Original subtitles

The girl with the golden panties

The tragic events of those years,

that made me a nomad,

a stranger in my own town,

would upset the course of my life forever,

turning me into this furtive seeker

of a second identity, abandoned in some corner of the past...

maybe, stranded in the muddy enthusiasm of those arrogant years,

which are mandatorily qualified as victorious.

That's why, sometimes, I don't find myself.

I do not know what it was before or after.

That's why, sometimes I feel, with such force,

the nostalgia for that which I have not lived.

Better yet...

That's why, sometimes I feel, with such force, the nostalgia

for that which I have not been allowed live.

Elmyr, Ibiza.

February, 1942.

Through friendly people

from the Provincial Services of Propaganda,

I finally get my father out of the Model prison.

No help.

Not even the passionate dedication of my sister

is able to take away his will to die.

He proceeds to his own extinction without saying a word,

without a reproachful look,

as if it were the only possible answer

to the peace that, after the defeat, has been decreed around him.

Mr. Forest.

Please, Mr. Forest.

Mr. Forest.

Mr. Forest, she says she's your niece.

Hello, Uncle.

I'll come down.

Hello, Uncle.

Don't you recognize me?

Yes, yes, now I do.

Elmyr.

Hi.

You look a lot like your mother.

How many years has it been?

- You were so small. - Didn't she call to let you know?

Call? Who?

Mom.

Your mother? Well, no, no.

That's quite typical of her.

Well, here we are.

Well, Iwas in Ibiza and, finally, Mom insisted so much...

But she said she would call you.

Is he staying with you?

For me, there is no problem.

We hope it's no trouble.

No, the house is big.

Here.

A write-u p?

- About me? - For Mom's magazine.

I've had it covered for months,

but now Mom demands it urgently.

Photos included, courtesy of Elmyr.

Talking about myself is what bores me the most in this world.

However, you are writing your biography, Mom said, no?

I am alone.

I receive neither visits nor correspondence.

Nor do I have any kind of contact with the people. I write.

What else can I do?

You, here.

He can go to the one above.

Who, Elmyr?

There are two beds, aren't there?

If there's no important reason against it, uncle...

No.

You... you know best.

Tecla will tell you where things are.

Shall I call your mother?

Certainly.

- What do I tell her? - That I'm here, of course.

Accompanied or alone?

Well, tell her I'm alone.

Right.

October, 1942.

The death of my father.

Relations with myself worsen.

I get accusing glances from the few friends who have come to the funeral,

the silent pain of my sister,

and above all, that unexpected gesture.

One moment.

Long live the republic!

It worsens until it's unbearable, the deferred pain of my conscience.

llist, scrupulously, the humiliations

that, at the end of his life, could no longer be avoided by my father.

The feeling of defeat,

the frustrated exile, the prison,

the torture at the hands of those on whose side his son fought.

Mao.

Should I, Mao?

What do you think?

Who will notice, after so many years,

such an innocent falseness?

To proceed to the elimination of a showy and symbolic little mustache.

In addition, it is true that, during those days,

I felt an inexplicable malaise,

seeing my face reflected in the mirrors of bars and restaurants.

And all because of that alignment of hair on the lip.

He doesn't answer, as they say now.

Mr. Forest! Mr. Forest!

Mr. Forest, they have removed two doors.

They are going to destroy the house.

I hate the doors.

They are an element of bourgeois incommunicability.

Well, they also make it so there are no drafts.

Don't worry, Uncle, we aren't going to remove the windows, I promise.

At least don't leave them there in the open.

Put them in the attic.

Yes, Uncle.

Right now!

Sure, Uncle, before it rains!

J' I know, I know, I know the way

J' to make, to make a pear of anybody.

Elmyr, Elmyr, you make me give birth!

Not with the canine!

It's better to live on your knees than to die standing up!

It will not happen!

J' My golden panties, now they are wet!

The Chinese are coming!

I did not do it, but I thought about it countless times.

It's about, Isuppose,

in a shameful way, of relief, of self-harm,

an extravagance whose laborious details still puzzle me today.

Why do I put the pistol there too, Mao?

Well, because I don't only resign myself

to some essences that were no longer making sense to me,

but also to the violence they imply.

It is a symbol more.

What did I do with the box, Mao?

Where do I keep it?

They were going to jail for less than that.

Again.

Was it you? Where is my other slipper?

No, no. Isaid no. No!

You understand?

Neither today nor tomorrow nor ever! It's the end of the road!

As if there were no train in this town.

I'm tired of having stones poking me in the ass.

You go if you want!

And I hope the train crushes your head!

Shit.

Spying on us?

Mao brought me this.

Do you have my slipper?

Tecla left without remembering my dinner.

She was calling you, but you didn't answer.

I had my earplugs in.

Give it to me.

I'll make you some fried eggs.

You know how to make fried eggs?

You don't?

Look, just like in the American movies.

Your father had that same skill.

He learned it from a German pilot at the front in Teruel.

I had no idea. Let me make you a cutlet.

What does he do now?

- Who? - Your father.

Mr. Tey? In Marbella.

He has hidden all his medals away in the box of oblivion.

And I think he wants to run for mayor of Malaga.

News like that reassures one.

I would ask you more things about your father,

but I don't know where I heard that your relationship with him was...

Rare?

Fine.

Is the bread from today?

Uncle,

who cleans up those scribbles that you write?

In Barcelona...

a former secretary of the Propaganda Services.

I'll do it for you, if you want.

But do you know how to type on a machine?

Come on.

Apparently, any activity, no matter how modest, surprises you.

I thought I'd warned you that I had a certain propensity for disorder,

something very much in vogue now.

