright dust, when I look back
into that distant time...

I see the day,
when I had my feet in chains,

and I looked down
to avoid her face...

As I left home, my knapsack
weighed on my shoulders...

tied to my back,
the two of us walked like twins;

yolks of the same egg...

eyes looking forward...

and eyes looking backwards.

As I stood there,
I saw many distant things.

That afternoon,
I made my desperate decision...

to dwelve into the soft
womb of time.

Who knows, I could have
told to my brother tenderly:

"Go away,
send my regards to the family!"

I could shut the door...

then, alone in my darkness...

I'd bundle myself in the soft cloth
there was on the wall.

And, thus protected,
give in to wine and to my fortune.

SCATENA BOARDING HOUSE
BREAKFAST, MEALS AND ROOMS

Since I ran away,
I stifled my revolt

and step by step,
I went away from the farm.

And If I asked myself,
"Where are we going?"

"We are always going home."

When I told Mother
I was coming to see you,

she stood back...

and her eyes brimmed
with tears.

There was fear in her eyes.

"Come on, Mother, cheer up,
you should laugh, instead...

Don't be like that,
and don't worry.

I promise I'll not argue
with that runaway.

You'll see how happy he'll be.
You'll see.

Mother, you'll see how everything...

is going to be like it was,
just like it used to be!"

Bring him back, Pedro.

Don't tell your brother
or your sisters you're going.

But bring him back.

Now I'll bake the sweet rolls,
he enjoyed so much...

As she said that, held me firmly
as if I were you, Andr?.

That's how you feed a lamb.

Mother has aged a lot.

I saw her sitting
on her rocking chair,

completely alone and lost
in her grey daydreams

unraveling the lace woven
during a lifetime around love

and family union.

As I saw her comb in her bun
in majestic simplicity...

I felt for a moment
it was worth a history book.

But no one at home has
changed as much as Ana.

As soon as you left, she shut
herself in the chapel to pray.

When she is not wandering
aimlessly in the woods...

she hides strangely
over by the old house.

None of us can break her
pious silence.

No one causes us more worry.

I don't drink any more.
Nor should you drink any more.

Father's wisdom
isn't in this wine!

The spirit of this wine will not repair
the damage of our home!

Put the bottle away, that's serious,
it's about the family!

Lt's all right to have a drink!

I'm an epileptic!
An epileptic!

Your brother is epileptic,
now you know it!

Go home and tell everyone!

Go now, and you'll see that
the doors and windows at home...

will bang shut
by this wind!

And you, men of the family...

carrying Father's heavy tool box,
will walk around the house...

violently hammering crossed
boards over the windows!

And our sisters...

dressed in black, will run
around the house in mourning.

It'll be a chorus of howling,
sobbing and whimpering...

a locked-up family dance!

He abandoned us...

And with a flock of scarves
to hide their faces...

they will huddle, exhausted,
sobbing in a corner...

He abandoned us...

And you will scream
louder and louder:

"Our brother is a convulsive.
A possessed epileptic!"

And tell them I have a room in a
boarding house for my fits.

We lived with him
and we didn't know.

Never even once we suspected!

Never even once we suspected!

He abandoned us.

He abandoned us.

And yell as you will,
gorge yourselves!

Although you don't understand
the sinister web I got caught in!

And you, Pedro, as the eldest,
you may lament:

"It's sad he has our blood!"
Cry out! Cry out loud:

"He's been possessed by
a cursed disease!" Scream it!

What a disgrace has descended
upon our household!

"What makes him different?"
And you'll hear the chorus...

He's possessed by the devil!
He's possessed by the devil!

"He's possessed by the devil!"

Then you go ahead and say:

His eyes are gloomy...

He's possessed by the devil!

Then keep sputtering,
like stones in a sewer and say:

"What terrible crime
has he committed?"

"What terrible crime
has he committed?"

"He's possessed by the devil!"
And then say:

"He has stained the family!

He condemned us to burn
in shameful flames!"

He's possessed by the devil.

He's possessed by the devil.

And you'll always hear the same
cavernous hollow sound:

"He's possessed by the devil."

And then, as if in blasphemy...

raise your arms.
Raise your hands to heaven.

He has abandoned us!

He has abandoned us!

Plug your ears, Pedro.
Plug your ears.

Stick your fingers in the hole!

And after all the weeping...

all the sobbing
and teeth grinding...

go straight to the linen closet...

open its doors...

and look for the old linen sheets,
kept with such care.

You'll see that those
sheets, even those...

like everything in our house...

even those carefully washed
and folded cloths, everything!

Everything in our house was totally
soaked with Father's words!

It was him...

It was him who always said...

We must start by the truth and
end with the truth.

Look at my arms.

Look.

Look.

But it was also him...

He was the one who said probably
unaware of what he was saying...

and certainly not realizing how
one of us could use it some day.

Look at the strength of
the tree growing in isolation...

and the shade it provides
to the herd.

