Arabian Nights: Volume 2 - The Desolate One (2015) - full transcript
Continuation of the Arabian Nights stories by the structure were adapted to modern life in Portugal in three innings and the third chapter "The Owners of Dixie" has three chapters.
Hear, O Auspicious King.
It has reached me
that in a country, sad among countries,
a son of a bitch
called Simão “Without Bowels”
was on the run,
avoiding the justice of man.
Around 160 policemen scoured the hills
for almost six weeks
searching for this man.
His mother named him Simão,
after his father.
The village people nicknamed him
“Without Bowels”
for Simão had always been
one of those bastards who were lean.
He had married a woman from
the neighboring village over 20 years ago.
Both had been deeply in love,
and that love bore a daughter.
Hey, Simão, have you come to kill me?
Or to steal the sheep?
I'll hit you with this stick!
I'm not afraid of you,
nor of your rifle!
Simão's village had also been
his father's village,
and his father's father,
and probably
the father of his father's father.
And they were all known
for being lonesome, evil men.
But this is not certain,
as there are those who equally guarantee
they were merely inward-thinking men,
yet very honest and hardworking.
One, two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine,
10, 11, 12,
13, 14 -
So many fucking dogs, shit!
15, 16, 17, 18,
19, 20,
21, 22, 23, 24, 25 -
Fuck!
27, 28, 29, 30,
31, 32, 33,
34, 35, 36 -
It's heavin'
with fucking ravenous dogs!
37, 38, 39.
It has reached 40.
Drive on, man,
we can hide better ahead.
- Further ahead?
- Yeah.
It's like we're in the village ball.
You're screwed.
Fucked up your whole life!
- Have you got juices?
- Yes.
Cigarettes? Got any?
- Yes.
- Then get me a cig.
Just pull over
and lower the music.
Here is good.
Here.
- Light?
- Please.
The Guards have orders to kill you.
I'd have killed myself by now
if I knew how my daughter is.
Your daughter is fine.
It's the others who have died.
Get me a juice, go on.
I heard you have a list of people to kill.
Is it true?
Oh, that's just a bunch of cowards!
Always meddling
in other people's lives.
Let me borrow your cell phone.
No, no way.
Well, you're not gonna tell
the Guard, are you?
Here's 20 euros.
There's your change.
Hey, get me another juice.
Attention, company!
Firm!
Shoulder, rifle!
At ease.
Simão “Without Bowels” belonged
to a category of men
who eat a lot but weigh little.
These men recognize each other
at first sight
and tend to think of themselves
as very polished sons of a great bitch.
Their fear of each other might be due
to recognizing,
in their peers' tales of wrongdoing,
signs of their own death,
near and violent.
What the fuck.
What's this shit? Fuck.
Fuck!
Quitério!
You were always mean and ugly.
I'm not sure why you were killed,
but you must have deserved it.
You're a great son of a bitch,
you queer!
Simão, what are you doing here?
Everyone is looking for you.
Why haven't you run away to Spain yet?
I missed them.
The wickedness of evil men
is often regarded as an epic thing,
driven by hidden and devilish powers.
But those who know bastards
like Simão “Without Bowels”
know that evil is only
a severe tendency of selfishness.
They are men who do not negotiate,
just move onwards.
But none of this seems grave to them.
While remaining indifferent to the world,
they also recognize, in fairness,
that the world pays
little attention to them.
It can very well do without them.
Here's a little one euro for you.
Thanks.
Another one for you.
Thanks.
Here, and for you too.
Thanks.
Go on, another little euro for you.
Thanks.
Have you still got
that stomach medicine?
Oh, Simão, Simão.
Your disgrace
was having left this place.
What am I to do?
The women I get just screw my head up!
Simão, Simão.
The red one always wins.
No need to feel sorry for me,
because Santa Casa's Charity is on my side.
All the money I lose,
Santa Casa replaces it.
This one is the red.
These two are black.
This one's red. That's black.
Done!
Ah, it's this one!
Hold on a minute, what if you lose?
Losing is okay, right?
Then let's shake like big men.
Lift the stone, please.
Ah, you lost again.
Fuck, what now?
I'm broke.
You're broke?
Let me see that ring of yours then.
It's worth 40 euros.
Bet 40, win 80.
Okay? Okay.
Let's play then.
These two lose. This one wins.
It moves here.
These two lose.
Now lift it.
And if you lose?
Don't you feel sorry for me, man!
I told you.
I lose
and Santa Casa's Charity pays me back.
Can I lift it?
Yes, but not just yet.
What if you lose again?
There won't be a fight, no problems?
No, no worries.
Then lift it.
This one's lost!
What now?
Oh, you've nothing left? Then leave, damn!
Fuck off and I go too!
Get off me, flies!
Fucking flies!
It was never clear if someone had helped
Simão during his escape,
just as it wasn't clear why he allowed himself
to be caught at home without resisting.
And I won't be able to tell you
as I too do not know why,
O Auspicious King.
But it has reached me
that while on his way to court,
he was greeted by folks
amidst shouts of incitement and applause.
Despite having shot
his ex-wife and daughter
and having killed another two women,
Simão “Without Bowels”
suddenly became a hero
for having swindled the local authority.
SIMÃO WITHOUT BOWELS,
YOU ARE GREAT!
The ducks walk shoeless, shoeless
and so do the male ducks!
Shoeless, shoeless
The ducks walk shoeless,
and so do the female ducks!
Who are we?
And where do we come from?
We are scouts!
And come from the village!
Place your foot in the center
of the supporting ropes, okay?
Then walk forward,
and as we move
push these ropes outward
to stabilize things.
I'll show you.
I'm walking there and back.
Any questions, just look, okay?
Like this,
just stabilize it, with no fear.
No worries, the rope is stable.
Get it?
Easy, stabilize it well.
Feet on the supports.
No rushing, easy.
Let's go!
Simão “Without Bowels” was locked up
in cell number 17
in Viseu Penitentiary Establishment
where he awaits trial.
His cell is four square meters wide.
He decorated the walls
with photos of his daughter,
a poster of the Benfica soccer team
and English prints of a hog hunt
that he ripped from a magazine.
From a small window, obviously barred,
he can see a tall poplar,
a wall topped with shredded glass
and a burnt old van without wheels.
Cats sometimes pass by.
That is all the bastard can see.
Oh, Mother, to you I write
This letter of simple plight
That to my heart will bring delight
And I beg you, crying
That you'll be my visitor
Behind the bars of this prison
I live hence in my cell
With my innocent soul
Without the love of someone
Hear, O Auspicious King.
It all happened in one of those nights
of three moonlights.
I love you.
- Mother.
- Daughter.
I am happy.
You were right, Mother.
Diogo Drumond was the best choice.
He was kind and yet firm.
Spot on.
Are you all right?
Did that hurt, my daughter?
A little.
It's by the book.
Experience will teach you
how to relax the perineum.
One can't avoid the thorns
when picking the first rose.
Did you bleed?
Yes.
Diogo Drumond will be pleased.
You did him the honors.
He'll feel he's the chosen one.
I congratulate you on this day
and the preceding ones
when you,
my dear and thoughtful daughter,
decided to keep your flower intact.
What else?
Diogo sleeps.
I thought I'd bake him a cake
for when he wakes.
Do the following.
Take a bowl from the top shelf.
Whip together 100 grams of butter
and 200 grams of sugar.
Add four yolks.
Whisk until you get
a homogeneous mixture.
Add the flour little by little.
Oh, and keep whisking
to avoid lumps.
Put a third of the mixture
into a bowl
and add two spoonfuls
of powdered chocolate.
Grease a cake pan.
Sprinkle with flour.
Then add the light
and dark mixture in turns.
Bake at 180 in a preheated oven
for 45 minutes.
Let it cool
and serve with two scoops of vanilla ice cream,
which you'll find in the freezer.
I listen and I obey.
If you can't fulfill
this marble cake recipe,
wake up the black woman to do it.
I fear, however,
that if you begin today
to resort to other women
to satisfy your man,
he may think, and rightly so,
that he'll be free to replace you
with this one or another whenever he needs.
Good luck, my daughter.
Thank you.
You are outstanding, dear Mother!
I know.
I had time
and the right conditions for that.
I am also very glad.
But I must hang up
because I am presiding, sweetie!
All that can be seen here is part of
the contents of an apartment in Vila do Conde.
As everywhere else,
the good people of the North
must deal with scarcity of income.
Selling home furnishings is one solution
to rebalancing domestic finances.
All this was put up for sale.
And that would have been fine
if only it had been sold
by its rightful owner
instead of the tenants
who rented the apartment and its contents.
This constitutes theft,
hence this court will meet now.
May the plaintiff rise.
May the accused rise.
May the accused rise!
I see them.
There's the mother and the son.
- Do you confess?
- We can do nothing else.
All the better.
Let's get this over with.
The case is simple
and so will be the sentence.
I shall, however,
question a little further
in order to share thoughts
and moralities with you all.
Madam,
are you familiar with the concept
of the right to property?
I ask you since you are the oldest
and because you look less foolish
than your son.
Indeed, my son is very stupid
and made us incur a great debt.
Not owning any assets,
I had to resort
to my landlord's furniture,
fully aware that I was in the wrong.
That was only attenuated
because I found the landlord very rude.
Instead of greeting us, he'd say,
“Fuck you both!”
And when I'd ask him, “Pardon me?”,
he'd answer, “Your cousin's cunt!”