In any case, nothing related to cutlets, eggs, or typewriters.

It has no salt.

I try to forget what I've been taught, Uncle.

But it's not that I don't know.

In addition, I also play the piano.

I assumed as much.

I can still regenerate myself.

I do not like to swim or sunbathe.

This beach is a landfill of shit, cars,

and provincial greaseballs who play petanque.

I'm bored.

Seriously, Uncle, I can do it. So I can entertain myself with something.

And so I can find out about your exciting past.

It will serve me for the interview.

Do you know if there's wine around here?

Who would be interested in what an old man like me does or doesn't do?

It interests Mom.

Your mother, no one else?

Well, your wife.

I guess you already know that Aunt Sole also works at the magazine.

And she agrees with writing the article?

I proposed it and she didn't say no.

Deep down, she hasn't lost hope that you'll return one day.

She's regretful.

She's still in love with you.

Well, you still haven't told me if you accept my services as a typist.

I should tell you this is an offer disinterested in the economic.

I'll think about it.

It's vinegar.

You sure?

Ms. Mariana!

Miss Mariana, Mr. Forest will be angry!

That boy is uncovering the spider.

- What? - He's scratching the wall. Come on!

Look. Look.

Elmyr...

Elmyr!

Look, a bullet hole from '39.

Your uncle will be angry.

If you don't tell him he won't find out. You're blind as a bat anyway.

Poor me.

We'll give it another coating of lime.

- Who fired that shot? - Mr. Forest, with the gun he had.

He pierced Pau's hand right through.

Why?

Why? Because I know. I know what.

Who is Pau?

A poor bastard who started pissing there.

You got up before me, bastard.

Elmyr,

Do you know how old our illustrious writer is?

According to these papers, he confesses to 60,

but in all sureness, he's skimming off two or three.

However, he looks much better now, in the wise role, distracted and blind,

who, in his best years, was official reporter of "the victory".

You know that Aunt Sole left him for good five years ago?

What could've made me suppose that in this house, and in this man

I'd find an effective means of protecting you and myself

against your suicidal mania?

I thought we had come here to please Mom,

to a bourgeois house, where you eat square meals,

where you sleep in Flex beds, as God commands,

with the excuse of doing an interview with photos

of a fascist writer who's barely still with it.

And it turns out that we're in a nut-job's lair.

Listen up.

"In the first days October,

"on an unpleasant night without starlight... ",

starlight, eh?

"When I came home alone, I glimpsed,

"over the black, enraged sea, above the distant tumult

"of its rumble and its foam brocades,

"the first signal of the redeeming doubt

"had made a nest in my consciousness.

"L thought for the first time of the possibility of disengaging

"and of how to tell Soledad without causing an intense displeasure.

"Finally, those good wishes faded to a simple, private relief

"which was, by the way, reckless in its noise.

"L entered the house, gripped my Astra pistol,

"I went out again and,

"letting myself be moved by an unreflective impulse,

"I fired a bullet right between the second and third arrows

"of the endearing emblem stamped on the fagade.

"L remember and I transcribe these details

because this remote ceremony... ",

Blah blah blah blah...

He's basically snitching.

Because according to Tecla, the voice of the people,

that hole between the second and third arrow of the emblem

is, it's true, a bullet.

But...

on a sad night in '39, without storms or foam brocades,

a poor, drunk electrician began to piss there,

just under the emblem, supporting the hand so, on the wall.

My uncle took it as an offense

and pierced his hand with an accurate bullet...

from the pistol that, at that time, was always very close to the crotch.

And on top of that, according to Tecla, he denounced him.

And that was that.

I prefer the version of Tecla, and you?

Whatever you want, as long as it's not hitting the road...

Yes?

Mariana.

Where are you calling from?

From Madrid?

Oh... excuse me, Mari. You have the same voice as your daughter.

I thought it was her.

Yes, yes, she's here.

She must be in the house. Do you want to talk to her?

All right.

All right.

Tell me... tell me, how are you?

I'm good.

She helps me. She types up my calligraphic riddles.

Be careful, it's a bad idea.

She is a strange girl...

wonderful.

She's involved with a photographer or something like that,

a depressive who takes drugs and only talks of suicide,

an epileptic and oligophrenic of the highest order.

If he appears at your door, kick him out without a thought.

- Promise you will! - Hey, Mari,

Was it in '42 that you gave me a razor

with a pearly handle and black streaks?

- I don't think so. - Try to remember.

I don't know. Anyway, if you say so.

I'm sure.

And now, Ihave to give you the news.

What news?

Sole has died.

What?

She felt bad while driving her car in the middle of the street on Gran Via.

They took her to an emergency clinic, but nothing could be done.

Do you think that...

I should go to the funeral?

They buried her yesterday.

I'm sorry.

Your children didn't want you to know.

Against my wishes, to be clear...

Tell them they won't be notified either when I die.

Anything else?

No. I'm sorry.

See you soon.

Aunt Sole has died.

Do you feel it?

I don't like it when people die.

Here.

No.

Mag?

Come in, Uncle, come in.

- Sure? - Yes, come in.

Come in, Uncle. Sit down.

I thought Mao was around here. I'm going for a walk.

Walks in the afternoon stimulate depression.

It's better for you to talk to me. Sit down.

You smell of whiskey.

And you of weeds...

of incense.

Incense“. That's what this room smells like.

Mariana, is it necessary to set up all this decorjust to get high?

You can't have your parties in normal beds?

This house is a funeral home, Uncle.

Why do you fill yourself up with tea?

It centers me. Want some?

No.

We are here contemplating how the world and other spheres

turn solemnly to the pulse of "The Blue Danube".