The troughs...

the long troughs emerging isolated
on the immense field...

smoothed by so many tongues...

where the cattle comes
for the salt...

that purifies its flesh and skin.

Did it ever cross your mind,
even for a short moment...

to open the dirty clothes
hamper in the bathroom?

Did you ever think
of dwelving in...

to carefully remove each and every
intimate garment of the family?

I dragged up a shred of each
of us when I dug there.

No one heard each one cry
like I did, Pedro.

I knew the family's every mood...

moulding away in the vinegary,
rotten smell...

of the cold, vein-ridden walls
of a dirty clothes hamper.

No one stuck their hands
in like I did!

No one felt the loneliness more.

You had to get out of bed...

and wander through the halls.

Listen to the throbbing and
moaning behind all the doors...

and our muffled,
homicidal plans.

I knew the body
of the entire family.

I held the red dust-covered
sanitary napkins in my hands...

as if they were
an assassin's rags.

No one heard us like I did, Pedro.

No one loved us like I did.
No one knew the path to our union.

Grandfather led us
along that path...

that tall, slender old man carved
out in the wood of our furniture.

The truth is,
it was he led us...

he was a guide
carved out of plaster.

He had no eyes,
our grandfather.

Nothing more than two deep, hollow,
somber pits in his face, Pedro!

Nothing else shone besides
his terrible, golden hook!

I'm tired of soothing thoughts...

afflicting eyes,
gentle contortions.

I want everything to burn:

My feet...

the thorns in my arms...

the leaves covering my
wooden body...

my forehead...

my lips...

provided my useless
tongue is spared.

I don't care
if only laments are left...

the family's
sobbing and moaning.

Pedro, my brother...

father's sermons were
inconsistent.

The world of passions is
an unbalanced world.

The passionate must be careful
averting their eyes...

so they are not blurred
by the rusty red dust.

Building a fence,
simply shielding the body...

those are the ways...

to prevent darkness
from one side...

from invading and contaminating
light on the other.

Through isolation, we can escape
the dangers of passion.

But do not think...

we should just always
sit and cross our arms.

No one in this house shall rest while
there is land to be tilled.

No one in this house shall rest
when walls need building.

And let no one shall rest...

when a brother is in need.

I hadn't left home yet, Pedro...

but I saw suspicion
in Mother's eyes.

I wanted to tell her:

"You are saying farewell now
without knowing me."

I could have said:

"All I did was nestle in the straw
of your womb for nine months...

and receiving for many years the
tender touch of your hands and lips."

"That's why I'm leaving home...

that's why I'm going away."

I could have told her
so much, Pedro.

But I thought it was useless.

"It makes no sense",
I thought...

to leave in her poor,
flour-coated hands...

an exasperated
carnation stem.

"It makes no sense",
I thought twice...

to stain her apron...

to cut the cord...

and other leaves.

That's why instead
of saying...

"Mother, you don't know me..."

I preferred, Pedro,
with my mouth dry and salty...

I preferred to remain
buckled up before her...

as if nothing was the matter.

I had nothing to say,
but she wanted to say something...

and I thought:

"Mother has something to say
that I might listen to.

Something perhaps that
should be saved carefully."

But all I could hear
without her saying anything...

were the cracks
in her old chinaware womb...

I heard in her eyes a desperate
cry of a delivering mother.

I felt her fruit drying
under my hot breath.

But I couldn't do anything,
my eyes were darkened.

Still, I could have said:

"Mother, you and I have begun
to ruin this house.

The time has come to throw
out the window...

all the dishes and the flies
of our old cup board..."

But I've already told
you Pedro, my eyes...

were darker than
they'd ever been before.

Me, the wayward son...

It was not of roads
that I dreamt of.

I'd never thought
to leave home.

I never thought of running afar
searching for sensual thrills.

I knew, dear brother,
from the most tender age...

how much disappointment
awaited me outside our home.

Pedro.
It's your silence I need now.

Lift your blinds.

Give your eyes free reigns.

Leave aside
the family strength and caution.

And hold your harsh tongue.

Moisten your lips...

your mouth.

And your rotting teeth...

and probe the depths
of your stomach.

Fill this leather pouch
tightened by your belt,

let the wine seep
through your pores.

That's the only way
to idolize the obscene.

Oh, brother...

we've come to understand
each other.

I can see your mouth
is decongested

and the sweetness
of the wine is in your eyes.

Take it in your hands, Pedro,

and feel this filthy ribbon.

This rag is the subtle
extension of the red fingernails...

of my first whore.

What a crazy shame...

you poor, quivering boy.

You've got such a pure face...

and such a clean body.

What a crazy shame...

to see a boy with peach down...

with a smooth, bare chest...

burning in bed...

like kindling.

Take this.

Take this.

Take what you've asked me.

Keep this grimy
little ribbon with you...

and come back to your niche,
my little saint.

My little saint!