All that came out of him was rude
and out of purpose,
and all that left us very nervous.
If the landlord truly speaks
such barbarities,
we can infer two possibilities.
First, we may be before a person
of no education
who feels bitter at life
and materializes this state
in gross verbalizations.
Second, he may be mentally ill
and derives a certain aesthetic pleasure
from those immoralities.
This can be medically verified.
But none of this attenuates
the theft of the furniture.
The landlord is coarse,
you have no scruples,
and your son is very stupid.
Tell me, in what way
does your son's stupidity materialize
and how has that incurred you in debt?
Son,
tell the Lady Judge
what you think about man and woman.
Man must have pussy
in the morning and at night.
It's the wife's task to provide it.
Provide what?
Pussy.
How stupid!
And nobody can convince him otherwise.
So, having to pay compensation
to my daughter-in-law
for being repeatedly raped
twice a day,
I had no other solution
than to take the household contents
of where I live with my son.
This story saddens me.
Mothers can sometime become unwise
out of love for their children.
There is no guilt-free crime,
even if sometimes
we may feel sorry for the criminal.
Your misfortune was having a crazy son.
Madam, you cannot dispose
of your landlord's furniture,
even if you're desperate!
Young man, you cannot dispose
of your wife's vagina
as it belongs to herself only!
All things in this world
have their rightful owner
who decides their fate!
Maybe you'd better neuter the boy!
But don't you worry, madam,
that won't be at extra cost.
About the wife's compensation -
Let's extend the monthly installments
to ease this mother's expenses
in the hardship
of having such an absurd son.
Your Honor,
I wish to forgive this man.
Who speaks?
I am the daughter-in-law
of this loving mother,
wife of this obstinate husband
and the carrier of relevant information
about their landlord...
who is nothing but a madman
who dialed 112 over 6,200 times
just to watch the ambulance drive past.
And as if that wasn't enough,
and after his voice became notorious
among the entire staff
in the emergency services,
he moved on to personal abuse
of these workers for no good reason.
He would phone them
with meaningless stories,
bored them and blocked the phone lines.
Given that I was one of the phone operators
working for the victim protection plan
and witnessed his improper
and gratuitous behavior...
I even think it serves him well
to steal his furniture.
I add
that time has sweetened the memories
of the relationships with my husband.
Given that he longs for my pussy
and that I'm available
to give it to him again...
I beg you to revoke the sentence.
May his member be left intact
and capable of fulfillment
and may the furniture be returned,
as I abdicate
of my due compensation.
Give me pussy now!
The moons have already risen!
Nobody gives anything to anyone here!
I hope you don't regret your decision
because it's clear that your husband
is no different than a wild animal.
He knows no shame.
He can't behave in society.
I grew fond of him.
And what sort of bad joke is that
with the emergency services?
Find something else
to entertain yourself!
You shall not desire this behavior
in the future,
otherwise you will be back here again
to be tried.
If so, I shall not be tried alone.
The genie should be tried with me.
What harm has this man done to you?
He is not a man.
He comes from the posterity, from Eblis.
And is the son of the powerful Domriatt,
the supreme leader
of the genies of the air.
He is very wicked!
He blows irresistible words
to my ear,
making me want to speak rudely
and act foolishly and senselessly.
I confess to being the author
of the phone calls,
but add that I regretted it every day.
I would ask him,
“Why must I do such foolish things?”
To which the genie would answer,
“It must be so.
That shall be your will!”
Are you wicked, genie?
No, I am a good genie.
Then how do you explain your crime?
I acted under orders of a bad man.
A good genie stops practicing the good
if he unfortunately falls
under the control of a bad man.
As you know, a genie is obliged
to fulfill the wishes of the man
who frees him from the lamp.
To my master,
all is lawful to reach his aims.
And where is that man?
He's absconded.
Some friends at the Public Ministry
informed me
that he is being investigated.
Well, one thing at a time.
What's the name of this man?
He is
old Drumont, the banker.
You realize you are talking
about a very respected person.
- He's worthless!
- Genie!
It's a family of ancient traditions!
They are thieves.
And why would a good-looking,
well-groomed and filthy rich banker
ask a genie
to bewitch a foolish and rude man,
forcing him to call 112?
Just to demean
the medical customer services,
to stir revolt in the population,
to push for administrative reform
in the health sector,
to raise the insurance prices,
to give a push to certain business deals
regarding transport of patients,
in other deals
in hospital infrastructures
and to help buddies
in the pharmaceutical industry.
All you're telling me sounds vague
and unlikely.
On the contrary, it's all very concrete.
See the anger caused by the story
of the brother who killed his youngest brother
because he had no food on the table.
The older brother killed
the youngest one due to hunger?
Yes.
He shot him.
And what did the younger one have
to do with the dinner?
Nothing. But he stood
between the eldest and middle brother.
And why did he do that?
Because the eldest brother wanted
to kill the middle one.
Since he stood in front,
he died.
And why did the eldest want
to kill the middle one?
Because the middle one
hadn't cooked dinner yet.
And what's that have to do
with the landlord's phone calls?
The youngest one died
because the ambulance took too long.
He went straight to the morgue.
He was 11 years old.
How awful.
I'm so tired.
Tell me, genie,
might that tragedy have occurred
under a moonlight like tonight
near the lane
with the 2,800-year-old olive tree?
Correct, under the moonlight.
I fear that the ambulance destined
to help that brother
has failed to reach him due
to a terrible misfortune.
I ask permission to tell the story
of the fugitive cow
and the cattle thieves.
Granted!
I was peacefully asleep
among my sisters
when a group of men
entered our corral.
I woke up and realized
they were not our owners,
as ours are fair and good people.
They whipped
and forced us into a truck,
shouting all sorts of abuse
into our ears!
The truck exited the farm
and turned left into the 251 road,
which made the journey
most uncomfortable
given that it is a very bumpy
and damaged road.
You are surely not here to comment
on the state of the national roads.
You are surely going to allow me
to tell my story
because the genie wishes to hear it.
Very well,
cow!
If I find that the state of the road
has nothing to do
with the development of this story,
know that you'll end up
in the slaughterhouse.
My sisters and I were in the truck,
very sad, depressed,
and far from thinking of escaping,
when a bump on the road
threw me out of the truck.
When I got myself together
I was on a lane with an olive tree.
And the tree said,
“I can see you've been kidnapped.
I've been hurt too.
Some unkind and unfair men
took all my olives
by the force of the whip
and of all kinds of insults
shouted into my ears.
I've known many men,
and some have hurt me.
I thought I'd be immune to sadness
because we get used to everything
in this life.
However, I am sad.”
I'm sorry that you're not looking
at this olive tree
because it's beautiful and ancient.
Meanwhile,
I hear the siren of an ambulance.
I even thought it was coming for me.
I ran to the middle of the road
to show myself
and the ambulance ran me over.
I was very maimed.
I never heard of my sisters again.
Are those thieves here?
Your misconduct set a boy's death.
We are guilty of many crimes,
some rural, others urban.
But we don't have blood on our hands!
I have a list of crimes in my possession
where the police weren't able
to find those responsible
due to negligence or a lack of means.
I shall read them out
and you gentlemen will tell me
if you're responsible for any of them.
There are certainly punishments
in penal law
that I will apply with relish.
On the 11th of October 2013,
4.5 metric tons of copper wire
and 45 traffic lights were stolen.
We did it!
Pavement stones from a certain street
in Alter do Chão were stolen,
resulting in it being
without pavement on both sides.
We did it!
A crime aggravated by the use
of a wheelbarrow, also stolen.
I lost my job as a result
of the theft of the pavement stones.
How?
Because I was staring for five hours
at those horrible holes
that ruined the public streets!
The scene was even more Dantesque
given that the tower blocks in that street
have several enclosed verandas.
I began to imagine
what the buildings would've looked like
before closing the verandas.
Next,
I couldn't avoid noticing
the proximity of a traffic circle
and how little sense this made to me.
So for hours,
I reviewed the road layout
of Alter do Chão.
But do you intend to press charges?
No.
Because it's my nature to stare
at everything that defaces public space
and it would add nothing
to the general good.
Caretos...
you have stolen 40 showerheads
from the local
Carregosense Youth Soccer club,
six sprinklers
and diesel from their boiler,
and also the plaque that commemorates
the opening of the changing rooms and field,
causing great distress to the club.
We did it!
We are thick as thieves
so there are other crimes we'll own up to
and spare you from reading,
Your Honor.
We robbed 19 churches
in Bragança district.
We stole books and beehives.
Stole junk from a yard,
three pirogues and a canoe,
plus its oars.
And two wet suits
from a nautical school.
We assaulted the postman -
And robbed a sausage
from one of his parcels.
On top of this we took all the olives
from an ancient tree
by the force of the whip
and of all kinds of insults
shouted into its ears.
We are guilty of all these crimes -
Because we are lazy
and we like eating
and drinking unrestrainedly
from the profit of our activity.
And what fate did you bequeath
the sisters of this miserable cow?
We sold them to a woman
in great need
who paid good money
and asked no questions.
This great calamity falls upon me!
Am I to tear up my dress?
That shall not be your penitence.
Am I to slap myself and self-harm?
That shall not be your penitence.
And don't you start crying
because tears are contagious.
A judge is neither immune to emotion
nor insensitive to suffering.
I didn't expect
this long rosary of tragedies.
This list of misfortunes
is leaving me indisposed.
Despair is anguishing because
it muddles the reasoning that guides me.
