Bridges of Sarajevo (2014) - full transcript

THE BRIDGES OF SARAJEVO

On 28 June 1914,

near Sarajevo's "Latin Bridge",

Gavrilo Princip kills

Archduke Franz Ferdinand,

heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne,

and his wife.

The assassination triggers

the diplomatic crisis

that leads to World War I,

which ends with 19 million dead.

From 1914 until today, Sarajevo,

location of tragic conflicts

but also a symbol of the hopes

of a possible "co-existence",

has a symbolic role unparalleled

in the history of Europe.

This film unites reflections

of this memory and the present.

MY DEAR NIGHT

I'm weak.

And you think

that attitude will help you?

Of course not.

Why don't you put yourself together?

So you ask me to become God?

You find this funny?

Look, my wife.

She had a terrible dream last night.

She begged me

not to leave home today.

And?

Everyone's expecting me and my wife.

We have to go.

If the viper comes out on sunny days,

the traveller should be on his guard.

Did you have a bad dream as well?

I don't think much of providences.

But this time...

I don't know.

They'll be hidden in the crowd

to kill you.

Has man ever escaped

from what God decided for him?

So your free will doesn't count?

- Exactly.

So why do we have free will?

A trick of the mind

to make ourselves important.

But you have a choice.

You have responsibility.

Do I have a choice,

if I'm obliged to follow a plan?

What if the assassination

on you succeeds?

Big wars begin because of

already existing small wars.

Don't go out tonight.

I can't turn back.

The city has prepared for months.

So you're deliberately

going to your death?

I won't die.

I want to live.

We'll increase security.

Look,

my wife has long forgotten her dream.

You think you're God?

I'm weak.

You think that attitude

will help you?

Of course not.

Good evening.

Everybody in the cars.

We're ready.

Go.

What's going on? Get out of here!

Hurry up!

Go faster!

Turn left.

That's not a good idea!

This road isn't guarded!

- I've seen your guarded road! Left!

Where to?

People up ahead.

My fate is in my own hands!

Turn right!

Right! There!

Dead end. Back up.

What's going on? Back up.

Back up! What's going on?

- I'm trying.

What's going on?

Get the car out of here!

Immediately!

Get the car out of here!

OUR SHADOWS WILL

I'm 19 years old.

I graduated from high school.

I am not a criminal.

I removed the one committing evil.

My intentions were good.

Her, I didn't want to kill.

It was an accident.

I am 19. Typographer.

I completed two years

of secondary trade school,

but I didn't continue my studies

for my father didn't let me.

I tried to learn a trade.

I was left to myself.

My wish: a Yugoslav republic.

18 years old.

I went to high school.

I was expelled because I slapped

Professor Truhelka in Tuzla.

I wanted the assassination,

for Slavs are persecuted in Austrian Monarchy.

24 years old.

Teacher.

My father died 20 years ago.

My mother earned money washing laundry for others.

I'm 17.

I wanted to kill the Crown Prince.

I feel sorry for the Duchess,

but not for him,

since I had already resolved

to carry out the assassination on my own.

I'm a Yugoslav nationalist.

My aspiration to unite all Yugoslavs

and free them from Austria.

The main motivation that drove me to this act

was revenge for all the suffering

my people bear under Austrian rule.

I am no supporter of monarchy.

I feel offended that on the throne

of this monarchy sits a man paid 60,000 per day.

Austria is rotten.

A state that oppresses others

can't be considered as unified.

People aren't welded by bonds,

but only by discipline.

All its force lies in its bayonets.

I think that, just as a people

equal with others in the Monarchy,

the Slavs must be given basic political rights.

Such as political freedom.

A cultural development free from oppression.

Schools, colleges, universities ...

Why do you deny what every honest man thinks!

What made us deserve

special sanctions?

I grasp the political and cultural

unity between Serbs and Croats.

I'm Serbo-Croatian.

That means I don't only consider myself Serbian

nor should I work for Serbia only,

but also for Croatia.

It means one must struggle to bring his people

to the level of other peoples.

I started considering the assassination

when I was banished from Sarajevo.

I was offended that a foreigner,

who came to this land, chase me out of my hometown.