It's nice.

He doesn't speak, but sings.

What do you give him?

Nothing, just this.

He's brought some of the white stuff.

We'll snort some lines to get us going.

Speak Christian, will you?

Snow, stardust...

J'... of starlight...

You're wearing all brown, uncle.

And?

And, what world do you live in?

It's excellent quality. Want some?

No.

This collar is Mao's.

I've copied down

the wonderful scene of your repudiation of your Falangist mustache.

According to that, a heap of years have passed

since you started losing faith in the ideology that summoned you in '36.

- Yes. - But nevertheless...

As a little girl, I remember you with a mustache,

and it wasn't long ago that I was a little girl, was it, Unky?

Maybe it was a bit later that I got rid of it.

I don't believe it has the least importance.

I don't know, you tell me.

You are the father of the creature.

"Nothing's as it is, but as you remember it", said Valle-Inclan.

"And we all want to be someone else", said a gentleman,

who was called I-don't-know-what.

- I see you've read a few books. - Nearly the same ones as you.

Oh, sorry.

What a mess, Uncle. Why weren't you as you remember?

I still don't know.

I'm learning about my life as I write it.

Me too.

When I'm off my head, I'm learning what I think as I say it.

Does yours truly... appear in your memories?

Well... yes.

One summer. You'd have been about 14 years old.

You were in the garden and a bug bit you on the back.

No, lower.

I was afraid it was a scorpion. I sucked the blood and spat it out.

And you went back to sucking and spitting again.

You really knocked yourself out.

I remember your hot mouth very well.

You gorged yourself, Uncle.

Ijust discovered I have three hands.

- That is not yours. - Is it yours?

Mine are larger.

- Lend them to me. - Why? What are you doing?

Just one, if nothing happens...

- It's only a game. - No, woman. No way!

- Put your hand under. - I don't want to!

- Open your hand, touch! - Mariana, I'm not forjokes.

- What is it? - Woman...

- Answer orl bite you! Which is it? - But...

Speak!

Well, one thing... round,

- like rubber... - What else?

With a chickpea on the tip.

- Is it a tit? - I don't know...

I would have to consult my memories.

Touch, touch, feel with your claws.

- I'm feeling! - Answer yes or no! Is it a tit?

Yes...

Well, it's not mine.

Her name's Elena. She didn't have a place to sleep. Do you mind?

You make fun of a poor old man.

I'm very bad, Uncle.

I'm just trying to comfort you in your widowerhood.

I have to keep working.

You'll see how good it is.

We'll do something along the lines of the writer harassed by his ghosts.

With the sea, the wind, the loneliness... and all that nonsense.

Face the wind, Uncle! With naturalness!

The world is yours! Think your thoughts!

Point your finger towards America, like Columbus!

Look at the sea as if you just discovered the Pacific!

Call Mao!

Mao, Mao!

- He left. - Taughten your spirit!

Come on, buck up, walk, wave your arms! Let fly your war cry!

Imagine you have your Astra and that you're about to shoot at Russian ships!

J' I had a comrade...

Hey, no! No photos of me! Of my uncle!

Mariana...

It's going to look so ridiculous...

Boy, I don't know how you manage to keep yourself up like that.

It's as though you had both feet stuck in a single shoe.

David!

Hello, Mr. Forest!

How's the fishing today?

Fine. Want to buy something?

- What is it? - A grouper.

- Must weigh three kilos. - At least.

How much'll you give me for him?

Well... let's see...

I can give you...

1,000 pesetas maximum.

- All right with you? - OK.

In the market you can't even get it for triple that.

Aww, how nice, how poetic, Uncle.

He is Tecla's grandson.

Now I see where that conniving old woman gets money to make thousand-peseta bets.

What does it matter to me?

In any case, a three-kilo grouper is worth more than 1,000 pesetas.

Really? All right then. Hold up the grouper high and shout:

"Go Spain!" No, with the right one.

Go Spain.

It will have to evoke, above all,

the endearing friendship with José Maria Tey,

that chimera spirit who painted sunrises that looked like twilights,

and who would go on to take me to Burgos to work with him

in the Services of Press and Propaganda.

It will have to evoke the first contacts

with the plumed comrades of the national zone,

united in the hope of an ascendent and superior homeland.

It will have to describe, duly,

the emotion of the return to Barcelona,

stepping closely behind General Yagiie, in the heights of Pedralbes.

The collaboration with Tey

in the installation of the provincial services,

the complex agreements with the Catalan intellectuals...

You also have to reinvent faithfully

that apartment, intimate and musical, on Aragon Street.

And the first meeting with the Monteys sisters,

with their purple shawls...

- Mariana... - their heavy, dreamy eyes.

Or Soledad...

Soledad or Mariana.

Discussions with José Maria at all hours.

It was not possible for me,

after the euphoric celebration of victory,

to ignore for much longer,

a series of small events that struck at my conscience.

They did the same thing yesterday in a textile factory in Pueblo Nuevo.

They detained two workers for speaking Catalan amongst themselves.

Are they asking for documents?

They're asking for documents and they're asking what they're talking about.

If their stories don't match up, they detain them.

The most disgusting violation of conscience by the system.

You're always making literature,

always caught up in the little, isolated anecdotes.

That's naive, Luis.

José Maria...

It's been two years since the war ended.

Every day they shoot three people in the Campo de la Bota.

Do you also think this is anecdotal?

"They are trampling a language and a culture.

"The workers are humiliated for the simple fact of being.

"People are forced to adopt reverent ways

"in front of symbols and emblems for no other purpose than to remind them

"who have been defeated.