Madam,
what was your use
for the stolen cows?
I was merely the middleman
working for an unscrupulous man,
who calls himself a businessman,
exporting meat to the third world.
I met this man long ago at university
during freshmen's week.
He forced me to roll over a pile of dung
to the sound of the song
“My Dad's a Queer.”
He also convinced me and my colleagues
to simulate sex with a pig
and then extract a piglet
from under my skirt,
thereby creating a theatrical allegory
about the reproductive cycle of pigs.
What faculty was that?
Agronomy?
Yes.
In this case, rituals involving animals
and fertilizers seem fitting.
Maybe paternal homosexuality
appears as the odd element,
but it is certainly compensated
by the finale,
a celebration of life!
These freshmen rituals
are not consensual across society.
But what you described is within limits,
which seem to be harmless.
As I see it,
it's instructive and formative.
Well, I thought it was filthy,
and since then
I feel repulsion for this man.
I'm certain he involved me
in the theft of the cows
because he thought my silence
was a synonym of discretion.
I entered this deal out of despair,
due to having my wallet stolen
containing 140 euros.
This money is a single payment
for the food allowance
that the father of my children
is obliged to pay monthly.
It's the truth.
I am the legal representative
of this man
and state that my client is obliged
to pay a monthly food allowance
of 70 euros per child.
But I equally state that my client
cannot honor this expense.
He has been extradited to Spain,
where he comes from,
and where he serves a prison sentence
for having over exceeded himself
in his role as a bailiff.
Social Services are obliged to replace
his payments of the food allowance,
but that has not yet happened.
It hasn't and won't happen,
as long as I have the strength to prevent it.
As senior technical manager
of the Social Services
it's my duty to work with zeal
to avoid the collapse
of the pensions scheme.
Are you very old
or just not very well kept?
I am 93,
and I remain firm in my post,
paying into my work pension
and hence delaying receiving it.
The zeal I mentioned starts with me.
And as it's impossible for the father
to pay the food allowance,
don't you think Social Services
should help this mother?
No.
Because there's not enough for all!
So what is she to do?
Borrow from friends.
And if she has none?
Tough!
Are you senile
or merely insensitive?
Insensitive I am not
because every night I go around the town
distributing food to the homeless,
and cook large quantities of soup
to feed my many great-aunts.
My great-aunts don't benefit
from any Social Services support
because they are dead.
And nevertheless,
they beg me.
They are hungry.
Madam...
I fear there's not much hope
of receiving support from the Social Services.
Resign yourself.
This is a lost case.
And to add to all the nonsense
you just spoke,
I recognize you as the impostor
who pretended to be a homeless person
on a recent TV program.
My salary is not in proportion
of my expenses.
The Portuguese people
must get some on the side!
Then start giving private math tuition!
Or limit yourself to TV appearances
without being an impostor!
Given that you work in Social Services,
you can blabber banalities about the state
of the public finances like the rest of them!
Let the ex-head freshman of agronomy
and current cattle dealer rise.
Do you confess to being the true mastermind
behind the theft of the cows,
covering it up
by involving this woman in need?
No.
Bring the lie detector
close to that man!
Are you the one they call
“furious machete man”?
Notorious for having attacked acquaintances
and then policemen
without contention
or fear of any consequences?
Yes, that is I.
No talking!
Do you think you're a liar?
I do.
Then can you reconsider
your previous reply?
Yes.
I ordered the theft of the cattle,
and if things went wrong
I was to deny it all
and blame the deaf woman.
The truth surfaced.
Speak, if there's anything
you want to add.
But think carefully
because the detector
will be next to you.
I organized the theft
because the Chinese man had placed an order.
I planned to deliver my own cows,
but I couldn't because they were poisoned
by villagers from the southern hills.
That's no reason to steal!
Nevertheless we should investigate
why the villagers poisoned the cows.
Your cows were killed
because you let them loose
to feed on vegetables
from the villagers' gardens.
- Just so you didn't have to feed them.
- That's right.
Look, if I didn't deliver the cows
they'd break my legs.
The Chinese sent
the Spanish bailiff after me.
I didn't dream that this terrible man was
the father of the children of the deaf woman.
It's good he was arrested.
It was, indeed, a Chinese man
who handed my Spaniard to the Guards.
He accused him of crossing the line
between the lawful recovery of debts
and the unlawful practice of beatings.
Really, he was no worse or better
than the rest of us.
Shut up, Detector of Lies!
You should abstain from considerations
while doing community service.
That Spaniard was really nasty!
He left three Romanian slaves I kept
to shepherd the cattle in an awful state.
I assume that son of a bitch
Chinese guy will stand up next.
Mr. Wu is not here today
as he has been extradited to China
under an international warrant
issued by Interpol.
Mr. Wu thoroughly enjoyed
his stay in the country
and recommended it on TripAdvisor.
He appreciated the people, weather,
landscape and gastronomy.
He was so delighted
that he became a Portuguese citizen
through the golden visa scheme.
This scheme is an extraordinary idea
from the Portuguese government,
which grants special residency status
on our national territory
and freedom of movement in Europe
for citizens from outside the EU
who buy real estate
for half a million euros or above.
Even if they reside here
for only seven days, consecutive or not.
The visas have added value
to the Portuguese economy
because many Chinese see it
as a great opportunity.
As fans of gambling,
any Chinese who acquires property
and shows his tax receipt
is also lured
to a weekly draw
to win a luxury car
from the tax department.
If Mr. Wu wished to win the car,
why did he then buy 13 cows
from a dishonest slave dealer
who surely won't write any receipts?
We are ex-lovers of Mr. Wu.
There were 13 of us when we arrived.
Mr. Wu was a very rich bandit,
but he went bankrupt
and became a poor bandit
without friends.
He couldn't afford the upkeep
of more than one lover
and so decided to keep the best one
and leave the rest.
He organized a three-day competition.
We went before a jury
and performed skill tests
in the arts of dance,
of giving pleasure in all holes,
of serving hot and cold drinks,
wearing winter and summer clothes,
massaging feet,
singing and reciting Chinese poetry,
shaping hair in a Western style
and seasoning beef.
Since we were 13 lovers,
he sent for 13 cows.
There was a winner,
but the 12 that lost believe
there were illegalities in this competition.
This is making my head spin
and I want to throw up.
This grotesque chain of stupidity,
evilness and despair
is beginning to overtake my incumbencies
and especially my patience.
What a court must judge
follows this logic:
Someone commits a crime.
It's unlawful
and harms someone else.
The court judges the graveness
of the crime in proportion to the damage
and social impact caused.
The rest of society acknowledges
the unlawful acts committed
and the sentence applied by the judge
and infers conclusions
for its own behavior.
Some will find the punishment light.
Others harsh.
Because, unlike genies,
men realize that good and bad
are relative things.
This is normal.
What is not normal
and begins to seem remotely repugnant
is this endless list
of misery and guilt
where there are neither innocents
nor enough prisons
to house all the culprits!
This random chain of events
is a slimy issue
that saddens and sinks us.
Screw the lot of you!
There is not a hint of honor
in this assembly.
He was not completely
deprived of ethics,
that thief who stole my wallet,
which contained
the only food allowance
my children's father pays,
who received it from the Chinese man
for threatening
to break the legs of the cattle dealer,
who in turn would hire me
to steal the 13 cows.
He was a considerate thief.
He returned the wallet to the cafe
where he took it,
empty,
but with a note that said,
“To the owner:
If I had lost a wallet with 140 euros
you would probably not return it
to me either.
I'm sorry,
but I'm very poor
and I need to eat.
God bless you.”
Ask for mercy, son!
Get up, stupid! Confess!
You will stand up to hear the sentence!
Let go!
Look at the judge!
Straighten up!
Look at her, in the eyes!
On a day of days,
and without anybody understanding
how this came to be,
a gracious and intelligent dog arrived
in a suburban neighborhood.
This place was inhabited
by happy and sad men
yet almost all were tired,
worn out by the commuting
between work
and this place where they slept.
Many of these residents were poor,
although a few rich ones
also lived there,
either due to taste,
convenience or tradition.
Many of these people had,
had had
or would have a pet dog.
And it was not unusual
that these dogs resembled their owners.
Any observer could therefore spot
similarities and differences
between the residents of this neighborhood
by merely observing their dogs.
Nobody thought the arrival
of a new dog was odd,
given that there were
so many of them around,
but the lack of the pet's owner
didn't go unnoticed.
If we think of these similarities
between men and dogs,
we would say that this pet,
beautiful like a full moon
and causing amazement to onlookers,
would've had a charming prince
as its owner,
a discerning and kind one.
It is not the purpose of this story
to tell of the misfortunes
that lead him there,
so dirty and abandoned.
So we shall utter not
another word about it.
Oh, Ms. Glória,
how cute!
It looks like
he's been well looked after.
He resembles my Dixie.
Maybe God sent him like this,
just like the deceased.
Everything has its time.
Old Dixie's is long gone.
Dixie!
The car is kaput.
I didn't mean to do it.
I fell asleep.
Hey, dog!
Dixie!
Is she mixing up the medication
from her two doctors?
Maybe.
Who are you, boy?
Doesn't he look
like that other dog you had?
Dixie's friendliness -
I too shall refer to him
by this name -
was so amazing that he seemed
to lift the most disgraceful of souls
and draw a smile
out of the sternest of faces.
Seeing her neighbor Luísa
always consumed by distress and sadness,
Glória thought it would be the best use
if the dog stayed with her friend instead of her.