That's where
I took my communion, Pedro.

Oh, brother. I lied on the blazing
tangerine-filled ground.

Didn't I surrender like a child
in the orgy of killer berries?

Wasn't it a precarious
peace that came over me...

to have my body stretched out
on a weed mattress?

Wasn't this different slumber
perhaps temporary?

To have my fingernails dirty,
my feet numbed.

Lice cutting trails
through my hair.

My armpits visited by ants?

Wasn't this second slumber
perhaps temporary?

To have my head
crowned with butterflies.

Fat larvae sprouting
from my bellybutton.

My cold forehead
covered by insects.

My limp mouth
kissing scarabs?

Such a sleepiness...

such a lethargy...

such a nightmare of
adolescence!

What kind of rock is that,
so heavy on my body?

There's a mysterious chill
in this fire.

Where will I be taken, someday?

A white board...

and a pale dust.

A silent field...

lilies and the taller
cypress trees...

such long cries,
mourning my young body!

Get a little inside these things
that lulled me to sleep.

Fatten your eyes
with that crumpled orchid.

With this bracelet
and these pink garters...

all these trinkets I bought
with coins stolen from Father...

I buried it in this box
to dig it out someday...

and spread them on the ground
thinking, as I do now:

It was a long adolescence!

Take it with you, Pedro.
Take home all these scraps...

and tell them how did it happen the
story of the son and the brother.

Then request a warm night
or a big fat moon.

Gather our sisters.

Make them dress up
scantily in muslin...

wearing strappy sandals.

Paint their placid cheeks crimson,
their eyelids green...

and their lashes dark charcoal.

Adorn their arms
and their bare necks.

Put these cheap beads
on them, ivory models.

Have these earrings bite
their earlobes.

And don't forget
the sensuous gestures...

exposing their clevage,
and parts of their thighs.

Imagining fatal charms for
their ankle bracelets.

Provoke on those newly red,
debauched lips...

the thick flow
of pestilent fluids.

Take it with you, Pedro!
Take all those trinkets home!

And when you get there,
announce solemnly:

"From your beloved brother."
But be careful in handling them.

"To repay Father's sermons,
our misfit brother also sends...

with the gifts, a heavy,
scornful laughter."

Come on, put them in the bag!

As I look back on our utensils...

and the family clothing...

I hear diffused,
lost voices inside that trench.

I'm not surprised by the clear
water springing from the bottom.

And I withdraw
into our weariness.

And I step back after such an
exhaustive struggle.

And from our bale of routines
I draw, one by one...

the sacred bones
of our code of behavior:

The excess: Forbidden.

Zeal: A must.

And condemned as a vice...

through constant preaching
any waste was to be banned...

denounced as a serious
threat to our work.

And I face again the tepid
message in looks and frowns.

And our hidden chagrins
burning through our cheeks.

And the acid anguish
of a stingy scold.

And discipline oftentimes rude...

there was also the
children's crafts school...

forbidding us to buy elsewhere...

what could be made
with our own hands.

And the toughest law said
that it had to be right there...

at the farm, that all of our bread
had to be kneaded.

We never had on our table a
bread that was not homemade.

And by the time
we would share it...

which happened
three times a day...

we had of our
ritual of austerity.

And it was also at the table,
more than anywhere else.

Where with our heads bowed,
we learned about justice.

Move, brother.

Open your eyes!
Set them agog!

Take my hands in yours.

Let's go.

Once upon a time,
there was a starving man.

Who's there?

Where do you come from?

Didn't you know...

you can have all you want
if you go to our lord and master?

Lord and master,
in God's name, I beg for charity.

- I am so hungry, I may collapse.
- Stay here, poor man.

I want to break bread with you.

You must have
the salt of my table.

God bless you
and your saintly mother.

The starving man was writhing...

he thought to himself
the poor must be patient...

when faced with
the whims of the powerful...

refraining from showing
any sign of anger.

Dear guest,
my house is your house...

and my table is your table.
Make yourself at home.

Eat until you are satisfied.

What do you think
of this bread?

This bread is very pure and good.

I've never tasted
a bread this good.

What about the delicacies
on your left?

What do you think of this meat
stuffed with rice and almonds...

or these lamb cutlets?

And what do you think
of the aroma?

The aroma is inebriating...

as well as the presentation...

and the divine flavor.

You will now taste
a tidbit from my own hand.

You must chew carefully.

Excellent!

You may bring dessert.

We shall make ourselves sweet.

Eat, eat.
Do not stand on ceremony!

You must also try these figs
fresh off the tree.

Here.
Eat up, eat up.

God is merciful
to human beings.

I am satisfied, sir.
I can't eat anymore.

This is strange. You were
so hungry when you arrived...

it's amazing
you are already satisfied.

No matter, it has been an honor
to share my table with you.

Ah... but we still haven't drunk.

What a perfect wine.

Finally, having searched
all over the world...