"For each and every one of the reasons given,

"in the name of my own conscience, I request that it be accepted

"my resignation in the party at the time that I make available

"of the relevant authorities the charges and attributions

"that were assigned to me."

"Signed, Luis Forest."

Does Sole know?

No, she doesn't know.

Can I give you some advice?

Wait until tomorrow, reflect.

Talk to Sole.

I think you'll agree that the first person to know should be your wife.

You know too that it will kill her to hear it.

When I get home, a surprise is awaiting me.

Sole has suffered a fainting spell while at an event of the Women's Section.

Dr. Godoy recommends I not upset or fatigue her under any pretext.

He talks in reassuring terms,

but his sorrowful eyes let me know that it is serious,

and he ends up recommending I consult a specialist as soon as possible...

How are you?

I thought I was dying, but I'm better now.

What's the matter, Luis?

What should be the matter?

I don't like to see you like this.

Did you argue with José Maria again?

Nothing, woman, as always.

He's a mediocre painter and he can't stand being told anything.

He wants to do a portrait of me.

No need to worry.

No.

You are hiding something from me.

Did he call you?

He called you as soon as I went out out to the street.

- Mariana. - Come in.

Are you alone?

Come in, Uncle.

- Are you sure? - Yes, come in.

Don't you hear the typewriter? Or do you think I'm a one-woman band?

One never knows with you.

- I brought you some more pages. - Leave them there.

- Where? - Over there, on the bed.

And sit down!

You know, Niece...

I wouldn't like to see the photo with my fist raised published in a magazine.

It's not in earnest.

Ijust want to help you, Uncle.

"That man radiated a lyrical disposition to danger,

"a nuptial deal with death.

"Velvet eyes, heavy brows like tatters of night

"and hair combed backwards in a black and dense weft.

"Ruthless.

"He usually wore rose petals in his pockets

"that he took out from time to time to caress distractedly with his fingers.

"On the right thigh, near the hip, the vague shape of a gun

"tightened the pants."

You've got my clitoris standing on end with that description of Mr. Tey.

Mr. Tey...

Why do you always say Mr. Tey when talking about your father?

It corresponds more to his present appearance.

It shows that you haven't seen him in a while. Now he's bald.

And in his eyebrows he has hairs like that, like elephant's ass.

Like me.

You're a beauty, Uncle. I don't consent to comparisons.

There are none.

Give me one of your cigarettes,

one of those that produce lung cancer.

Tell me, dear Uncle, why did not you marry Mom?

According to her, you liked each other.

And Mr. Tey, he was crazy for Aunt Sole.

How did you manage to make such a mess?

It's a good thing we made that mess.

If not, you wouldn't have been born.

Who knows...

It's true that I liked Mariana, but something... happened.

What?

- A bit of confusion. - Tell me, tell me.

- You'll read it. - Look, I'll close my eyes.

You tell me and then I'll tell you how I see it.

Come, come!

Do you promise not to open your eyes?

Promise.

It's the first time I've talked about this.

It happened one day in which your grandmother was not at home.

I was working in my room fixing the drafts of my first book.

Night was falling when...

Something started coming to me... some piano chords,

the obsessive melody of "J'attendrai",

that was the piece that both your mother and Soledad

interpreted with much dedication. I took a break.

I went to the living room. It was almost dark.

I stood on the threshold.

Surely, your mother thought she was alone in the house.

And she pressed the keys with an undue passion.

I moved cautiously towards her, although I knew

that the longerl took in revealing my presence,

the more embarrassing it would be to justify it.

I still wonder today how I was able to get to her

and, without a moment's hesitation, leave an persistent kiss in her neck.

The darkness, and my own outburst, blinded me.

Turning around on herself, she surrounded me with her arms

and allowed me to kiss her insistently on the mouth.

Hilarious!

Well, young lady, you can laugh.

Everything happened in a way that was most satisfactory and convenient,

given the urgency of the situation.

Right there, in the living room.

Oh, what a mess, Uncle.

Well, the most important thing is missing.

The most important thing...

is that you fucked Mom on top of the piano.

Wait, wait.

It's just...

we didn't see each other's faces, nor did we say a word.

When I was already expiring over her, I could finally realize my mistake.

It was not your mother, but Soledad who moaned in my arms.

Well, I see that with your help, a simple poetic memory...

You can become a vaudevillian.

Joking aside,

that accident came to put things in their place.

Soledad was the suitable woman for me.

In honor of the truth, I owe her everything I am.

Yes.

You owe her for four children who wouldn't see you for all the world.

Can I recount this beautiful story in the article about your life?

You will keep it to yourself.

I promise to apply the most refined poetic formula.

Who's that?

I'd forgotten about him.

Uncle.

What does it say here?

Let's see...

"Dr. Godoy recommends I not upset or fatigue..."

No, here!

Where?

Here, Uncle.

"Let me know that it is serious,

"and he ends up recommending I consult a specialist."

OK, OK.

Aunt Sole was sick?

She didn't even know it.

It was a secret between Dr. Godoy and me.

So secret that nobody would believe it.

Hey, Uncle, Is that true about the workers?

It's true.

In what year was it?

In...

November, 1941... shortly after I married Soledad.

And about your resignation letter, is that also is it true?

See, that letter, I never wrote it, but I knew it by heart.

You understand, don't you?

It cannot be said to be a lie.

What disease did Aunt Sole have?

I would like to know that.

Uncle, to make something up...

I recommend that you give more convincing details.

For example, Aunt Sole was tubercular.

Like Margarita Gautier...

And later she was cured with streptomycin.

Mother of God... Look at what was in the sink

between the dishes we eat off of!