For several reasons.
Firstly, because she was
wholeheariedly generous,
despite her fair share of wickedness
like nearly all people.
Secondly, because while recognizing
in this dog the traits of another
she owned earlier
and that had already departed,
she intuitively knew not to keep him,
as certain things in life don't happen twice.
Third - and where I mentioned wickedness
I should maybe say weaknesses -
because Glória had secretly
renounced Luísa's company,
finding that it caused her anguish
and dragged her to the same world of shadows
where she saw her friend.
She believed Luísa was cursed
and that those who socialized with her
could be contaminated with endless sadness.
Simply, she didn't want
to put up with her
and believed that the dog,
the spitting image of old Dixie,
was both ladies' salvation,
cheering up Luísa's life
just like Dixie
had previously done to hers,
and allowing her to avoid
her gloomy neighbor.
Dixie!
Dixie!
Come here.
So, Dixie?
Okay, you can turn the tap on!
Ms. Isabel.
So cute!
What's its name?
How old is he?
I don't know.
You can leave your jackets there.
Humberto!
Meet my husband.
This is Vânia and Vítor.
His name is Vasco.
It's the first time ever
we are invited for dinner.
I hope you like spareribs.
This is a fucked up love story!
Really fucked up!
But still a love story.
I met Vasco because he was a user
and I was a dealer.
He was shy and all stuck up,
a mama's boy,
but I kind of liked him.
And he had to come to me
because he was hooked.
I didn't take drugs. I was afraid.
But I told him,
“Me, selling to you,
only if we both do it.”
He said I shouldn't get into
this fucked up shit.
But I insisted and told him,
“You're gonna be my man.”
Was it not, Vasco?
- Sort of.
- Yeah.
I'm only telling this
because Ms. Luísa likes love stories.
It's a beautiful story!
We both dropped it and we're still
together after all that shit.
Hmm, I love this!
You know,
the reverb they added to the voices
in those times was really cool.
Songs carried a hell of emotion.
Really nicely clone.
This was the first record I bought.
I had to play it at the neighbor's
'cause I had no turntable.
Vasco,
your companion is a very special woman
who deeply cares for you.
Don't ever let her go.
Go on, go home.
Ms. Isabel!
She must be giving them money.
What the hell have they got in common?
So, Dixie,
you had visitors last night, right?
Soon the dog will reach 500 kilos.
I need his help.
You are all very fast eaters!
Do you know what the lady
from the second floor calls Luísa?
- The mother or the daughter?
- The stutterer.
“S-S-Slow mo-motion neigh-neighbor!”
The peanut seeds caused a crisis
of the liver that nearly killed him.
The owners took him
to a vet in Telheiras
who said she would bring him
back to life
with an injection that cost 1,000 euros.
The love they had for a previous parrot,
who is now buried
near the palm tree by Tower 4,
made them get a loan to save the pet.
And so it was.
The parrot came back home
safe and sound
but never made a squeak again.
They say he will speak again
once the trauma is forgotten.
They no longer give him peanut seeds.
He now eats low-fat birdseed.
Let me see.
Let me see!
I'm going to tell Mom.
Okay, look now, you shithead!
SARA FROM 1st B
Okay.
I'm alone
I'm alone
I'm alone in my bedroom
thinking about my future
Jobless, unemployed
Looking for a path to nurture
So many mistakes made
and not a change of course
So many lessons learned
I learned to walk by force
As a child I didn't bother
how I had light and water
My mother worked flat out
Arrived tired and worn-out
Not one weekend off
in all her life
No wedding ring on her finger
Growing up like a warrior
Spanking me if I was a fool
She gave me this true school
My mom's a single mother
and she will always bother
What's my respect and love
in reality made of?
So many hours you wasted
I never had a father
present at my table
My tears are now dry
I can't feel his absence
My unwanted adolescence
Made me grow dependencies
and make the wrong choices
Sixteen years old
This kid already working
At 18
I'm drinking and smoking
Alone I got to know
the life I got hooked into
But time only showed
this wasn't what I dreamed of
This wasn't what I dreamed of
This wasn't what I dreamed of
Hey, neighbor!
Apartments D and E
have verandas facing north.
The drafts that blow
through those apartments
when the north wind blows
are serious business.
There was a family on the sixth floor
who liked having barbecues.
And couldn't care less.
When there was too much smoke
inside the apartment,
they would open the window
and the front door to get rid of it.
On a day with a north wind
someone called the fire brigade to check.
It's always the damn same!
The cops and the guys from the bank
arrived at 7:00 in the morning.
They were all asleep,
a couple and three children.
They were given five hours
to leave the house.
They had been living there
for many years and had lots of stuff.
The neighbors felt sorry for them
and spent the whole morning
helping them take their things out.
Since then,
every time there is an eviction order -
and lately it's nearly one per month -
the evicted people prepare
and begin removing their things
during the preceding weeks.
There are three elevators
in the tower block,
but in the last 10 years
only two have been working.
One New Year's Eve
there was a big party on the 12th floor.
Maybe their water had been cut off
or something,
but in the early morning,
they decided to use the lift as a toilet.
The piss slowly dripped down the shaft
and corroded the locks of the elevator doors
in the floors below.
It was never fixed.
The Brazilian nudists still managed
to get up there
about three or four times
before being caught.
Now the only one who goes up to the roof
is Ana, the door-woman,
who's not afraid of heights.
She has lunch there in the summer.
In the winter,
she watches the traffic jams
when the highway tunnel gets flooded.
No one else goes up there.
Some because they suffer from vertigo.
Others, due to an overwhelming
attraction for the abyss.
Yes.
I do know the Lord's teachings
and why there is no peace on earth.
The blood of men is dirty.
I speak from my own experience.
I've caused much misery in life.
This dog is good, and I am bad.
I don't know about you ladies.
I don't give a damn about it.
I know I am sick.
I will die soon.
After my death, I will still burn
in hell for a good while.
Since I don't like talking about that,
you'd better go and preach elsewhere.
Excuse me.
There were no good-byes on the last day
that Dixie saw his owners.
He crossed the familiar neighborhood
pulled by the leash,
although this time towards the decrepit
tower blocks never visited before.
It would be an exaggeration
to think that this was other
than a normal day for a dog,
despite all the charms
and signs of intelligence
displayed by Dixie.
It was therefore a day like any other
when Dixie went to a new home
and met his new owners.
He's already used to you both.
I couldn't leave him with anyone else.
We should arrive before sunset
on Wednesday.
Dixie, stay!
Shush, Dixie.
- Are you nuts?
- It tastes horrible.
We will never see them again.
They are dead.
Oh, no.
I've told you this many times:
We don't hand out cash.
Food, yes.
If you need clothes,
I will try to get you some items.
And food. But not cash.
That's out of the question.
Can't do that.
But it's always the same canned food,
and we needed some money to -
It's not always the same food.
To buy other things.
It's not always the same food.
That's not true.
It's not always the same food!
It may be very similar weekly,
but it's not the same.
Right, but -
But what you really needed
is money, right, Vânia?
Well, that I can't do.
Maybe we'll try the Social Services
or applying for minimum social benefit.
Because we can't give you money here.
Only food.
But you must understand
that we can't live constantly
on the same type of food.
But it's not always the same type.
We vary what we give out a little.
Is it not to your liking?
Is it not to your liking, Vasco?
Are we giving you too much food?
Your household comprises two people.
I wonder if we are giving you
too much food, Vânia?
- It's always the same!
- ls it?
KILL NAZIS!
Someone should go to their apartment.
They said they'd be gone for three days
but left enough dog food
for three months!
He hadn't left the house for over one year.
He was sick, I think.
She's tried killing herself three times.
She was seeing two doctors.
They had enough pills
to go to hell and back.
Say she never said good-bye to the dog!
Well, you know better.
I've done my part.
Two hours after
the mirror had been lowered,
the police entered
Luísa and Humberto's apartment.
They had been dead for 16 days.
Unlike the usual mess,
the apartment was immaculately clean and tidy.
Vasco and Vânia were not present
at Humberto and Luísa's funeral
because they thought their presence would
displease the residents of the tower block.
At the café,
they read a newspaper article
that mentioned a suicide pact.
They were themselves mentioned
as the couple
who had befriended Humberto and Luísa
in the last few months,
notorious among the rest
of the neighbors.
Having no means to keep Dixie,
they decided to give him
to Ana, door-woman,
so that she would help them find
a new owner for the dog.
Before heading to the tower block
that Dixie knew so well,
they took a photo of him
on her cell phone
and Vânia cried.
Ana was happy to see Dixie again
and decided to give him to her son,
daughter-in-law and grandchildren.
Vasco and Vânia would not see him again.
Despite asking for permission
to visit Dixie sometimes
and regardless of living
only a few hundred meters away,
the paths of the old and new owners
of Dixie would not cross again.
He's got a blue shirt. Blue?
He's got a brown shirt.
- The one under?
- Yes.
Dixie adapted to the new home
as if he'd always lived there.
It always went like that with Dixie.
Each new owner was cherished
as if there'd never been one
before him.
Dixie was as much a love machine
as he was a forgetting machine.
The dog would have probably
never returned
to Luísa and Humberto's building
if it wasn't for Ana's daughter-in-law
abandoning her husband.
So,
having to take care
of her grandchildren
while her son went on the road
as a truck driver in Europe,
Ana took them and the dog along
to the tower block where she worked.