I have found a man
with a strong spirit...

and firm character, who,
above all, has proven...

to have the most important
virtue known to mankind:

Patience.

From now on,
because of your fine character...

you will live in this huge,
uninhabited house.

You can be certain...

you'll never lack food
on your table.

At that moment,
the servants brought a bread...

a true bread, and the man,
thanks to patience...

was never hungry again.

How could a man who has
bread on his table...

the needed salt...

meat and wine,
tell a story about a hungry man?

How could Father
have omitted so much...

every time he told that tale?

The most powerful
ruler of the Universe...

confessed that after much
searching he had just found...

a strong spirited man...

straight minded...

who above all had
the rarest of human virtues:

Patience.

But before he could compliment
his guest...

father didn't mention
that the starving man...

with the amazing strength
born of hunger...

struck violently the old man
the beautiful white bearded!

Lord and master of my laurels...

you know I am
your submissive slave...

I have sat at your table with you...

and shared a banquet of
delicacies fit for a king...

to finish off,
I've tasted your many old wines.

What else can you expect,
my Lord?

The wine has gone to my head.

Therefore I am not responsible
for what I just did...

when I raised my fist
against my benefactor.

Impatience also has its rights!

Lmpatience also has its rights!

Lmpatience also has its rights!

I'm 17 years old.

I'm perfectly healthy...

and I'm going to start my own
church on this rock.

I'm founding a church for
my own needs...

a church I'll enter bare feet,
naked as I came into the world.

I want to be the prophet
of my own history.

Instead of gazing upwards...

I want to look with certainty
to the fruits of earth.

And I can do it!

I can!

I can be the prophet
of my own history!

I can do it!

I can!

I can be the prophet
of my own history!

I can!

I can be the prophet of
my own history! I can do it!

I can!

Maktub.
(lt is written.)

Until someday...

a pestilent breath...

invades our carefully
sealed boundaries...

reaching the surroundings
of our home...

seeping slyly through the slits
of our doors and windows...

catching an unaware member
of our family...

no hand in our home...

shall clench a fist
against the stricken brother.

Let each one of us look...

more candidly than ever...

upon the desperate brother.

And the care of each one shall
be given to this needy brother,

each of us will inhale...

the noxious odor of this brother...

and our gentle hearts will
soothe his wounds...

and our lips will tenderly kiss
his tousled hair.

For love within the family
is the supreme form of patience.

It is through family union...

that we may find the
achievement of our principles.

And occasionally...

amongst our most
immediate needs...

each of you should take the
time to sit on a bench...

with one foot set squarely
on the ground...

then, leaning over...

rest an elbow on one knee...

then approach the chin...

rest the head
on the back of our hand...

and with gentle eyes,
watch the movement of the sun...

and the rains...

and the winds...

with these same gentle eyes...

watch time's mysterious
manipulation...

of the other tools
it skillfully wields...

in its transformations...

never once questioning
its unfathomable...

meandering designs...

just as you never
question the pure flat plains...

or the winding trails drawn by
the herds on the pasture.

Because the cows...

always go to the trough.

The cows always
go to the watering pit.

Patience is the virtue
of all virtues.

He who despairs is not wise...

he who does not submit
is foolish.

I'm crazy. I'm crazy...

God...

I make no mistake in this fire...

in this passion...

in this delirium...

I should have baited her
with grape seeds...

a winding trail
up to the front stairs...

and held fresh pomegranates
at the front windows.

I should have done
a colorful flower garland.

I should've ran
on the old railing at the porch...

White, white...

Her white face...

Ana!

Time...

Time...

This sometimes gentle...

sometimes cruel torturer.

Despotic devil
that affects everything.

He still decides everything.
Now and always.

This is why I bow
down to Time in fear...

and held in suspense, I wonder:

In which exact moment
does the change happen?

Which instant?

Which terrible instant
marks the leap?

Which gale of wind?

Which end in space conspires,
taking us to the limit?

The limit in which all
vibrationless things...

cease to be just part
of daily life...

to come alive in the
depths of our memory.

A miracle, my God.
A miracle!

Let this hand breathe
like mine, oh God!

And in my lack of faith I will
give You back the existence.

Allow me to live this passion!

A miracle!

And in Your name, I'll sacrifice
a lamb of my father's herd.

One of the ones grazing
in the bluish dawn...

a young one in the dew,
a plump and agile, wild animal.

A miracle, my God!

And I'll give you life in return!

We'll drink many wines.

We'll get drunk like children.

We'll climb steep hills,
bare feet...

and holding hands...

together we'll set
the world on fire!

It's mine!

It's mine!

The doves in my yard
were free to fly.

They took long journeys,
but they always returned.

For it was nothing,
but love what we had to exchange.

They flew far away and I could
recognize them on distant rooftops.

Among stray birds
I hoped someday...

would come to my immense garden.

It was Ana, Pedro.

It was Ana.