Mao up to his tricks.

Here, Mao takes all the blame.

Well I'm thinking of someone who smokes like a wagoner

and also wears a collar.

Sure, but she doesn't wear socks.

Well, must be the mute...

and the gypsies.

You have the cheek to reproach me when I don't listen to you?

I just need to give you the tit! You're like having a slow-witted child!

And furthermore, why should I listen to you?

- Such an uproar... - Am I your mother?

I'm sick of you! Don't touch me!

The blood won't reach the river.

See if I can have two hours of peace!

I don't see how you put up with it.

Go fuck yourself!

They amuse me.

Ah, Tecla...

Do you know of some doctor who isn't from around here?

A vacationer, for example.

The older the better.

Well, shit on God!

He's still speaking the language of the empire.

I see that you remember me.

I met your father in prison.

I had never seen you, but I had heard of you.

I won't bother you too much.

I'm writing a novel in which a woman

suffers an illness and I don't know what to decide on.

I need to specify the symptoms and the treatment.

I had thought about an old cardiac disease,

in an old childhood injury that went unnoticed

and that comes back at that age.

Mitral stenosis.

The most frequent cause is a rheumatic process in childhood.

Mitral stenosis, yes sir.

What are the usual symptoms, Doctor?

Fatigue, cold hands, swelling of the extremities.

Phiosis.

And what is that, doctor?

Blue lips.

What would you have prescribed?

Well...

Maybe consulting some old vadem cum...

I don't need any guidance.

I would have prescribed...

Digitoxin pills, P.S.A.

P.S.A...

It's not some sort of political acronym.

It means "Preparation According to Art".

Digitoxin to strengthen the heart.

Novurit as a diuretic.

Euphyline suppositories to improve pulmonary ventilation,

and a sedative, Bellergal.

- What do you want? - Should we go back home?

What? Do you know him?

A lazy man like a St. Paul. That's exactly what he's called: Paul.

He knows you.

I don't remember.

Look, I don't still have any defect.

And in prison, I learned to read and write.

In Spanish, you see, he has no grudge against you.

On 1 May he voted for the center party. I guess you did too.

Mr. Forest didn't have bad intentions,

'cause in those days, it cost him nothing to throw me in the clink.

Well, they have reconciled again.

At the moments of climax, then that bastard speaks.

Shit!

I won't sleep at home tonight. Do not be alarmed.

Do not ask Elmyr about me. Until tomorrow, Uncle.

So, who is in there?

What does that mute piece of shit think,

that this is a palace, a horse stable, or what?

Out!

Out of this house!

All right... all right.

Why don't you do it in the hallway or the living room?

Or in the town square?

Out, out I said!

You too! To the street. Come on!

You can stay if you want.

Well, for me...

For the record, you're the one who decided.

- See you tomorrow! - Maybe she's back.

No, she won't come back.

Until tomorrow!

You threw her out on the street, you bastard.

Let me explain...

When you get tired of that...

It's true that I kicked her out,

but it's also true that one minute later I asked her to stay.

She preferred to leave.

What you've done is lousy. You can't imagine the consequences.

She's cheated on you...

Around here the only cuckold is you!

Is it so hard for you to understand how things are?

Well, they are not like in your time of Falangist pomp!

Well, well, maybe it's you who finds it hard to understand.

I already told you that she preferred to leave.

Surely, after the fight this afternoon...

Your filibustering! Go away!

Leave me!

Listen!

I don't want you to sleep well tonight. Do you know where Elmyr is right now?

Precisely, I wanted to ask you, but you...

Somewhere on the train track, in pieces.

If you insist on exaggerating... How can you know?

I know because I know her. That girl is very sick.

And she's unable to withstand 24 hours without me... she's dead.

Susan,

English passport.

I don't know.

Photographer.

Twenty-something.

I don't know exactly.

Good morning, Mariana.

Hi.

I've already called several hospitals, but I've been recommended to call you.

It was Sole who eliminated, with a snip, the image of my father.

We had a strong discussion thus.

"Mariana, mother".

"October; 1943."

- Mariana... - Come in.

Come in, Uncle, don't stay there.

Mariana, I'm very worried about you.

Can I do something?

I've felt terrible, ready to die. I've hated you, Uncle.

Sorry.

I hope that...

you aren't plotting some feminist revenge against this old imbecile.

Well look, now that you mention it,

I had thought about putting a guillotine in my pussy

for the day when you decide to penetrate me.

Poor girl, what have they done to you?

Nothing that doesn't heal with a few touches of gentian violet.

I was asleep and I burned my breasts with a cigarette.

Nothing new, my depressions.

Bring me the little bottle and the cotton, will you?

Will you give me a few dabs?

I'd like them to remain enigmatic scars, like those of your memories.

- Ooh, lower too. - Hold still, let me do it.

I would like to know what qualities

that species of hermaphrodite possesses to make you torture yourself over her.

A sick soul, Uncle.

We became one another's psychiatrist.

Must be via sign language.

You're tickling me, Unky. It stings.

Look at this nipple, how weird it's getting.

The other one, too, please.

Your mother will kill me if she finds out. We should call a doctor.

Nonsense. I'm perfectly fine and eager to work.

It's OK, thanks.

What are you looking at?

I'll wear this shirt if you think that it'll make you feel better.

Don't abuse me, child. Don't laugh at a helpless old man.

Neither so old nor so helpless.

You going to deny you have a hard-on, Uncle?

That hasn't happened to me for centuries.

Ooh, this shirt is scratchy.

Do you mind ifl raise it above?

Like this?

Look at this nipple, how weird it looks with the spots, no?