When I was banished, I was ordered

to go see Lieutenant Governor Rohony.

I thought he'd pardon me the offenses

I was convicted for, but he did not.

Instead, his secretary gave me

a moral sermon about life, and escorted me out.

I regret I didn't have a gun then,

I would've blasted him with six shots.

We need literacy and awakening

of self-consciousness in the people.

Adult literacy courses only began

at that time in our community.

When the special sanctions were adopted,

I thought even more of the political attack.

I felt disgusted by this treatment.

An anarchist suffers no laws

but feels entitled to take revenge.

I didn't receive any order.

We agreed to the assassination

as a justified mean of protest

against bad governance.

At first, I worked on its implementations,

but later changed my mind and worked to prevent it.

We believed in

the political unity of all Yugoslavs,

that the day would come,

but that it would be in the future

and that we wouldn't live to see it.

We knew we should work hard

to bring Serbs and Croats closer,

and also on culture and education

since it's our weakness.

Before the assassination, I gave

my grandmother 20 kronen and my sister 5.

I gave to my grandmother

because I love her and promised to help her.

She'd given me money when I had none.

She said, "5 forints are enough",

but I gave her 20 kronen.

I told my sister I was going away,

and that we'd never see each other again.

I went to change five forints,

gave her 5 kronen and she left.

I stood there crying.

I didn't know his wife would travel with him.

I wasn't aware of that,

nor was it ever my intention to kill her.

I wish General Potiorek had been killed.

And why are millions dying

on Europe's battlefields?

I can pity the Crown Prince as a man,

but as heir to the throne, I can not.

I can pity millions of our peasants.

Such act is the omen of a revolution

that will bring Austria down.

We spoke about taking

every precaution to spare her.

We condemned Lucheni's assassination

and assessed it as a common crime.

I am an atheist.

I did this out of the conviction

that an evil would be removed.

My intentions were good.

I did all this because our people are suffering.

They are completely destitute,

treated like cattle.

The peasant is impoverished,

completely shattered.

I'm the son of a peasant,

and I know what life is like on the land.

That's why I sought revenge.

And I'm not sorry.

I read revolutionary books, Kropotkin,

Russian socialist literature.

I've never even met any Serbian officers.

I am an atheist.

This is the greatest revolutionary act

committed in history,

judging by its consequences,

it's the greatest.

I didn't think it would have

such consequences.

I knew there would be Muslims too.

It didn't surprise me.

I was glad.

It ought to be the expression of

all of Bosnia, not just the Serbian people.

I do think there are cases when assassination

is necessary. If a man is a tyrant.

We didn't hate Austria.

But 33 years after occupying Bosnia,

Austria hasn't made things better,

hasn't settled the agrarian question.

These are the motives

that pushed us towards the assassination.

Before we part,

I wish for you to understand us,

not to consider us as criminals.

We loved our people.

Nine out of ten till the land.

They moan and wail,

have no schooling, no culture.

We were hurt to see that.

We felt the pain of our people,

we didn't hate the Habsburgs.

We are honest people, noble, idealists,

we wanted to do good,

we loved the people,

we died for our ideals.

We are whatever you want,

but we are not criminals.

Whoever claims the idea of the assassination

came from this group, plays with the truth.

We are its creators and its executors.

We loved our people.

I have nothing to say in my defence.

THE OUTPOST

This is Lieutenant Alfani requesting

retaliatory fire in quadrant 19.

A sniper is killing all of the men

I send to the ravine lookout post.

Yes, sir. At the moment,

the lookout post appears unguarded.

Yes, sir.

I'll send another one right away.

But can you confirm

retaliatory fire to me?

Yes, but the...

Hello.

Hello?

Hello?

The fifth of the first squad.

Ricci, come on, it's your turn.

Hear that, Ricci?

The Sergeant called you.

Death has called me.

Must a Christian

kill himself like this?

Goddamn.

- Morana, don't blaspheme!

Come on, Ricci!

Come, Ricci. Don't delay.

Hear the Lieutenant?

Artillery will cover you.

Now it's Ricci's turn to go.

For me, he will do it.

Really?