Don't run around. It's a big building.
There are lazy bastards still asleep.
They will complain to me,
your granny.
Where is Dixie?
It has reached me
that in a country, sad among countries,
a son of a bitch
called Simão “Without Bowels”
was on the run,
avoiding the justice of man.
Around 160 policemen scoured the hills
for almost six weeks
searching for this man.
His mother named him Simão,
after his father.
The village people nicknamed him
“Without Bowels”
for Simão had always been
one of those bastards who were lean.
He had married a woman from
the neighboring village over 20 years ago.
Both had been deeply in love,
and that love bore a daughter.
Hey, Simão, have you come to kill me?
Or to steal the sheep?
I'll hit you with this stick!
I'm not afraid of you,
nor of your rifle!
Simão's village had also been
his father's village,
and his father's father,
and probably
the father of his father's father.
And they were all known
for being lonesome, evil men.
But this is not certain,
as there are those who equally guarantee
they were merely inward-thinking men,
yet very honest and hardworking.
One, two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine,
10, 11, 12,
13, 14 -
So many fucking dogs, shit!
15, 16, 17, 18,
19, 20,
21, 22, 23, 24, 25 -
Fuck!
27, 28, 29, 30,
31, 32, 33,
34, 35, 36 -
It's heavin'
with fucking ravenous dogs!
37, 38, 39.
It has reached 40.
Drive on, man,
we can hide better ahead.
- Further ahead?
- Yeah.
It's like we're in the village ball.
You're screwed.
Fucked up your whole life!
- Have you got juices?
- Yes.
Cigarettes? Got any?
- Yes.
- Then get me a cig.
Just pull over
and lower the music.
Here is good.
Here.
- Light?
- Please.
The Guards have orders to kill you.
I'd have killed myself by now
if I knew how my daughter is.
Your daughter is fine.
It's the others who have died.
Get me a juice, go on.
I heard you have a list of people to kill.
Is it true?
Oh, that's just a bunch of cowards!
Always meddling
in other people's lives.
Let me borrow your cell phone.
No, no way.
Well, you're not gonna tell
the Guard, are you?
Here's 20 euros.
There's your change.
Hey, get me another juice.
Attention, company!
Firm!
Shoulder, rifle!
At ease.
Simão “Without Bowels” belonged
to a category of men
who eat a lot but weigh little.
These men recognize each other
at first sight
and tend to think of themselves
as very polished sons of a great bitch.
Their fear of each other might be due
to recognizing,
in their peers' tales of wrongdoing,
signs of their own death,
near and violent.
What the fuck.
What's this shit? Fuck.
Fuck!
Quitério!
You were always mean and ugly.
I'm not sure why you were killed,
but you must have deserved it.
You're a great son of a bitch,
you queer!
Simão, what are you doing here?
Everyone is looking for you.
Why haven't you run away to Spain yet?
I missed them.
The wickedness of evil men
is often regarded as an epic thing,
driven by hidden and devilish powers.
But those who know bastards
like Simão “Without Bowels”
know that evil is only
a severe tendency of selfishness.
They are men who do not negotiate,
just move onwards.
But none of this seems grave to them.
While remaining indifferent to the world,
they also recognize, in fairness,
that the world pays
little attention to them.
It can very well do without them.
Here's a little one euro for you.
Thanks.
Another one for you.
Thanks.
Here, and for you too.
Thanks.
Go on, another little euro for you.
Thanks.
Have you still got
that stomach medicine?
Oh, Simão, Simão.
Your disgrace
was having left this place.
What am I to do?
The women I get just screw my head up!
Simão, Simão.
The red one always wins.
No need to feel sorry for me,
because Santa Casa's Charity is on my side.
All the money I lose,
Santa Casa replaces it.
This one is the red.
These two are black.
This one's red. That's black.
Done!
Ah, it's this one!
Hold on a minute, what if you lose?
Losing is okay, right?
Then let's shake like big men.
Lift the stone, please.
Ah, you lost again.
Fuck, what now?
I'm broke.
You're broke?
Let me see that ring of yours then.
It's worth 40 euros.
Bet 40, win 80.
Okay? Okay.
Let's play then.
These two lose. This one wins.
It moves here.
These two lose.
Now lift it.
And if you lose?
Don't you feel sorry for me, man!
I told you.
I lose
and Santa Casa's Charity pays me back.
Can I lift it?
Yes, but not just yet.
What if you lose again?
There won't be a fight, no problems?
No, no worries.
Then lift it.
This one's lost!
What now?
Oh, you've nothing left? Then leave, damn!
Fuck off and I go too!
Get off me, flies!
Fucking flies!
It was never clear if someone had helped
Simão during his escape,
just as it wasn't clear why he allowed himself
to be caught at home without resisting.
And I won't be able to tell you
as I too do not know why,
O Auspicious King.
But it has reached me
that while on his way to court,
he was greeted by folks
amidst shouts of incitement and applause.
Despite having shot
his ex-wife and daughter
and having killed another two women,
Simão “Without Bowels”
suddenly became a hero
for having swindled the local authority.
SIMÃO WITHOUT BOWELS,
YOU ARE GREAT!
The ducks walk shoeless, shoeless
and so do the male ducks!
Shoeless, shoeless
The ducks walk shoeless,
and so do the female ducks!
Who are we?
And where do we come from?
We are scouts!
And come from the village!
Place your foot in the center
of the supporting ropes, okay?
Then walk forward,
and as we move
push these ropes outward
to stabilize things.
I'll show you.
I'm walking there and back.
Any questions, just look, okay?
Like this,
just stabilize it, with no fear.
No worries, the rope is stable.
Get it?
Easy, stabilize it well.
Feet on the supports.
No rushing, easy.
Let's go!
Simão “Without Bowels” was locked up
in cell number 17
in Viseu Penitentiary Establishment
where he awaits trial.
His cell is four square meters wide.
He decorated the walls
with photos of his daughter,
a poster of the Benfica soccer team
and English prints of a hog hunt
that he ripped from a magazine.
From a small window, obviously barred,
he can see a tall poplar,
a wall topped with shredded glass
and a burnt old van without wheels.
Cats sometimes pass by.
That is all the bastard can see.
Oh, Mother, to you I write
This letter of simple plight
That to my heart will bring delight
And I beg you, crying
That you'll be my visitor
Behind the bars of this prison
I live hence in my cell
With my innocent soul
Without the love of someone
Hear, O Auspicious King.
It all happened in one of those nights
of three moonlights.
I love you.
- Mother.
- Daughter.
I am happy.
You were right, Mother.
Diogo Drumond was the best choice.
He was kind and yet firm.
Spot on.
Are you all right?
Did that hurt, my daughter?
A little.
It's by the book.
Experience will teach you
how to relax the perineum.
One can't avoid the thorns
when picking the first rose.
Did you bleed?
Yes.
Diogo Drumond will be pleased.
You did him the honors.
He'll feel he's the chosen one.
I congratulate you on this day
and the preceding ones
when you,
my dear and thoughtful daughter,
decided to keep your flower intact.
What else?
Diogo sleeps.
I thought I'd bake him a cake
for when he wakes.
Do the following.
Take a bowl from the top shelf.
Whip together 100 grams of butter
and 200 grams of sugar.
Add four yolks.
Whisk until you get
a homogeneous mixture.
Add the flour little by little.
Oh, and keep whisking
to avoid lumps.
Put a third of the mixture
into a bowl
and add two spoonfuls
of powdered chocolate.
Grease a cake pan.
Sprinkle with flour.
Then add the light
and dark mixture in turns.
Bake at 180 in a preheated oven
for 45 minutes.
Let it cool
and serve with two scoops of vanilla ice cream,
which you'll find in the freezer.
I listen and I obey.
If you can't fulfill
this marble cake recipe,
wake up the black woman to do it.
I fear, however,
that if you begin today
to resort to other women
to satisfy your man,
he may think, and rightly so,
that he'll be free to replace you
with this one or another whenever he needs.
Good luck, my daughter.
Thank you.
You are outstanding, dear Mother!
I know.
I had time
and the right conditions for that.
I am also very glad.
But I must hang up
because I am presiding, sweetie!
All that can be seen here is part of
the contents of an apartment in Vila do Conde.
As everywhere else,
the good people of the North
must deal with scarcity of income.
Selling home furnishings is one solution
to rebalancing domestic finances.
All this was put up for sale.
And that would have been fine
if only it had been sold
by its rightful owner
instead of the tenants
who rented the apartment and its contents.
This constitutes theft,
hence this court will meet now.
May the plaintiff rise.
May the accused rise.
May the accused rise!
I see them.
There's the mother and the son.
- Do you confess?
- We can do nothing else.
All the better.
Let's get this over with.
The case is simple
and so will be the sentence.
I shall, however,
question a little further
in order to share thoughts
and moralities with you all.
Madam,
are you familiar with the concept
of the right to property?
I ask you since you are the oldest
and because you look less foolish
than your son.
Indeed, my son is very stupid
and made us incur a great debt.
Not owning any assets,
I had to resort
to my landlord's furniture,
fully aware that I was in the wrong.
That was only attenuated
because I found the landlord very rude.
Instead of greeting us, he'd say,
“Fuck you both!”
And when I'd ask him, “Pardon me?”,
he'd answer, “Your cousin's cunt!”
All that came out of him was rude
and out of purpose,
and all that left us very nervous.
If the landlord truly speaks
such barbarities,
we can infer two possibilities.