My hunger was for Ana.

Ana was my illness.

She was my insanity.

My breath...

my blade...

and my chill.

My breath...

my harassment...

I was the crazed brother.

I was the desperate brother.

I was the vile smelling brother.

I was the one who had
the skin covered with slugs slime,

and the devil's slobber
coating my skin.

Hurry up, Pedro,
bring me the basin...

in which we bathed
when we were little.

Bring the warm water...

the ash soap...

the scratchy sponge...

and the white fluffy towel.

Wrap me up...

wrap me up in your arms.

And dry my tormented hair...

then run your earnest hand
over my neck.

You must do it, Pedro.

You...

who were the first
to open our mother.

You...

gifted with the saintity
pertaining to an elder brother.

It was Ana.

It was Ana.

It was Ana.

It was Ana.

Ana...

When I saw my brother covering
his face with his hands...

it was clear to me that
he was seeking support.

He was definitely in search of
some solid, hard ground.

I could even hear
his cries for help.

But when he suddenly got
deeply still, it was my Father.

I also thought it was maybe
an exercise of patience...

in which we'd withdraw...

to consult in darkness
the elders' texts...

the noble,
ancestral pages...

but in my trance,
his pain didn't matter any longer...

nor did my respect for the
ancient sayings.

I had to scream in furor
that my madness...

had more wisdom than
Father's wisdom.

That my illness suited me better
than the family's good health.

That my remedies had never
been mentioned in the books.

But there was another
medicine. Mine.

I recognized no science
except my own...

and everything was merely
a matter of perspective.

Only my point of view held
any meaning whatsoever.

I wanted to tell him only
a satisfied person would

test the virtue of patience
with other people's hunger.

I had to say all this
in a verbal fit...

turning upside down
the sermon table.

Destroying clamps,
bolts and moorings.

Establishing a different balance,
and gathering strenght...

to go higher and higher.

Tightening mainly my
clandestine muscles...

rediscovering at once
the beast in me,

My hooves, jaws and spurs...

letting the oily grease coat my
sculptured self as I galloped...

with my feathered mane
flying like feathers.

Stepping with my sagittarius
paws the soft belly of the world.

Taking from this pasture
a grain of wheat...

and a fat slice
of wine-soaked wrath.

Me, the epileptic.

The possessed, crazed epileptic.

Me, the starved,
rolling in my convulsive speech...

the soul of a flame.

A veronica cloth
and a squirt of mud...

mixing the salty name of our
sister into this flowing broth...

the perverted name of Ana.

Such shivering...

So many suns...

Such agony.

And Ana was there next to me.

Her presence was
so necessary.

I thought how often,
like two children...

we would be able
to laugh riotously.

Spraying the urine
of each one...

against the other's body.

Wetting ourselves as
we had done just awhile ago.

And mixing together
with our laborious tongues...

the saliva of each other.

Uniting our faces,
wet by our eyes...

cheek to cheek.

Thinking that we were
made of dirt...

and that everything in us would
germinate in the other...

with the water
received from the other.

The sweat of one
for the sweat of the other.

My eyes were still closed...

when I touched the hay again.

Ana was gone.

I didn't know love required
watching over...

that there's no such
thing as everlasting peace...

nor a goblet without
a trace of poison.

Ana.

Ana!

Ana, if you're here,
please answer me!

Answer me!

I love you, Ana.

I love you, Ana.

Ana, listen, that's all I'm asking.

What happened between
us was a miracle, dear sister.

We've discovered our
bodies fit so well.

Through this union our
childhood can thrive...

with no sorrow over
our playthings...

no longing for our shared past.

It was a miracle to have
discovered above all...

that we've become whole
in our own home...

just as Father said...

happiness is only
found within the family.

It was a miracle, Ana!

This arrangement of destiny
shall not vanish.

I want to be happy.

Me...

the odd son...

the black sheep
no one wants to confess...

the family's good-for-nothing...

but who loves our home.

And I love this land...

and I also love to work,
unlike what everyone thinks.

My hands are blessed
for planting.

I can hear
the call of the land all the time.

I'll take perfect care
of our animals...

sheltering the cows
from gusty winds.

Protecting them under the trees
during heavy storms.

I have a shepherd's soul,
dear sister!

I'm very versatile.

There's nothing
in the farm I wouldn't do.

And some day,
our father...

will be lost in his thoughts,
and I'll walk towards him...

sit down by his side,
and very naturally...

start the conversation
we never had.

That's how it'll be,
and wonderful things will follow.

Help me to lose myself in this family
love through your love, Ana.

I can't take another
step in such darkness!

Give me your hand, Ana!

So many things are waiting for us...

A single gesture of yours
will guide my attitude,

my behaviour...

my virtues...

Everything, Ana,
begins with your love.

That is the seed.

Your love for me...

is the beginning of the world.

Help me, Ana.

Answer me.

Say just one word!