For the record, I submit to your tortures

because I'd prefer being teased to seeing you crying in the corners.

In your blue eyes I see women dressed in lamé and high heels.

Go on, tell me...

I'm sure you were a writer who knew how to behave in bed.

Hey, what's wrong? It's like you're dumbstruck.

Are you feeling bad?

Don't tell me you've brought along that box of old condoms.

Made of rubber?

I guess Mao just brought it.

- Oh, Mao. - He was here, right by the bed.

Digitoxin P.S.A..

- Hey, wouldn't they be expired? - I'm not forjokes, child.

Maybe it belonged to my father.

J' You're flying over the sea

J' and with your fast flight

J' very soon you will arrive

J' to the beach of my dream

J' where my love is.

Why are you so happy? Has something changed in your life?

Of course, look there, on the table.

J' Seagull, how lightly

J' you're flying over the sea.

How'd you manage this?

Elmyr, who's an artist.

It's a photographic composition.

No, you were distracted and we put a grouper in your hand.

I recognize that it's very well done,

but it's not a grouper, it's a scorpionfish.

In addition to exercising your critical faculties,

you could also ask about Elmyr, no?

How is she? And where?

Well, thanks. In Ibiza. She says you're forgiven.

Tell her thank you.

I'll let her know.

J' To the beach of my dreams

J' where my love is.

I wonder if there's something you don't do with those panties.

And my reply is: although I'd like to take them off, I can't.

They're stuck on.

Everything is in place except the lemon tree.

The lemon tree was never there.

Your father changed it.

Father painted that?

In accordance with his highly refined style.

It's terrible.

I would prefer to be told who it was that killed Garcia Lorca.

The sweet figure is your mother.

He called her "my blue muse".

Fuck, and where is the blue there? It's yellow.

A color Mom's always hated.

It's Aunt Sole.

Interview with Luis Forest. First cassette.

Well, Mr. Forest, where do we start?

I would like to know some details about your extramarital relationships.

Adulteries, abortions, gonorrhea...

preferred positions in bed.

Look, Uncle, if you're going to put on that goose face

every time I ask you a naive question that's all in all, flattering,

then let's forget it.

Is that recorder going?

Is it true your wife abandoned you

because in 25 years of marriage to you, she only came three times?

Stop that. Stop!

Well, what do we do?

Do we continue the interview or leave it?

Do you want to drink something or do you want to talk? Orjust look at me?

Or do you want me to finally give you a handjob?

My beloved, foul-mouthed little girl,

I'm only interested in evoking my past,

It's the only thing I have.

You have me.

You think so?

You're jerking me around, Uncle.

There is no way I can be serious with you.

And also, really, I don't give a fuck about the interview.

I love you, damn it.

I'm going to make a confession.

Not too many years ago

I still believed there was no shortage of beautiful women in your life.

It was very romantic, you know?

And I liked to dream that you were syphilitic

and that, because of that, when the occasion arose,

you could only put it between my legs,

but you'd come all the same.

And then, sweetly, you'd fall asleep in my arms.

There'd be an intense venereal smell that would envelop me

and it would make me very happy.

A very naive dream.

Bah, do not be silly, Uncle, things are as they are.

Things are not as they are, child.

Sorry.

Well, they're not as they're remembered. And for the record, that's Aunt Sole.

She's right.

It's Soledad.

How did it never occur to you before?

It will be easy for you to tie that knot and then if you don't like it,

it will be even easier for you to tear this page from your memories.

I had just returned from a short stay in Buenos Aires,

where I had been invited to participate in a conference cycle

about Spanishness and literature.

My state of mind, at that time, couldn't have been worse.

That famous, unbreakable resolve was hanging by a thread.

The drop that would overflow the glass was a violent argument

that I had with the new secretary of Services of Bibliographic Orientation,

who wanted to eliminate two chapters from my new book.

Fine then. I say to the sub-director that I will remember his mother

every day at 9:00 at night, including Saturdays and Sundays!

It's over, I'm quitting.

All of them can take it up the ass.

The delegate Mr. Tey first.

You're not talking seriously.

- You will do no such thing. - I already have.

I thank you for the consideration that I haven't done it before.

But this time I am determined.

You were waiting to do a silly thing like this.

The simple mistake of an official...

It's not a simple error!

It's the shit we're up to our necks in, don't you realize?

In the name of the most sacred, Luis, think again!

In the name of what must never be desecrated!

My brother gave his life for God and for Spain.

He was your friend!

Don't betray his memory. Reconsider it.

This time it's serious. Get used to the idea.

I have reasons, my own, those that really were born here inside.

You have no more reason than having a father who's a scoundrel, a mason...

a priest-killer, a separatist, Marxist, and libidinous!

And it's two hours later, in Sitges, already installed and ready

to light the fireplace, when a bewildering series of coincidences...

a crossword solved in two handwritings in a newspaper from Barcelona,

a comb and some shirt cufflinks in a drawer of the nightstand,

and above all, an unusual abundance of bedclothes in the sink...

are details that sink me in a shocking presentiment.

Sole.

Ihave a crossword in my hand.

It's from aVanguard from three weeks ago.

It was solved with two handwritings.

One is yours, unmistakably.

Who is the other?

The best we can do is to separate.

Is there another man in your life? Answer me.

Well yes, since you ask, there is another man my life.

A man you're in love with.

Yes, I'm in love with him.

A weekend very well-planned.

No, sir, it was not premeditated, nor did it happen over a weekend.

How little you know me, Luis.

It was any day, during the week.

What does it matter if you know him or not? In any case...

it's not because of him that I want to leave you.

Not only for that, you stubborn man.