First, we may be before a person
of no education
who feels bitter at life
and materializes this state
in gross verbalizations.
Second, he may be mentally ill
and derives a certain aesthetic pleasure
from those immoralities.
This can be medically verified.
But none of this attenuates
the theft of the furniture.
The landlord is coarse,
you have no scruples,
and your son is very stupid.
Tell me, in what way
does your son's stupidity materialize
and how has that incurred you in debt?
Son,
tell the Lady Judge
what you think about man and woman.
Man must have pussy
in the morning and at night.
It's the wife's task to provide it.
Provide what?
Pussy.
How stupid!
And nobody can convince him otherwise.
So, having to pay compensation
to my daughter-in-law
for being repeatedly raped
twice a day,
I had no other solution
than to take the household contents
of where I live with my son.
This story saddens me.
Mothers can sometime become unwise
out of love for their children.
There is no guilt-free crime,
even if sometimes
we may feel sorry for the criminal.
Your misfortune was having a crazy son.
Madam, you cannot dispose
of your landlord's furniture,
even if you're desperate!
Young man, you cannot dispose
of your wife's vagina
as it belongs to herself only!
All things in this world
have their rightful owner
who decides their fate!
Maybe you'd better neuter the boy!
But don't you worry, madam,
that won't be at extra cost.
About the wife's compensation -
Let's extend the monthly installments
to ease this mother's expenses
in the hardship
of having such an absurd son.
Your Honor,
I wish to forgive this man.
Who speaks?
I am the daughter-in-law
of this loving mother,
wife of this obstinate husband
and the carrier of relevant information
about their landlord...
who is nothing but a madman
who dialed 112 over 6,200 times
just to watch the ambulance drive past.
And as if that wasn't enough,
and after his voice became notorious
among the entire staff
in the emergency services,
he moved on to personal abuse
of these workers for no good reason.
He would phone them
with meaningless stories,
bored them and blocked the phone lines.
Given that I was one of the phone operators
working for the victim protection plan
and witnessed his improper
and gratuitous behavior...
I even think it serves him well
to steal his furniture.
I add
that time has sweetened the memories
of the relationships with my husband.
Given that he longs for my pussy
and that I'm available
to give it to him again...
I beg you to revoke the sentence.
May his member be left intact
and capable of fulfillment
and may the furniture be returned,
as I abdicate
of my due compensation.
Give me pussy now!
The moons have already risen!
Nobody gives anything to anyone here!
I hope you don't regret your decision
because it's clear that your husband
is no different than a wild animal.
He knows no shame.
He can't behave in society.
I grew fond of him.
And what sort of bad joke is that
with the emergency services?
Find something else
to entertain yourself!
You shall not desire this behavior
in the future,
otherwise you will be back here again
to be tried.
If so, I shall not be tried alone.
The genie should be tried with me.
What harm has this man done to you?
He is not a man.
He comes from the posterity, from Eblis.
And is the son of the powerful Domriatt,
the supreme leader
of the genies of the air.
He is very wicked!
He blows irresistible words
to my ear,
making me want to speak rudely
and act foolishly and senselessly.
I confess to being the author
of the phone calls,
but add that I regretted it every day.
I would ask him,
“Why must I do such foolish things?”
To which the genie would answer,
“It must be so.
That shall be your will!”
Are you wicked, genie?
No, I am a good genie.
Then how do you explain your crime?
I acted under orders of a bad man.
A good genie stops practicing the good
if he unfortunately falls
under the control of a bad man.
As you know, a genie is obliged
to fulfill the wishes of the man
who frees him from the lamp.
To my master,
all is lawful to reach his aims.
And where is that man?
He's absconded.
Some friends at the Public Ministry
informed me
that he is being investigated.
Well, one thing at a time.
What's the name of this man?
He is
old Drumont, the banker.
You realize you are talking
about a very respected person.
- He's worthless!
- Genie!
It's a family of ancient traditions!
They are thieves.
And why would a good-looking,
well-groomed and filthy rich banker
ask a genie
to bewitch a foolish and rude man,
forcing him to call 112?
Just to demean
the medical customer services,
to stir revolt in the population,
to push for administrative reform
in the health sector,
to raise the insurance prices,
to give a push to certain business deals
regarding transport of patients,
in other deals
in hospital infrastructures
and to help buddies
in the pharmaceutical industry.
All you're telling me sounds vague
and unlikely.
On the contrary, it's all very concrete.
See the anger caused by the story
of the brother who killed his youngest brother
because he had no food on the table.
The older brother killed
the youngest one due to hunger?
Yes.
He shot him.
And what did the younger one have
to do with the dinner?
Nothing. But he stood
between the eldest and middle brother.
And why did he do that?
Because the eldest brother wanted
to kill the middle one.
Since he stood in front,
he died.
And why did the eldest want
to kill the middle one?
Because the middle one
hadn't cooked dinner yet.
And what's that have to do
with the landlord's phone calls?
The youngest one died
because the ambulance took too long.
He went straight to the morgue.
He was 11 years old.
How awful.
I'm so tired.
Tell me, genie,
might that tragedy have occurred
under a moonlight like tonight
near the lane
with the 2,800-year-old olive tree?
Correct, under the moonlight.
I fear that the ambulance destined
to help that brother
has failed to reach him due
to a terrible misfortune.
I ask permission to tell the story
of the fugitive cow
and the cattle thieves.
Granted!
I was peacefully asleep
among my sisters
when a group of men
entered our corral.
I woke up and realized
they were not our owners,
as ours are fair and good people.
They whipped
and forced us into a truck,
shouting all sorts of abuse
into our ears!
The truck exited the farm
and turned left into the 251 road,
which made the journey
most uncomfortable
given that it is a very bumpy
and damaged road.
You are surely not here to comment
on the state of the national roads.
You are surely going to allow me
to tell my story
because the genie wishes to hear it.
Very well,
cow!
If I find that the state of the road
has nothing to do
with the development of this story,
know that you'll end up
in the slaughterhouse.
My sisters and I were in the truck,
very sad, depressed,
and far from thinking of escaping,
when a bump on the road
threw me out of the truck.
When I got myself together
I was on a lane with an olive tree.
And the tree said,
“I can see you've been kidnapped.
I've been hurt too.
Some unkind and unfair men
took all my olives
by the force of the whip
and of all kinds of insults
shouted into my ears.
I've known many men,
and some have hurt me.
I thought I'd be immune to sadness
because we get used to everything
in this life.
However, I am sad.”
I'm sorry that you're not looking
at this olive tree
because it's beautiful and ancient.
Meanwhile,
I hear the siren of an ambulance.
I even thought it was coming for me.
I ran to the middle of the road
to show myself
and the ambulance ran me over.
I was very maimed.
I never heard of my sisters again.
Are those thieves here?
Your misconduct set a boy's death.
We are guilty of many crimes,
some rural, others urban.
But we don't have blood on our hands!
I have a list of crimes in my possession
where the police weren't able
to find those responsible
due to negligence or a lack of means.
I shall read them out
and you gentlemen will tell me
if you're responsible for any of them.
There are certainly punishments
in penal law
that I will apply with relish.
On the 11th of October 2013,
4.5 metric tons of copper wire
and 45 traffic lights were stolen.
We did it!
Pavement stones from a certain street
in Alter do Chão were stolen,
resulting in it being
without pavement on both sides.
We did it!
A crime aggravated by the use
of a wheelbarrow, also stolen.
I lost my job as a result
of the theft of the pavement stones.
How?
Because I was staring for five hours
at those horrible holes
that ruined the public streets!
The scene was even more Dantesque
given that the tower blocks in that street
have several enclosed verandas.
I began to imagine
what the buildings would've looked like
before closing the verandas.
Next,
I couldn't avoid noticing
the proximity of a traffic circle
and how little sense this made to me.
So for hours,
I reviewed the road layout
of Alter do Chão.
But do you intend to press charges?
No.
Because it's my nature to stare
at everything that defaces public space
and it would add nothing
to the general good.
Caretos...
you have stolen 40 showerheads
from the local
Carregosense Youth Soccer club,
six sprinklers
and diesel from their boiler,
and also the plaque that commemorates
the opening of the changing rooms and field,
causing great distress to the club.
We did it!
We are thick as thieves
so there are other crimes we'll own up to
and spare you from reading,
Your Honor.
We robbed 19 churches
in Bragança district.
We stole books and beehives.
Stole junk from a yard,
three pirogues and a canoe,
plus its oars.
And two wet suits
from a nautical school.
We assaulted the postman -
And robbed a sausage
from one of his parcels.
On top of this we took all the olives
from an ancient tree
by the force of the whip
and of all kinds of insults
shouted into its ears.
We are guilty of all these crimes -
Because we are lazy
and we like eating
and drinking unrestrainedly
from the profit of our activity.
And what fate did you bequeath
the sisters of this miserable cow?
We sold them to a woman
in great need
who paid good money
and asked no questions.
This great calamity falls upon me!
Am I to tear up my dress?
That shall not be your penitence.
Am I to slap myself and self-harm?
That shall not be your penitence.
And don't you start crying
because tears are contagious.
A judge is neither immune to emotion
nor insensitive to suffering.
I didn't expect
this long rosary of tragedies.
This list of misfortunes
is leaving me indisposed.
Despair is anguishing because
it muddles the reasoning that guides me.
Madam,
what was your use
for the stolen cows?
I was merely the middleman
working for an unscrupulous man,
who calls himself a businessman,
exporting meat to the third world.