Nod your head slightly,
it's enough...

or gently move your hair...

or the soles of your feet!

Be kind to me, Ana!

Be kind to me before
it's too late, Ana.

Don't push me away,
don't let me go!

I've already said, I'm tired.

I want my place
at the family table.

The family can
be spared of our secret.

For my part, I'd even give up
the children we would have.

The old house is enough.

I want to come again and feel
the intense joy of our love.

Acknowledge with me where
this passion began...

If our severe Father made a
temple of our home...

Mother...

with her lavish affection...

only made it the house
of our damnation.

I'm thirsty, Ana.
I want to drink!

This wound, this fester isn't
my fault nor is this thorn...

nor the mucus flowing through
from my pores!

I can't be blamed
for this cursed slime...

not for this blooming sun...

this crazed flame.
I can't be blamed for my delirium!

One bead on your rosary
for my passion!

Two beads for my testicles!

All the beads for my eyes!

Say ten rosaries for the
brother gone mad!

I'm bathed in spleen, Ana...

but I can still face your rejection.

I won't hide my smile...

if disease plagues
our herds and crops.

I'll turn my back as everyone
rushes around.

I'll cross my arms
when they ask for help...

cover my eyes to avoid their
wounds...

turn a deaf ear to their cries...

I'll shrug if the house tumbles
to the ground.

I did not get what I wanted,
I'll have no pity for the world!

To love and to be loved
was all I asked...

but I was cast off unfairly.

I was amputated.

I'm now in the brotherhood
of rejects...

of the forbidden,
the unloved...

the afflicted,
the anxious...

the restless, the writhing...

of the brotherhood
of tainted foreheads...

bearing the ashen scar of
sacred envy...

of the thirsty for
equality and justice...

those who eventually
end up bowing to Evil!

His whispering forces us
against the current...

his harsh breath
scratches our ears.

Seducting us until we reject
the fragile solidity of order,

those stone buildings,

constructed on
weeping shoulders!

He is the first, the only,
the sovereign!

Your generous God
is just a servant.

He doesn't see his own laws
fuel the Eternal Fire!

I feel a new wave coming on...

I feel like piercing your saints.

Your tender angels...

I want to bite into
the heart of your Christ!

I'm dying...

I'm dying.

And the thicker
the shell is made,

more suffering there is
under its weight.

Instead of being safe,
they are consumed by fear.

They hide from everyone...

not knowing that their
own eyes are withering.

They unsuspectingly
become their own prisoners.

They hold the key,
but they forget what it opens.

They agonize over
their personal problems...

and never reach the cure,
for they reject the medicine.

Wisdom is found precisely in...

not shutting oneself
in a smaller world.

Being humble, a man
abandons his individuality...

to become part of a greater whole...

from where he draws his greatness.

It is only through the family...

that each of us shall have
a greater existence.

Only by surrendering to the
family that each one shall forget...

about his own problems.

In preserving this unity...

each of us shall reap
the finest rewards.

Our law...

is not to withdraw,
but to join in...

not to separate...

but to unify.

Wherever one shall be,

his brother shall be
there as well...

He's back.

He's in his room.

He who was lost...

has returned home.

He for whom we have wept...

has been returned to us.

Rosa!

Andr? is ill...

he needs care.

We better let him
rest for a while.

Pedro is right.

Meanwhile we'll prepare
his homecoming party.

Blessed be the day of your return.

Our home has been
wasting away, my son...

but it is once again
it is filled with joy.

I want to talk with you.

Later...

once you've rested.

For now...

take a bath,
wash off the dust...

before sitting at the table
your mother has set to you.

Andr?, dear brother,
God bless you!

Ana ran off to the chapel
right away to give thanks...!

Mother is preparing your party,
we'll help her.

We're inviting everybody.

- Relatives...
- Neighbours...

...friends, cousins, everyone!

But for us in the family...

the greatest joy is
to have you back.

You've brought back twice
the joy we'd lost.

Now, let's wash up.
Mother can't see you like this.

My heart...

is acking to see
your scarred face, my son.

Don't hide anything
from your father, be clear.

To make yourself understood,
your ideas must be organized:

Word by word.

In all order there
is a seed of disorder...

in clarity, a seed of obscurity.
That's why I talk like I do.

For example,
I could be very clear and say...

that I had never thought of, ever,
until I changed my mind...

I never thought of leaving home.

I could be clear and say as well
that I never thought...

neither before
nor after I left...

I'd find elsewhere
what I wasn't given here.

And what weren't you given?

I wanted to have my place
at the family table.

So that's why
you abandoned us?

Because you didn't have
a seat at the table?

I have never
abandoned you, Father.

All I did, when I went away,
was to spare you from watching me...

surviving on my own guts.

Yet there was always
bread on our table...

and you were never forbidden
to sit down with the family...

on the contrary...

all we ever wanted was to have
you at our table.

I'm not talking about
that kind of food.