These are for my wife and children.

And four rags in my rucksack.

- OK.

Send them to the mayor of my town

when the news arrives.

Fine, Ricci,

but now think about leaving.

Go on, the artillery won't last long.

Lieutenant,

they're attacking the lookout post

because they're planning something.

What shall we do?

The soldiers are waiting.

- I don't know...

Call the next...

- No.

They've already killed five of mine.

I won't send my men to die like that.

Let's wait for nightfall.

But nightfall isn't for a while.

We can't leave

the Austrians all this time.

We need someone to watch the ravine.

If they pass it,

they'll be behind our lines.

Who would be the next?

Morana, Lieutenant.

Morana can do it.

Get him to prepare.

- Yes, sir.

The first of the second squad,

Morana!

Morana, we both know war well.

You know how to do your duty.

Yes, Lieutenant, sir.

Now...

it's your turn.

Redeem our honour.

Lieutenant, sir, I won't go.

Lieutenant, sir, I won't go.

What's this news?

It's no time for jokes.

Follow the order, leave.

Lieutenant, sir, I won't go out.

Look me in the eye.

Morana, look me in the eye, by God!

Are you afraid?

You know you'll face the firing squad

if you don't go?

You prefer to die a coward

with six bullets in your spine?

Isn't it better to go with honour

and meet one

that might even leave you alive?

I must execute the orders.

Privates, this spineless cur

wants to be missed out.

Who want to go in Morana's place?

Give me the rifle.

Give me the rifle.

Lieutenant, sir, what are you doing?

You must stay at your post.

You can't leave the soldiers!

And now, Morana?

What shall we do?

During World War I, nearly 5,900,000

Italians were mobilised,

the vast majority of them peasants,

to fight

for their recently unified country.

Among them, 240,000 were

sentenced to death or imprisonment

for indiscipline, desertion,

rebellion or self-harm.

PRINCIP, TEXT

In solitary confinement: really bad.

Without books, nothing to read.

Dream a lot.

Nice dreams.

About life, love.

Nothing scary.

Heard something tragic.

That Serbia won't persist.

Serbia won't persist.

It'll go badly for my people.

Can't believe

that a world war

was a result of the assassination.

12 May 1916.

Then, at about twelve o'clock,

could not eat, was in a bad mood...

Suddenly the idea to hang myself.

It'd be foolish

to have hope.

Thinking of my parents and all that.

No news of them.

Longing.

A life like mine,

it's impossible.

Earlier student, had ideals.

Everything destroyed.

My Serbian people.

He didn't want

to become a hero.

Only wanted to die for his idea.

Considering the human soul.

What's the essence of human life?

Instinct,

will or spirit?

What moves humans?

Resigned, but not really very sad.

DAS SPEKTRUM EUROPAS

Are you asleep?

I'm thinking.

What is spectral analysis?

An X-ray, a scan.

What's it got to do with Europe?

It depends.

Don't you see everything's

got something to do with Europe?

The book I'm reading is called

"Spectral Analysis of Europe."

Do you know how nicely he speaks

about us Romanians?

Who?

The German who wrote it.

He says

we're the descendants of Byzantium.

He's probably referring

to the Roman Empire.

He also says one in three Romanians

is born a poet.

At least we've still got that left.

Everything else has gone

down the drain.

Industry, gymnastics, agriculture,

the whole lot.

And now they want to take away

our Enescu Festival.

You're serious?!

- Of course.

There's something I've been meaning

to show you.

What struck me was how he foresaw

the war in Yugoslavia.

Tzutzi says it was written

before World War I

and that they banned it.

Listen to this.

"Let us now turn to specific

Balkan questions.

For this purpose I ignore the Serbs,

Bulgarians, and Albanians:

For the time being, they are

primitive warrior and robber races."

That's right.

But he's wrong about the Serbs.

Why is that?

I'd have said the Hungarians.

They're the real robbers of Europe.

What does he say

about the Hungarians?

I haven't got to that part yet.

But listen to this:

"I sooner believe in a great future

for the Yugoslavs,

but such a nation

has yet to take shape

and it might take centuries."

What about that? Isn't he good?