I met this man long ago at university
during freshmen's week.
He forced me to roll over a pile of dung
to the sound of the song
“My Dad's a Queer.”
He also convinced me and my colleagues
to simulate sex with a pig
and then extract a piglet
from under my skirt,
thereby creating a theatrical allegory
about the reproductive cycle of pigs.
What faculty was that?
Agronomy?
Yes.
In this case, rituals involving animals
and fertilizers seem fitting.
Maybe paternal homosexuality
appears as the odd element,
but it is certainly compensated
by the finale,
a celebration of life!
These freshmen rituals
are not consensual across society.
But what you described is within limits,
which seem to be harmless.
As I see it,
it's instructive and formative.
Well, I thought it was filthy,
and since then
I feel repulsion for this man.
I'm certain he involved me
in the theft of the cows
because he thought my silence
was a synonym of discretion.
I entered this deal out of despair,
due to having my wallet stolen
containing 140 euros.
This money is a single payment
for the food allowance
that the father of my children
is obliged to pay monthly.
It's the truth.
I am the legal representative
of this man
and state that my client is obliged
to pay a monthly food allowance
of 70 euros per child.
But I equally state that my client
cannot honor this expense.
He has been extradited to Spain,
where he comes from,
and where he serves a prison sentence
for having over exceeded himself
in his role as a bailiff.
Social Services are obliged to replace
his payments of the food allowance,
but that has not yet happened.
It hasn't and won't happen,
as long as I have the strength to prevent it.
As senior technical manager
of the Social Services
it's my duty to work with zeal
to avoid the collapse
of the pensions scheme.
Are you very old
or just not very well kept?
I am 93,
and I remain firm in my post,
paying into my work pension
and hence delaying receiving it.
The zeal I mentioned starts with me.
And as it's impossible for the father
to pay the food allowance,
don't you think Social Services
should help this mother?
No.
Because there's not enough for all!
So what is she to do?
Borrow from friends.
And if she has none?
Tough!
Are you senile
or merely insensitive?
Insensitive I am not
because every night I go around the town
distributing food to the homeless,
and cook large quantities of soup
to feed my many great-aunts.
My great-aunts don't benefit
from any Social Services support
because they are dead.
And nevertheless,
they beg me.
They are hungry.
Madam...
I fear there's not much hope
of receiving support from the Social Services.
Resign yourself.
This is a lost case.
And to add to all the nonsense
you just spoke,
I recognize you as the impostor
who pretended to be a homeless person
on a recent TV program.
My salary is not in proportion
of my expenses.
The Portuguese people
must get some on the side!
Then start giving private math tuition!
Or limit yourself to TV appearances
without being an impostor!
Given that you work in Social Services,
you can blabber banalities about the state
of the public finances like the rest of them!
Let the ex-head freshman of agronomy
and current cattle dealer rise.
Do you confess to being the true mastermind
behind the theft of the cows,
covering it up
by involving this woman in need?
No.
Bring the lie detector
close to that man!
Are you the one they call
“furious machete man”?
Notorious for having attacked acquaintances
and then policemen
without contention
or fear of any consequences?
Yes, that is I.
No talking!
Do you think you're a liar?
I do.
Then can you reconsider
your previous reply?
Yes.
I ordered the theft of the cattle,
and if things went wrong
I was to deny it all
and blame the deaf woman.
The truth surfaced.
Speak, if there's anything
you want to add.
But think carefully
because the detector
will be next to you.
I organized the theft
because the Chinese man had placed an order.
I planned to deliver my own cows,
but I couldn't because they were poisoned
by villagers from the southern hills.
That's no reason to steal!
Nevertheless we should investigate
why the villagers poisoned the cows.
Your cows were killed
because you let them loose
to feed on vegetables
from the villagers' gardens.
- Just so you didn't have to feed them.
- That's right.
Look, if I didn't deliver the cows
they'd break my legs.
The Chinese sent
the Spanish bailiff after me.
I didn't dream that this terrible man was
the father of the children of the deaf woman.
It's good he was arrested.
It was, indeed, a Chinese man
who handed my Spaniard to the Guards.
He accused him of crossing the line
between the lawful recovery of debts
and the unlawful practice of beatings.
Really, he was no worse or better
than the rest of us.
Shut up, Detector of Lies!
You should abstain from considerations
while doing community service.
That Spaniard was really nasty!
He left three Romanian slaves I kept
to shepherd the cattle in an awful state.
I assume that son of a bitch
Chinese guy will stand up next.
Mr. Wu is not here today
as he has been extradited to China
under an international warrant
issued by Interpol.
Mr. Wu thoroughly enjoyed
his stay in the country
and recommended it on TripAdvisor.
He appreciated the people, weather,
landscape and gastronomy.
He was so delighted
that he became a Portuguese citizen
through the golden visa scheme.
This scheme is an extraordinary idea
from the Portuguese government,
which grants special residency status
on our national territory
and freedom of movement in Europe
for citizens from outside the EU
who buy real estate
for half a million euros or above.
Even if they reside here
for only seven days, consecutive or not.
The visas have added value
to the Portuguese economy
because many Chinese see it
as a great opportunity.
As fans of gambling,
any Chinese who acquires property
and shows his tax receipt
is also lured
to a weekly draw
to win a luxury car
from the tax department.
If Mr. Wu wished to win the car,
why did he then buy 13 cows
from a dishonest slave dealer
who surely won't write any receipts?
We are ex-lovers of Mr. Wu.
There were 13 of us when we arrived.
Mr. Wu was a very rich bandit,
but he went bankrupt
and became a poor bandit
without friends.
He couldn't afford the upkeep
of more than one lover
and so decided to keep the best one
and leave the rest.
He organized a three-day competition.
We went before a jury
and performed skill tests
in the arts of dance,
of giving pleasure in all holes,
of serving hot and cold drinks,
wearing winter and summer clothes,
massaging feet,
singing and reciting Chinese poetry,
shaping hair in a Western style
and seasoning beef.
Since we were 13 lovers,
he sent for 13 cows.
There was a winner,
but the 12 that lost believe
there were illegalities in this competition.
This is making my head spin
and I want to throw up.
This grotesque chain of stupidity,
evilness and despair
is beginning to overtake my incumbencies
and especially my patience.
What a court must judge
follows this logic:
Someone commits a crime.
It's unlawful
and harms someone else.
The court judges the graveness
of the crime in proportion to the damage
and social impact caused.
The rest of society acknowledges
the unlawful acts committed
and the sentence applied by the judge
and infers conclusions
for its own behavior.
Some will find the punishment light.
Others harsh.
Because, unlike genies,
men realize that good and bad
are relative things.
This is normal.
What is not normal
and begins to seem remotely repugnant
is this endless list
of misery and guilt
where there are neither innocents
nor enough prisons
to house all the culprits!
This random chain of events
is a slimy issue
that saddens and sinks us.
Screw the lot of you!
There is not a hint of honor
in this assembly.
He was not completely
deprived of ethics,
that thief who stole my wallet,
which contained
the only food allowance
my children's father pays,
who received it from the Chinese man
for threatening
to break the legs of the cattle dealer,
who in turn would hire me
to steal the 13 cows.
He was a considerate thief.
He returned the wallet to the cafe
where he took it,
empty,
but with a note that said,
“To the owner:
If I had lost a wallet with 140 euros
you would probably not return it
to me either.
I'm sorry,
but I'm very poor
and I need to eat.
God bless you.”
Ask for mercy, son!
Get up, stupid! Confess!
You will stand up to hear the sentence!
Let go!
Look at the judge!
Straighten up!
Look at her, in the eyes!
On a day of days,
and without anybody understanding
how this came to be,
a gracious and intelligent dog arrived
in a suburban neighborhood.
This place was inhabited
by happy and sad men
yet almost all were tired,
worn out by the commuting
between work
and this place where they slept.
Many of these residents were poor,
although a few rich ones
also lived there,
either due to taste,
convenience or tradition.
Many of these people had,
had had
or would have a pet dog.
And it was not unusual
that these dogs resembled their owners.
Any observer could therefore spot
similarities and differences
between the residents of this neighborhood
by merely observing their dogs.
Nobody thought the arrival
of a new dog was odd,
given that there were
so many of them around,
but the lack of the pet's owner
didn't go unnoticed.
If we think of these similarities
between men and dogs,
we would say that this pet,
beautiful like a full moon
and causing amazement to onlookers,
would've had a charming prince
as its owner,
a discerning and kind one.
It is not the purpose of this story
to tell of the misfortunes
that lead him there,
so dirty and abandoned.
So we shall utter not
another word about it.
Oh, Ms. Glória,
how cute!
It looks like
he's been well looked after.
He resembles my Dixie.
Maybe God sent him like this,
just like the deceased.
Everything has its time.
Old Dixie's is long gone.
Dixie!
The car is kaput.
I didn't mean to do it.
I fell asleep.
Hey, dog!
Dixie!
Is she mixing up the medication
from her two doctors?
Maybe.
Who are you, boy?
Doesn't he look
like that other dog you had?
Dixie's friendliness -
I too shall refer to him
by this name -
was so amazing that he seemed
to lift the most disgraceful of souls
and draw a smile
out of the sternest of faces.
Seeing her neighbor Luísa
always consumed by distress and sadness,
Glória thought it would be the best use
if the dog stayed with her friend instead of her.
For several reasons.