It's just...

I never needed another man, until you started to change.

You drifted away from me and everything that had united us, and...

and from all that we had fought for.

I do not know how to so betray an ideal, and a life, and a love.

So now...

now you know everything.

How do you feel about being a cuckold, Uncle?

Very good, thanks.

And at the hands of Mr. Tey,

although you haven't said it explicitly.

I would prefer that suspicion float in the air.

Float, float, it's like a radio serial.

Your friends will have a great time.

And since it's a story of cuckoldry, they'll believe it,

despite that, counting on the fingers,

it turns out that you separated from Aunt Sole

before she had the last two children.

I didn't separate from her.

NO?

In the next scene, Soledad appears in Sitges accompanied by the children.

She brings a very thoughtful proposal.

I have also reflected.

The idea that she could abandon me scares me.

Soledad is the only perfume, the only flower in the vast heath

of my emotional life.

In summary...

I cannot stand the idea of losing my wife.

We speak.

She is coming,

to keep everything the same as before.

Forget that man,

in exchange for me not re-offending her

with the insufferable idea of giving up our essences.

I see where you're going.

So, little by little it is becoming convincing,

my old and frustrated vocation of resignation.

Or not?

Why don't you throw all that in the trash, Uncle?

Because I'm old now.

- Want some? - No, thanks, Uncle.

Have you been smoking your weeds?

No, I've been moving furniture with the help of my friends.

The room is in order.

Look at the stars.

They were already there when I was a kid.

The world is a ship and it swings.

Uncle, if you were able to let Mr. Tey cuckold you...

why don't you cuckold Mr. Tey?

- Would that be so hard? - I'm working on a justification, child.

Not a vaudeville.

Well look, I'm interested in vaudeville

and I don't give a fuck about your justification.

How was Morn in that time of debauchery and abortions?

Abortions? What do you know about that?

Three abortions.

- One of Count Ciano. - Blimey.

Maybe you're the one who should tell me.

Maybe, but today I'll only ask.

Let's see.

For example, what happened here, in this very house,

one night in the month of April of '50-something,

when unexpectedly appeared Father and Mother, still dating at that time?

This imbecile finally declared his love for me!

Where'd they come from?

Well, why did Mr. Tey come that night?

Having exhausted the time of big ideals,

came the time of big business.

Your father was already beginning to be interested in the tourist areas.

I, through of my connections in Madrid,

was of great help to him.

In return, I was on the board of directors of...

at least 10 companies.

And if I told you that Mom came here to

escape Mr. Tey's beatings once and for all?

To ask for shelter and protection.

You can say whatever you want.

I, in those moments, started my third repudiation offensive.

Only that it was no longer to give up on some ideals,

but on some connections.

I've explained to you a decision taken, not a proposal to discuss.

You could have done it before the financial company was established,

but now, with your friends of Madrid on the board of directors...

it's crazy, Luis!

It's impossible. You can't do that to me!

Of course he can.

Not everyone only thinks about getting rich like you do.

Money is the condom of your life.

He added some more nonsense.

José Maria threatened to walk out on her.

She invited him to do it and he did it... slamming the door.

We stayed, the two of us, face to face.

She was very drunk.

Want me to suck you off?

It's funny, Uncle...

Mom remembers that night in relation to her habitual conflicts with her vagina,

while you, in contrast, with your eternal problems of conscience.

It's possible both things overlap.

That night, your mother and I we were about to commit a serious nonsense.

You mean to say nothing happened?

Nothing at all.

But in any case it's the same.

Someone thought the opposite.

Who believed it?

José Maria Tey.

And that forced me, one more time, to change my plans.

Come on, explain yourself, Uncle.

Your mother spent the night here,

in the same room where you are now.

The next day I compelled her to return to Barcelona.

I accompanied her to the station myself.

I was already 36 years old.

I want to suck off Comrade Forest!

She was probably pregnant.

BY Whom?

By José Maria Tey. Who else would it be?

Yes, my Niece,

surely you were already at this party,

so small and in the belly of Mariana.

Yes.

Yes.

Where were we?

When you accompanied Mom to the station.

But she didn't stay in Barcelona.

She went to Lloret and stayed in a hotel.

I found out three days later because the manager called me.

She'd arrived drunk and was still drunk.

Mari has been drinking for three days.

- She's really wrecked. - I know perfectly well how it is.

She's killing herself here.

I've talked to her. I think your presence is necessary.

I'll do more than that. I think it's my time...

I will marry her.

A magnificent idea.

By the way, We have to talk about your resignation.

Rather, we have nothing to talk about.

Do you understand me, Brother-in-law?

Not for now.

Sure.

That can wait.

She can't.

- Do you agree? - Yes.

Let's leave aside the question of whether or not you are

a depraved, innocent dreamer.

But certainly I'll never again leave you alone with Mariana.

Isn't that what you wanted?

Sure.

Think about it and you'll see, it suits all of us,

including Sole, who could never imagine that nothing happened.

I'm going for Mariana.

I'll give you the hotel's address.

I know very well where it is.

See you soon... Brother-in-law.

That Mr. Tey...

Was he really such a diabolical character?

Maybe I should not have told you this story,

but you, with your provocations...

What do you mean?

That this time you've been telling the truth?

The truth.

I only regret that you didn't sleep with Mom.

Well...

OK, until tomorrow, Uncle.

Any news of your mother?

The snake arrives in paradise tomorrow.

You aren't going to leave?

No, not anymore.

I'm going to masturbate.

Then I'll drink an Aneu D'or, harvest of '71, and go to sleep.

Tomorrow we have to be in good shape.

Well, good night.