Yes, but he's fundamentally wrong

about the Serbs.

But it's understandable if you say it

was written before World War I.

Let me have a look.

The ones really to blame

for all the bad things around here

are, were, and always will be

the Hungarians.

What about the Americans?

- The Americans above all.

The Hungarians, the Americans

and the Gypsies.

Look at what it says here:

1929.

The book was published in 1929.

What's that? Give it here.

After World War I, not before.

It's a different edition.

Yes, but the first edition

was published,

look, here: Niels Kampmann Verlag,

Heidelberg, 1929.

Hermann Keyserling.

See how just a small detail

can radically alter the meaning?

This Hermann Keyserling

didn't foresee the war in Yugoslavia.

He knew it already.

Everything you think is a coincidence

was in fact planned.

Have you ever wondered

why World War I

ended on the 11th of the 11th month

at 11 a.m.?

Or why Gavrilo Princip

was called Princip

and ended up assassinating

the Crown Prince?

Or why the assassination took place

on the 28th of the 6th,

which are the only perfect numbers

in the calendar?

Just like Sandu?

What do you mean?

Wasn't Sandu born on 28 February?

But the Arabs taught them a lesson

on September 11th.

Bang! Down came the towers,

down came the Pentagon.

And you know I can't abide the Arabs.

But I can understand them. All

they've got is their wretched oil.

And even that they take away

from them.

Maybe you haven't asked yourself,

but Mr Keyserling knew it.

And he knew it,

because absolutely every major event

in this wretched planet's history

was planned by these American Jews.

If this guy is not a Yid,

then I'm a penguin.

Let's see.

Where does he talk about us?

The entire history

of the 20th century

was dictated by the bankers.

Just read "The Sunderland-Beauclair

Dynasty" by Vintila Corbul.

His son worked for us

in the financial department.

We're under the chapter

on the Balkans.

Romania is in South-Eastern Europe.

The Balkans are in Bulgaria.

The Hungarians get their own chapter,

but he lumps us in with the Balkans.

Didn't that strike you?

Tzutzi gave me the book

because it says nice things about us.

So I thought it would be good

to read it,

because maybe it'd help us find out

different things about the Greeks.

I don't see any chapter

about the Greeks.

The Greeks are under the same

chapter as us. The Balkans.

The Greeks are in the Peloponnese,

not the Balkans.

"All nations are of course

thoroughly unpleasant things.

Man, as such, is a dubious enough

sort of creature."

Is that so?

"Only in exceptional cases

does a sample of the genus

achieve the standards

which every one instinctively imposes

on every one else."

Didn't it strike you, love,

that this Keyserling was a Jew?

I'm going to sleep.

Have you set the alarm clock?

Yes.

You know, I thought

something was not quite right

when I read the chapter

about the Swiss,

where he says the Swiss are Jews.

Obviously.

But the name Keyserling

didn't click with me.

Don't you know the saying?

Ionescu, formerly Rabinovitch.

It's raining.

Did you hear? It's raining.

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS

BEYOND

ECCE HOMO

EXCESS, OH!, WORD

ACCESS TO THE DEAD

But if the myth begins with Fantomas,

it ends with Christ.

What did the crowds understand

who listened to Saint Bernard?

Something other than what he said?

Maybe. Undoubtedly.

GOOD AND EVIL

But how could we overhear

what we comprehend

at the moment when that unknown voice

penetrates the depths of our hearts?

THE WAR IS THERE

MYTH

I GREET YOU SARAJEVO

In a sense, you see,

fear is still the daughter of God,

redeemed on the night of Good Friday.

She's not beautiful, no,

mocked, cursed and disowned by all.

Yet make no mistake:

She watches over all mortal agony

and intercedes for mankind.

For there's the rule

and the exception:

Culture is the rule,

and the exception is art.

Everyone speaks the rule: cigarette,

computer, T-shirt, television,

tourism, war.

Nobody speaks the exception.

It's not spoken, it's written:

Flaubert, Dostoevsky...

It's composed: Gershwin, Mozart...

It's painted: Cézanne, Vermeer...

It's recorded: Antonioni, Vigo...