Share only that bread may in
some cases be just a cruelty...

it would only
perpetuate my hunger.

What are you talking about?

- It doesn't matter.
- This was a blasphemy!

No. Father this
wasn't blasphemy.

I spoke like a saint
for the first time in my life.

You're not well, son.

A few days work with your
brothers will quieten your pride...

you'll recover your health
very soon.

I'm not interested
in the health you talk about.

There's always a seed
of disease in it...

just as there's a strong seed
of health in my illness.

Forget your whims, son.

Mixing up our ideas is pointless.

Don't try to keep me out
of your problems.

I don't believe in the discussion
of my problems.

I don't believe in
exchanging ideas.

One plant can never
see the other.

Conversation is
very important, son.

Every word,
indeed is a seed.

If I lived ten lives,
I'd still think that talking...

is like an overripe fruit.

You're young, naturally selfish...

you think only of the fruit
when planting.

The harvest isn't the greatest
reward, when we sow...

we are grateful just by knowing
our lives are meaningful.

There is glory in the long
cultivation...

a valuable glory
we hand down...

if indeed,
that is the legacy we bestow.

- Father, sowing is not enough.
- Of course not, son.

If others are to reap
what we've sown today...

we now reap
what's been sown before us.

That's life,
such is the current of life.

I'm already disenchanted
with the current.

Those who sow and don't reap,
still reap what they did not plant.

I didn't get my share
of the legacy, Father.

Why forge on?

My hands are already tied,
I'm not going to bind my feet.

So, I don't care how
the wind blows.

I don't see what difference
it makes.

Things can move forward
or backward.

I don't believe the little
I understand here.

You can't expect a prisoner to serve
happily in the jailer's house.

It's absurd to demand
a loving embrace...

from one whose arms
we've amputated.

Or worse,
a person with maimed hands...

clapping his feet at his torturer.

The ugly, bowing to the beautiful
becomes even uglier.

- Go on.
- The poor man applauding...

the rich becomes poorer...

the small man,
smaller for applauding the great...

the short man, shorter,
for applauding the tall, and so on.

I can't embrace values
that crush me.

It's a sad game to live in
other people's skin.

The victim crying for his oppressor
becomes a prisoner twice over.

What you say is very strange.

It's a strange world, Father...

which only reunites by dividing.

Built on accidents,
there's no self-sustained order.

Merit is spurious, Father.

I wasn't the one
who planted that seed.

What are you trying to say?

I'm not trying to say anything.

- My son, you're terribly disturbed.
- No, father, I'm not disturbed.

- Who were you talking about?
- No one in particular.

I was only thinking
of hopeless cases...

of those who moan with reason...

of those who cry out
in thirst, passion...

and solitude...

I was thinking only of them.

I want to understand you, son...

but I don't understand anymore.

I'm mixing things up as I speak,
my words are rushing, but I'm lucid.

If there's chaff, there's plenty
of grain in what I say.

But you're hiding your meaning.

I've said I don't
discuss my problems.

It's dangerous to cross
boundaries.

It takes strength to face reality...

you'd be insane to think
your family hostile.

Reality isn't the same
for everyone.

I only know any place is hostile,
insofar as the right to live is denied.

There's no hostility in this house,
you're not denied the right to live...

such thoughts are
inadmissible.

- That's one point of view.
- It's not a point of view!

We've lived for you children.

No one in need has lacked
support in this family.

- Father, sir, you misunderstood me.
- How can I understand you, Andr??

You're stubborn,
I don't understand that.

Where else could you share
your problems?

Nowhere, much less here!

Our family life has been
precarious!

You set impossible limits!

Father, you just said every
word is a seed...

they contain life, energy...

and may even contains
an explosive force,

we run great risks
when we talk.

Don't interpret me with
suspicion and levity!

You know you can count
on our love!

The love we've learned here...

I discovered later,
doesn't know what it wants.

It's now just a mere hindrance.

Love doesn't always unite,
it can separate.

I could say love in the family
may not be as grand as we think!

Be quiet!

Enough of your eccentricity!

I don't think I'm eccentric.

Still, it doesn't matter what I say.

Since you think I'm eccentric, who
cares if I'm as plain as the doves?

If I set an olive
branch on this table...

you might only see a thistle!

I'll have no provocation
at this table!

Enough of your pride!

Control the snake
under your tongue!

Ignore the devil murmuring
in your ear!

Be humble in your manner, Andr?,
answer me as a son should!

- Be clear as a man should be!
- Lf I'm confusing.

Stop the confusion for once
and for all!

- Lf I avoid being clearer...
- Be quiet! Be quiet!

Our water doesn't
flow from this fountain...

nor our light,
from this darkness.

Your haughty words aren't
going to destroy now.

What it's taken
millenniums to build!

No one in our family will
mix words as they speak...

tangle ideas,
grind everything to dust.

Because if you open your eyes
too wide, you'll be blinded.