Want to see how I come, Uncle?

Good night, my Niece.

Good heavens, what's the matter with you?

Have you seen an apparition?

Mariana, I know perfectly well what is going to happen.

I don't want to delay the irremediable being an imbecile.

That's a load off.

I thought something serious had happened.

Come, sit down.

How is it?

It will be difficult.

I'm going to suck you off, Uncle. I'm going to do it.

Don't think about anything.

See, you renegade fascist?

Do I have to get naked?

- Because ifl have to undress... - Leave it.

What are you doing?

The panties.

What panties?

Relax, let me do it.

It can't happen.

It is impossible.

What do you think?

It's soft.

Well, we'll put it in calmly.

Don't move. Be calm.

I already feel it growing inside me.

Don't move.

- Tecla, do you have much left to do? - I just started.

And in the other one?

In the other one your niece is still locked up.

Then I'll go in the garden.

Mao, Mao.

Give me that, Mao.

Uncle... Unky!

Uncle, Mom has arrived.

Do you want to help her?

I'm washing my hair.

It's only three little bags.

I'm coming.

It seems that everything is the same.

No, no way.

Five years ago, when we parted, Soledad took the best furniture.

They were hers, no?

It was she who arranged this house.

Hey, your fly is unzipped.

You look a bit down.

Have not you slept?

Surely you work too much.

I haven't cleaned up yet. We didn't expect you at this hour.

I'll give you the room above, the big one.

You already know what I need a board for the bed.

Well, we'll look for it.

Have you had breakfast?

No, not yet.

Do you want coffee?

For you.

What is it?

You gave me an idea over the phone.

You know that I always have had great difficulties

when it comes to giving things away.

- I guess you shave with a razor. - But, Mari...

But...

I've had a beard for years, Mari.

Anyway, thanks.

I've always wanted have one like this.

How long has this room gone unused?

It smells like mold.

A long time.

This isn't the room where your father died?

I wouldn't like it. You know me.

No, it's not.

Are you sure? Where did he die?

I don't remember anymore, Mari.

Well I should remember,

I have a great memory.

Oh, yes, I know...

he died in prison,

but you got to bring him here later.

He was in the living room, wasn't he?

Let's leave that.

May the dead rest.

You didn't offer me a coffee.

How many memories does this house bring me? And not all pleasant.

It has always worked for you. It's easy to forget the unpleasant.

What nonsense.

Your garden's become a mess. The change is noticeable.

I don't like flowers.

I prefer it like that, informal, wild.

If you prefer to call this informal...

It seems to me a sorry excuse for a garden.

The gardener comes from time to time.

You wouldn't know it.

You should write less and get more sun.

Well, what's she been like?

No problems.

- Are you going to take her? - Well, of course.

She's been lounging around since the month of April.

She's a sassy one, as I'm sure you've already noticed.

What's that?

A tribute from your daughter. She found a record up there.

A tribute or a dirty ploy?

Tell me about Sole. How did it happen?

She wasn't very good lately.

Sure, you didn't know that...

When Sole left you six years ago, I wanted to tell you,

but not even then did she let me.

She hated you very much, Luis.

Milk?

Not much.

She never wanted you to know.

I'm not used to those medical terms,

but I think she suffered from mitral stenosis.

I just know that everything was the consequence of a rheumatic process

that she already had as a child.

She didn't know until her 41st year, shortly before marrying you.

She forbade us all from telling you, even old doctor Godoy.

Do you remember him?

Yes.

Wow, it doesn't seem to surprise you.

In a way, I knew it.

Why did she do it?

Out of consideration for me?

At first, yes.

Then later, because she despised you.

She was an old hen dressed in blue.

All her enthusiasm was to seize control of our children, and she got it.

Sole had a terrible time with you, Luis.

It's evident that I was not the suitable man for her.

She should've married José Maria.

That's life.

Tell me one thing, Mari...

Did you know...?

Do you think...

that between Sole and José Maria, years ago,

before he would marry you, there could've been something, really?

My God, Luis!

Don't you think it's a bit late to talk about that?

Please, Mari.

You have never understood anything.

Poor Luis.

Everyone knew besides you.

It was in the winter of '48.

It's in the past.

In the past...

And it seems to me it was only once.

Seems to you?

Well, let's talk about other things.

How are your memoirs going?

I plan to dedicate the book to you.

I don't think it's prudent.

Why not?

You appear often in it, and in a decisive role.

I was afraid of that!

I hope that in one thing at least, you have been discreet.

Discreet about what, Mari?

Don't play innocent.

It's been more than 20 years,

but there are things that can never be erased.

I was almost a drunk back then.

My life was messy and full of doubts.

That night...

your advice decisively influenced my life,

although what happened is what happened.

What happened?

That which had to happen.

You know well what.

I've always appreciated your silence,

that you never made the slightest comment about that night.

I hope the same from the book.

If not for me, then for her.

For her? You mean Sole?

I mean Mariana.

I set out years ago so that it wouldn't matter to anyone,

not even you.

I need a drink.

What happened to Uncle?

He said he needed a drink,

but apparently he's going to have it behind the dresser.

Well? How do you find me?

Very good, but you would be better without this dog collar.

- It's my "anti-anti". - Your what?

It neutralizes the radiation that's in the atmosphere.

Nonsense!

Luis, you're crazy!

- I'll have to call a doctor, Uncle. - No.

Why not?

How'd it happen?

It went off.

By itself?

I thought it was unloaded.

At your age, and playing with guns, Luis.

Do you know what she said to me?

That you are my daughter.

Well, so what?

This film has been shot in interiors and natural exteriors in Barcelona & Sitges.