Or it's lived,

and then it's the art of living:

Srebrenica, Mostar, Sarajevo...

It's the rule

to want the death of the exception.

So the rule for Cultural Europe

is to organise the death of the art

of living, which still flourishes.

When it's time to close the book,

it'll be without regretting anything.

I've seen so many people

live so badly,

and so many people die so well.

SALUTE YOU

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS

False-tograph.

Archi-false.

As long as there are scribblers

who scribble

there will be villains who murder.

We're here to take pictures.

We keep to our place.

The French language, always mindful

of the meaning of the words,

used the term "objectif" or "lens"

to designate the "eye"

of the apparatus that Daguerre

presented to the Academy.

And that ever since

its launch on the marketplace.

Shame as well as shock

will accompany the gaze focused

on real horrors, taken from up close.

TRAGEDY OF THE IMAGE

So: don't pay.

Don't pay, don't pay...

So there will be two objectives:

an external, material one,

and an internal, spiritual one.

Let's consider this more closely...

So what has happened?

Perhaps paid to die,

but not to appear on the photo.

Or sometimes a handshake.

So what has happened?

So what has happened?

The spirit borrows the perception

from matter

that it had previously nourished on.

In fact,

we built a bridge,

a major fact.

Major.

But don't forget that facts consist

not only of that which is done...

but of that which is not done.

And war reporters

aren't very spiritual people.

Matter won't be paid back.

The bridge is half-built,

and will stay that way.

REFLECTIONS

ZAN'S JOURNEY

You didn't see anything.

You didn't see Bistrik's old station

or the cemetery.

You don't remember.

You were only a few months old

when the war broke out.

You don't remember.

You didn't see anything of Sarajevo.

Dad loved taking me

to the Central Library,

where he read old books.

We went there by tram.

A red one.

I always sat next to him:

big, strong.

The warmth of his huge hand

that took my small, cold hand.

I loved to be with my dad.

To accompany him

and listen to his calm voice.

But the trams had stopped.

They had cut off

the electricity, water and gas.

Nobody could leave Sarajevo.

The Chetniks and the army

had blocked it off.

They surrounded the city

from the mountains

and aimed their guns

at people's homes.

And in the city, other rebel soldiers

were entrenched in the barracks,

waiting for the sign

to kill Sarajevo's citizens.

The Yugoslav People's Army

against the people.

You didn't see anything.

You didn't see the hospital

in Sarajevo where you were born,

the river or the market.

Before the bombs, the tram went

to the library along the river.

Sitting next to Dad,

my nose glued to the window,

I loved watching

the bridges pass by, which I counted.

They all crossed the Miljacka River

on the way to the library.

The war broke out

on a very warm Sunday.

A barrage of incendiary shells

rained down on the library.

The fire burned thousands of books.

You didn't see that.

You didn't see anything.

Dad ran to save the books.

People carried them home

and hid them.

Snipers shot at those who tried

to save the books from the fire.

Dad came home with one book.

A book that you didn't see.

You don't remember.

Mum cuddled you, hugging you

and whispering sweet songs.

At each exploding shell,

you opened your eyes like saucers.

The house trembled.

The streets were empty.

It was too risky.

You were always in Mom's arms.

You wanted to suckle,

but she had no more milk.

The shell explosion had cut it off.

We hid in Grandma's basement.

Everything was dark.

You don't remember.

Day after day in the dark.

When the shells were silent,

snipers shot people to death.

A child playing with a ball,

they killed.

A woman fetching water,

they killed.

Everyone was afraid. Leaving home

was playing Russian roulette.

One day,

Mum was bathing when a sniper's stray

bullet grazed her arm, injuring her.

Dad no longer worked.

He was told not to return.

Everything was paralysed.

The government forced men to enlist

in the army to defend the city.

Dad didn't want to.

A friend helped him

get into a cleaning brigade.

Mum put us in the car

and tried to skip town

with an improvised convoy.

You don't remember, but she picked

up two orphans crying in the streets.

When you left Sarajevo,

Chetniks fired on the convoy and we

had to return to Grandma's basement.

You didn't see the orphan girls.

You don't remember.