Furthermore,
pretentious enlightenment...

is as blinding as darkness.

Never try to set a new course
to avoid the unavoidable.

Let no one confuse that
which cannot be confused:

The fruit bearing
tree with the barren...

nor the seed that multiplies,
with dry grain!

The simplicity of our daily life,
with barren thoughts.

I'm telling you
to hold your tongue!

I won't have depraved wisdom
contaminating our family!

It was not love, after all...

but pride...

scorn...

and selfishness...

that brought
you back home...

That's enough, Yohana!

Spare our son!

I'm tired, Father.

Forgive me!

I have not returned
with a proud heart...

I've come home humble
and submissive.

I have no more illusions...

I know all about
loneliness now...

I know about misery...

And I also know now, I should
never have taken one step from home.

From now on,
I want to be like my brothers:

I'm going to submit to
my tasks...

I'll be out in the fields
before sunrise...

and I'll stay long after sunset.

My work will be my religion...

my fatigue will be my euphoria.

I'll help maintain the family union.

From the bottom of my heart,
I want to deserve...

all your love.

Your words...

have touched my heart,
dear son.

The tears of joy...

erase the bitterness
of your absence.

I feel a new light on this table.

For a minute I thought I had sown...

on barren land...

on gravel,
or on a field of thorns.

But no.

Tomorrow we'll celebrate
the once blind son...

who can now see.

So, go rest.

My son.

My dear son.

My heart.

My eyes.

My lamb.

The box...

my box.

Lula...!

Lula...!

Lula...!

- Were you asleep?
- Of course.

Couldn't you tell?

I wanted to have a little
chat with you.

- That's why I woke you up.
- Chat about what?

- Lula, I've just come home.
- So what?

I thought you'd be happy...

Why?

- I don't know, I just thought so.
- Well, your thought was wrong.

If that's how you're going to talk,
then we'd better just forget about it.

You shouldn't have
started, good-night.

What's wrong with you, Lula?

- I just wanted to talk like friends.
- What's wrong?

What's wrong,
you have the nerve to ask?

I've been here waiting for you
for over an hour.

A whole hour, Andr?!

Now you feed
me this line about friends...

- I didn't know, Lula.
- You didn't know.

Where else would I be?

I wasn't out in the pasture,
with the sheep.

Okay, Lula...
Good- night, then.

I'm running away, Andr?!

Tomorrow, during your party.

I can't stand
this prison anymore.

I can't stand Father's
sermons, the work...

nor Pedro watching over me.

I want to be in charge
of my life, Andr?.

I wasn't born to live here.
I don't like to work the land...

not in the sunshine,
much less in the rain.

I can't stand the boring life
on this filthy farm!

I said not to talk so loud!

As soon as you left, Andr?...

I spent all my time sitting up
on the gate...

dreaming of the open road...

Iooking out as far as my
eyes could see.

I couldn't take my mind off
your adventures.

I want to see lots of cities,
travel all over the world.

I want to exchange my
nosebag for a backpack...

travel from place to place,
like a vagabond!

I'm leaving never to return!

I'm not giving in to
begging, Andr?!

I'm brave, I'm not going
to fail like you!

What are you doing, Andr??!

What are you doing, Andr??!

Time...

time and its
inflammable waters.

The tireless, wide, flowing river.

Father used to say,
"Woe unto him..."

who tries to hold
back its movement...

for he shall be
consumed by its waters.

Woe unto him,
the wizard's apprentice...

who tears open his shirt
to confront it...

he will succumb to its flames.

Time and its changes...

present in everything,
in every inch, in every grain...

and also present,
with its seconds...

in every letter of this
passionate story of mine...

transforming the dark
night of my homecoming...

into a bright morning.

That was how Ana...

draped in the vulgar
trinkets from my box...

caught my party like a storm...

sweeping the dance circle
with her diseased body.

She controlled everyone
with her violent spirit.

She knew what she was doing...

with her moist dance
and soaking body.

She hurled me impetuously...

into bizarre ecstasy...

until I saw my legs to one side...

and arms to the other.

My amputated arms and legs...

struggled to regain their
ancient unity.

Oh versatile devil!

No, Father!

What horror, no!

What horror, no!

Where is the family's union?

Father!

Time is the greatest
treasure known to man.

Although not consumable...

time is our most
valuable nourishment.

Time is immeasurable,
yet it is our greatest gift...

it has neither
beginning nor end.

A miser who compares his
worth with his wealth is poor...

so is the man who spreads
himself out over vast lands.

The only rich man
is the man who has.

Learned to live piously
and humbly with time...

approaching it gently,
never disrupting its current...

always welcoming it wisely
to receive its favors, not its wrath.

Life is essentially,
held in balance by this supreme gift.

When seeking,
if you know when to wait.

And how much time to
give things...

you won't trip up in error.

Only the true measure of time
reveals the true nature of things.

Done by (c) dCd / September 2005