Firstly, because she was
wholeheariedly generous,
despite her fair share of wickedness
like nearly all people.
Secondly, because while recognizing
in this dog the traits of another
she owned earlier
and that had already departed,
she intuitively knew not to keep him,
as certain things in life don't happen twice.
Third - and where I mentioned wickedness
I should maybe say weaknesses -
because Glória had secretly
renounced Luísa's company,
finding that it caused her anguish
and dragged her to the same world of shadows
where she saw her friend.
She believed Luísa was cursed
and that those who socialized with her
could be contaminated with endless sadness.
Simply, she didn't want
to put up with her
and believed that the dog,
the spitting image of old Dixie,
was both ladies' salvation,
cheering up Luísa's life
just like Dixie
had previously done to hers,
and allowing her to avoid
her gloomy neighbor.
Dixie!
Dixie!
Come here.
So, Dixie?
Okay, you can turn the tap on!
Ms. Isabel.
So cute!
What's its name?
How old is he?
I don't know.
You can leave your jackets there.
Humberto!
Meet my husband.
This is Vânia and Vítor.
His name is Vasco.
It's the first time ever
we are invited for dinner.
I hope you like spareribs.
This is a fucked up love story!
Really fucked up!
But still a love story.
I met Vasco because he was a user
and I was a dealer.
He was shy and all stuck up,
a mama's boy,
but I kind of liked him.
And he had to come to me
because he was hooked.
I didn't take drugs. I was afraid.
But I told him,
“Me, selling to you,
only if we both do it.”
He said I shouldn't get into
this fucked up shit.
But I insisted and told him,
“You're gonna be my man.”
Was it not, Vasco?
- Sort of.
- Yeah.
I'm only telling this
because Ms. Luísa likes love stories.
It's a beautiful story!
We both dropped it and we're still
together after all that shit.
Hmm, I love this!
You know,
the reverb they added to the voices
in those times was really cool.
Songs carried a hell of emotion.
Really nicely clone.
This was the first record I bought.
I had to play it at the neighbor's
'cause I had no turntable.
Vasco,
your companion is a very special woman
who deeply cares for you.
Don't ever let her go.
Go on, go home.
Ms. Isabel!
She must be giving them money.
What the hell have they got in common?
So, Dixie,
you had visitors last night, right?
Soon the dog will reach 500 kilos.
I need his help.
You are all very fast eaters!
Do you know what the lady
from the second floor calls Luísa?
- The mother or the daughter?
- The stutterer.
“S-S-Slow mo-motion neigh-neighbor!”
The peanut seeds caused a crisis
of the liver that nearly killed him.
The owners took him
to a vet in Telheiras
who said she would bring him
back to life
with an injection that cost 1,000 euros.
The love they had for a previous parrot,
who is now buried
near the palm tree by Tower 4,
made them get a loan to save the pet.
And so it was.
The parrot came back home
safe and sound
but never made a squeak again.
They say he will speak again
once the trauma is forgotten.
They no longer give him peanut seeds.
He now eats low-fat birdseed.
Let me see.
Let me see!
I'm going to tell Mom.
Okay, look now, you shithead!
SARA FROM 1st B
Okay.
I'm alone
I'm alone
I'm alone in my bedroom
thinking about my future
Jobless, unemployed
Looking for a path to nurture
So many mistakes made
and not a change of course
So many lessons learned
I learned to walk by force
As a child I didn't bother
how I had light and water
My mother worked flat out
Arrived tired and worn-out
Not one weekend off
in all her life
No wedding ring on her finger
Growing up like a warrior
Spanking me if I was a fool
She gave me this true school
My mom's a single mother
and she will always bother
What's my respect and love
in reality made of?
So many hours you wasted
I never had a father
present at my table
My tears are now dry
I can't feel his absence
My unwanted adolescence
Made me grow dependencies
and make the wrong choices
Sixteen years old
This kid already working
At 18
I'm drinking and smoking
Alone I got to know
the life I got hooked into
But time only showed
this wasn't what I dreamed of
This wasn't what I dreamed of
This wasn't what I dreamed of
Hey, neighbor!
Apartments D and E
have verandas facing north.
The drafts that blow
through those apartments
when the north wind blows
are serious business.
There was a family on the sixth floor
who liked having barbecues.
And couldn't care less.
When there was too much smoke
inside the apartment,
they would open the window
and the front door to get rid of it.
On a day with a north wind
someone called the fire brigade to check.
It's always the damn same!
The cops and the guys from the bank
arrived at 7:00 in the morning.
They were all asleep,
a couple and three children.
They were given five hours
to leave the house.
They had been living there
for many years and had lots of stuff.
The neighbors felt sorry for them
and spent the whole morning
helping them take their things out.
Since then,
every time there is an eviction order -
and lately it's nearly one per month -
the evicted people prepare
and begin removing their things
during the preceding weeks.
There are three elevators
in the tower block,
but in the last 10 years
only two have been working.
One New Year's Eve
there was a big party on the 12th floor.
Maybe their water had been cut off
or something,
but in the early morning,
they decided to use the lift as a toilet.
The piss slowly dripped down the shaft
and corroded the locks of the elevator doors
in the floors below.
It was never fixed.
The Brazilian nudists still managed
to get up there
about three or four times
before being caught.
Now the only one who goes up to the roof
is Ana, the door-woman,
who's not afraid of heights.
She has lunch there in the summer.
In the winter,
she watches the traffic jams
when the highway tunnel gets flooded.
No one else goes up there.
Some because they suffer from vertigo.
Others, due to an overwhelming
attraction for the abyss.
Yes.
I do know the Lord's teachings
and why there is no peace on earth.
The blood of men is dirty.
I speak from my own experience.
I've caused much misery in life.
This dog is good, and I am bad.
I don't know about you ladies.
I don't give a damn about it.
I know I am sick.
I will die soon.
After my death, I will still burn
in hell for a good while.
Since I don't like talking about that,
you'd better go and preach elsewhere.
Excuse me.
There were no good-byes on the last day
that Dixie saw his owners.
He crossed the familiar neighborhood
pulled by the leash,
although this time towards the decrepit
tower blocks never visited before.
It would be an exaggeration
to think that this was other
than a normal day for a dog,
despite all the charms
and signs of intelligence
displayed by Dixie.
It was therefore a day like any other
when Dixie went to a new home
and met his new owners.
He's already used to you both.
I couldn't leave him with anyone else.
We should arrive before sunset
on Wednesday.
Dixie, stay!
Shush, Dixie.
- Are you nuts?
- It tastes horrible.
We will never see them again.
They are dead.
Oh, no.
I've told you this many times:
We don't hand out cash.
Food, yes.
If you need clothes,
I will try to get you some items.
And food. But not cash.
That's out of the question.
Can't do that.
But it's always the same canned food,
and we needed some money to -
It's not always the same food.
To buy other things.
It's not always the same food.
That's not true.
It's not always the same food!
It may be very similar weekly,
but it's not the same.
Right, but -
But what you really needed
is money, right, Vânia?
Well, that I can't do.
Maybe we'll try the Social Services
or applying for minimum social benefit.
Because we can't give you money here.
Only food.
But you must understand
that we can't live constantly
on the same type of food.
But it's not always the same type.
We vary what we give out a little.
Is it not to your liking?
Is it not to your liking, Vasco?
Are we giving you too much food?
Your household comprises two people.
I wonder if we are giving you
too much food, Vânia?
- It's always the same!
- ls it?
KILL NAZIS!
Someone should go to their apartment.
They said they'd be gone for three days
but left enough dog food
for three months!
He hadn't left the house for over one year.
He was sick, I think.
She's tried killing herself three times.
She was seeing two doctors.
They had enough pills
to go to hell and back.
Say she never said good-bye to the dog!
Well, you know better.
I've done my part.
Two hours after
the mirror had been lowered,
the police entered
Luísa and Humberto's apartment.
They had been dead for 16 days.
Unlike the usual mess,
the apartment was immaculately clean and tidy.
Vasco and Vânia were not present
at Humberto and Luísa's funeral
because they thought their presence would
displease the residents of the tower block.
At the café,
they read a newspaper article
that mentioned a suicide pact.
They were themselves mentioned
as the couple
who had befriended Humberto and Luísa
in the last few months,
notorious among the rest
of the neighbors.
Having no means to keep Dixie,
they decided to give him
to Ana, door-woman,
so that she would help them find
a new owner for the dog.
Before heading to the tower block
that Dixie knew so well,
they took a photo of him
on her cell phone
and Vânia cried.
Ana was happy to see Dixie again
and decided to give him to her son,
daughter-in-law and grandchildren.
Vasco and Vânia would not see him again.
Despite asking for permission
to visit Dixie sometimes
and regardless of living
only a few hundred meters away,
the paths of the old and new owners
of Dixie would not cross again.
He's got a blue shirt. Blue?
He's got a brown shirt.
- The one under?
- Yes.
Dixie adapted to the new home
as if he'd always lived there.
It always went like that with Dixie.
Each new owner was cherished
as if there'd never been one
before him.
Dixie was as much a love machine
as he was a forgetting machine.
The dog would have probably
never returned
to Luísa and Humberto's building
if it wasn't for Ana's daughter-in-law
abandoning her husband.
So,
having to take care
of her grandchildren
while her son went on the road
as a truck driver in Europe,
Ana took them and the dog along
to the tower block where she worked.
Don't run around. It's a big building.
There are lazy bastards still asleep.
They will complain to me,
your granny.
Where is Dixie?