Afterwards, they organised

an official convoy of buses

for children and women.

Glued to the bus window,

I watched Dad on the sidewalk.

With tears in his eyes, he ran

behind the bus to say goodbye.

Mum said we're going on a tour.

We went from Sarajevo to Split,

and were placed in a refugee camp

in Croatia. Then we went to Italy.

Afterwards,

we were greeted in Catalonia.

You saw nothing.

You didn't see the burning houses

and starving people,

without heating, dying of cold.

You didn't see them cutting down

trees in the park for fuel.

You didn't see the secret tunnel

they dug under the airport

to pass along food, gas

and everything Sarajevo needed.

You don't remember.

You already lived in Catalonia.

Father asked for permission

to come visit us.

After two years, he left Sarajevo

through the secret tunnel.

His only souvenir: the book

he had saved from the fire.

When Dad arrived in Banyoles,

you cried. You didn't recognise him.

Dad gave me

the library book from Sarajevo.

But it was for adults

and I understood nothing.

I forgot it somewhere.

You don't remember.

When the war ended, people hiding

books returned them to the library.

Dad wanted to return

the book he'd given me.

But I had lost it.

He was disappointed.

Nobody remembers,

but I know Dad would love to find

that book and return it to Sarajevo.

Zan!

Let's go.

Dad found me a job at the factory.

I'm going to work with him.

Haris?

Yes?

Any ideas for Dad's birthday?

No, and you?

Me neither.

Hey. What are you up to?

Coming?

- To help our dad with the coop.

Careful. Watch that tree.

Gently.

Haris,

where is Zan?

- In the kitchen, I think.

Zan!

Come help us!

Today, my city mourns

Today, my city's veins are shorn

Today, it's Christmas Day,

God willing, the last one like this

Today, I'm a barren stone,

yesterday, a lush plant,

Today, we are the only people

breathing a blood red sky

Today, the Miljacka flows

full of sorrow and spite

Today is my birthday

and I celebrated each year again,

Today, I thought of only my city

Today, I want its suffering to end,

today my life is in its veins

Today, God give my city strength

Today, we don't need the world

Today, we can make it on our own.

The dead will curse you

Bosnia still won't mourn

Today I'm still a Bosnian,

a Sarajevan

6th January 1994, by Alic Behija

I looked out my window

on the 6th floor

a little girl was walking

with her mother.

She carried two oranges

in a plastic bag.

A grenade fell-

The girl died immediately.

The oranges just rolled

down the street.

They had to pick up pieces

of the girl's body

and collect them in a blanket.

For 6 months we ate nothing but rice.

Rice for breakfast, lunch, dinner.

The rice was infested with worms.

We got rid of the worms and then ate.

Then they sent us beans

and we celebrated.

For six months we ate nothing

but beans.

Beans for breakfast, lunch, dinner.

The worst sound came from

the MLRS (Rocket Launchers).

You hear a "bam, bam, bang"

and then you hear this "zhhhp".

When you hear that sound,

it's too late.

When a mortar falls,

it sounds like "tustututus",

and when you hear that, you have

enough time to throw yourself

on the ground.

But when you hear "bam, bam, bang",

as soon as you hear that "bam, bang"

it's followed by this "chck" sound

and the grenade has exploded.

The hardest thing for my wife was

when she had to use

her red shoes as firewood.

To this day she can't get over

those shoes.

In Sarajevo there was a volcano,

out of which this immense

creative energy exploded

and its ashes spread

throughout the universe.

You're raised for a different time,

a civilized time,

then you're thrown into a situation

where you have to fight for survival,

a situation where the presence

of death is everywhere.

Its amazing how quickly people

get used to death.

For me, Sarajevo is...

...like a girl I used to love,

I dated her and we broke up.

But I can't get her out of my head.

It's like first love.

All things shall pass,

but you are eternal

Sarajevo my one and only world.

This too shall pass,

but you are eternal,

Poisoning enemies, healing my soul.

She felt a strong pain in her stomach

and the child that was by her side

just fell to his knees.

What actually happened was:

a sniper bullet hit the mother,

went straight through her stomach,

and hit her child in the head.

There was no water

so I melted snow

in order to wash my girl's diapers.

I would rinse them out

as best as I could,

then I would wrap the diaper around

my back and put a flannel jacket on,

so my body-heat and the warmth

of the jacket

would dry the diaper.

We would run into friends.

Those encounters would be

full of warmth and forgiveness.

Perhaps it'll be the last time

we see each other.

When will we see each other again?

Tomorrow?

That is a question!

In my dreams he would come to me

and ask for his head.

And suddenly I'm searching for his

head, and then I see two containers

full of decapitated heads,

and around them there's even

more heads,

and I realized that those were

all the people

who came through my ambulance,

who died in my ambulance.

SARA AND HER MOTHER

NO MUSEUM, NO CULTURE, NO MORALS

CULTURE IS A NECESSITY,

NOT A LUXURY

ARE YOU FUCKING

ANYTHING ELSE BESIDES US?

Sara!

Sara, where are you?

Help me.

- In a second.

Is it true you've got an axe and know

how to cut a tree without help?

Yes.

It's here somewhere.

Sara...

I can't see Grandma's house.

See that tall minaret?

No.

What are you looking at? See that gap

over there with nothing in it?

Yes. - Well look a bit further over,

then you're at Grandma's house.

I see.

Can I turn on the light now?

- Yes.

Mum, why do some books

have this sun painted on them?

Did you do that?

Those are the ones

I read during the war.

I'm going to separate the sun ones.

We're trying to get him out of here.

He doesn't have a temperature

anymore so we know he's better.

The arrival of spring was good.

Because he studied botany,

he explains everything to us

that happens in nature.

This is the third house you've had

since I've known you.

Why do you move?

I think I know.

Because of the unspeakable.

They're taller than me!

Let me show you.

Aren't you going to have dinner?

When I get back

from weekends with you,

I like to be on my own

to think.

I have to dash.

THE BRIDGE

Majo!

Just a sec.

What?

- Telephone.

I'm coming.

Hello?

Yes?

Ciao, Majo.

- Ciao.

How are you, Majo?

Who told you?

Your cousin Amir.

- What did he tell you?

That your father didn't suffer.

He had a heart attack

while watering his vegetables.

He said the funeral's in three days.

They're expecting us.

I want us to go back to Sarajevo,

Majo.

No way.

You know well I won't go.

Majo,

I want us to go back to Sarajevo.

I'm not going back.

Why?

- Why? That's why.

Are you still mistreating me?

You've been living in Rome

for 20 years.

In fucking Rome.

20 years.

You have a home, two cars,

a great job and good friends.

What friends, Majo?

We never see them.

We don't even see each other,

we've forgotten what we look like.

Really?

- You work all day long to survive.

There, we could have everything

we have here.

You have nothing there.

We have friends and family.

Those friends there...

You know how we left. We ran away.

Those friends will never forgive us.

Right?

- Yes.

Our families

haven't spoken since we met.

You think they'll start now?

Maybe.

Of course they won't.

I wouldn't go back for the living,

why would I do it for the dead?

You know what they think of us.

Do what you want. I'm going back.

I'm going to Sarajevo

with or without you.

Do what you want.

This bridge reminds me of Sarajevo.

I come here when I'm homesick.

If 20 years ago

someone had said

I'd live far away from Sarajevo

I would've laughed in their face.

You've thought about it?

I have.

All night long.

I can't go back.

I think it'd be best for you

to return for a week.

It'll do you good.

I don't want to go without you.

I've been trying

to heal the wounds for 20 years.

Let's go home, Majo.

I really can't.

I still hear

the sound of the bombs

as if it were yesterday.

They fill my eyes and ears.

We must say goodbye

to your father one last time.

And put flowers

on our son's grave.

Come here.

Sarajevo, my country

Surrounded by mountains

We would not have been attacked as before,

I'm living here, with my grandmother

She calls me “my little boy”

She never forgets her prayers

I'm very happy with her

She is afraid when I go out alone

But that's my life

I'm the one who buys groceries

I have a cat, Dragica

I found her in the stairwell

She was shaking,

I brought her home

My grandmother was deep in thought

She didn't notice the cat

So I stayed with her and gave her milk

When my grandmother came back

The little cat was already part of me

My mother died shortly after I was born,

She left me a letter

She wrote: My darling, my love, my heart

I know one thing

To survive, you will be strong.

Nothing is greater than love

You mustn't forget that, ever”

My neighbor's husband is a minesweeper,

I believe that she loves me

She offered me piano lessons

My piano teacher is very nice

During the day, I remember everything I hear

Being alone makes you think

My dogs are very important to me

I always have milk for them

I named each of them

At night, I count my dogs

There are many, at least 50 around the city,

These are the dogs from Sarajevo

I heard they want to kill all my dogs

It scares me

I look for a hideaway for them

An abandoned house to protect them

There's nothing else than this here

Abandoned and ruined houses

I can't go to mountains or the forests

Because of the mines

I love my city and everything around me

My father was a soldier

I never met him

He was a Muslim, my mother a Serbian

I don't care about being either

I will never fight for one side or the other

If I need to fight

I will fight for peace and love

In two years I'll go to school

My grandmother applied for me

But we never got a response

But when I do go I will be serious and learn

Especially for those that helped me

I will never skip my karate training

I want to be strong

I want to be a man in this world

A man who makes the world better

Something in my head

Is telling me where to go

I must not be weak

In my head, I heard the truth

What to do and where to go

You must know who you are

Then you can feel good

I am not afraid of hell or anything else.

I'm used to my city

I come and go, alone

I know every street every shop

That's my Sarajevo, my city of truth

In winter, its foggy

It's like hell

I think that hell has to be like that

You can't see anything

When I come home I hear a voice in my head

It's my mother's voice

She visits me every night

She sings to me

She doesn't forget me, she knows where I go.

QUIET MUJO

Come on! Good!

Pass the ball immediately.

Come on! Move this way!

Mujo, come here!

Keep playing!

Talk less, run more!

Go on now!

Mujo, why go straight ahead?

Go right

and escape to the other side.

So you run faster.

Go!

What are you doing? Stop!

What's that? Beach soccer?

Come on! Now!

Penalty!

There, Mujo.

He's imitating Italian players.

He is taking too long a run,

look at him.

Stop showing off!

Go get the ball, Mujo!

- Didn't you aim at the goal?

Know how much that ball costs?

Coach...

You need more good balls.

Not just the one!

I'd have 100

if everyone paid their dues!

Find it, Mujo?

No!

- Watch out for ghosts!

Not so far!

You didn't shoot that hard!

Mujo, what a shitty shot!

Shut up, Dino!

To the left!

Check the Muslim side!

Enough!

Get down! Go back to the field!

You'll be punished!

Mujo, you find it?

- I'm looking!

What are you doing, Mujo?

I'm looking for it! Fuck off!

Come and look yourself,

son of a bitch!

Quiet! Silence!

Know where you are?

- Looking for my ball, ma'am.

How old are you?

- Ten.

What?

Ten.

- Ten.

And you smoke? Want to die young?

You know each cigarette takes away

five minutes of life?

Didn't your mum tell you?

She's no longer with us.

Wait!

Come here.

Give me that.

I could do with five minutes less.

Why are you shirtless? Are you hot?

- Yes, a bit.

Should I put it back on?

Don't. No one's here anyway.

What's your name?

Mujo.

Anyone from your family here?

- No idea.

Give me that.

There's your ball.

- Where?

Where?

- There.

Between my younger brother

and sister-in-law.

Oh, the ball broke the vase.

Needs glue.

Drop it.

Take your ball and go back.

Whose colours are they?

- Chelsea.

Where is that?

- I don't know.

I better go.

Come on, Mujo.

Bye, Mujo.

Damn, did you die or what?

- We had to run laps because of you!

I met a woman.

She gave me a French kiss.

- A French kiss?

Liar!

I swear. Want to smell?

Ah...

- Dzevad, Hamo!

A lady's perfume.

- Hurry!

Bye.

You got lost, Mujo?

No, I just couldn't find it.

You really don't need a ride back?

- No, thanks. My dad's coming.

Remind him to pay the dues.

- OK, coach.