Original subtitles

In the ‘90s Raúl Ruiz went to Chile.

With the support of technicians and actors, he shot some sequences

which would later become part of a film he called:

The Wandering Soap Opera

Rolling.

Fifteen. Two-A. Third.

Action.

Day 1

People Are Watching Us

I like you this way.

Me too.

Can I touch you?

People are watching us.

Precisely.

If you say so.

What?

That you like looking at me.

Touch-ing you.

It’s the same thing.

Why?

Because people are watching us.

They are, all the more reason.

Ok.

I like touching your legs.

First one, then the other.

Your legs are unique.

- Which do you prefer? - The left one, by far.

Antonio, I’ve been wanting to ask you something for ages.

Ask me.

Are you a leftist?

I am.

Now, can I touch you?

I guess so...

But remember, people are watching us.

It doesn’t matter, that’s what they’re here for.

Do you really like touching me?

A lot. Why?

I don’t know. It’s odd.

You... touching.

When I touch you I feel as if I were I’m travelling through Chile.

Arequipa, Arica, Tacna, Antofagasta, La Serena,

Santiago, Concepción, Valdivia, Puerto Montt...

Antonio please, people are watching us.

Let them, that’s what they’re here for.

I don’t like the people from that soap opera.

I don’t either.

Is it true that you’re leftist?

Yes.

What are you?

Socialist.

What do you think about divorce?

It’s a delicate subject,

since in our party, especially among the more forward-thinking factions,

militants of diverse creeds coexist.

Some are Catholic, for example,

and it wouldn’t be a good idea

to promote a divorce law that goes against their deepest convictions.

Are you listening to me?

I am.

Are you that interested in the divorce law?

As far as wanting to divorce my husband and marry you.

You want to divorce my own brother?

Does that bother you that much?

Well, he is indeed a Catholic socialist and I wouldn't want to...

I’ll marry someone else then.

Also, I’m married.

Precisely.

Who were you thinking of marrying, may I ask?

The ideal man.

Which means...?

A man with shoulders like this.

Pure muscle.

I dreamt about him last night.

I’ve got muscles as well.

They don't show.

Do you want me to show them to you?

- I'd love it. - Look!

- Those aren’t muscles! - What are they then?

That’s just meat.

Meat is pure muscle.

Really?

Yes, meat is just muscle.

Muscles are meat, period.

I thought they were like nerves.

Lots of people do,

but actually muscles are meat, and that's it.

Do you want to eat it?

Here? Now?

Why not? Are you against it?

People are watching us.

Let’s laugh about what they’ll say!

Let’s eat these muscles with some lemon juice.

That’s what they are mine for.

Raw?

Like an oyster!

What about the lemon?

I’ve always got a lemon in my pocket...

There’s so much flu around.

Humberto! You... here?

I was eavesdropping behind the door...

I was going to go, but...

when I heard the word “lemon” I thought it was my duty to come in.

Antonio, that lemon is poisoned.

This too?

Yes. Look.

So is this one, and this one...

Everything is poisoned, Antonio!

You know, the Guayaquil Chamber of Commerce in plotting against us.

We’re finished.

Listen, get dressed quickly, we have to go to the airport.

I've been dressed this whole time

You didn’t even notice that I’d undressed you with my eyes.

- Yes. - So you’re naked.

- I didn’t want to accept it. - Accept it.

You?

My wife... naked... here!

This is nothing, look:

Autocump Mining Chile Ltd

raised its social capital from 3 million

to 7,399,120,013 pesos.

Autocump Research Ltd increased the capital,

it’s a company based in New Jersey, UK that brought in 7,399,125,013 pesos

most of it in cash and the rest in IOUs from the Central Bank

denominated PCD, US and Cash.

The remaining sum, 3,000 pesos was brought by Autocump Research Inc.

So we’re ruined twice over.

Now you’ll have time to write your book of poetry.

Don’t laugh. I’m a good poet.

Prove it!

A poet knows a bad line that he sees

Because he knows what his own future decrees

The crystal of beauty is salty and sour

The poet’s love is a thorny flower

It’s nice.

But it's not yours.

It's by... Max Jara!

If you give me away,

I’ll kill you!

Day 2

Chile, province fertile...

"In the famed region of Antarctica..."

“Famed” with a “d”.

“Antarctic” has an accent on the second “a”.

“Respected from remote regions..."

“Regions” with “g”, yes.

No accent on “remote”.

“Respected” is one word.

Sorry, sorry. Yes.

Right, “from” remote, not “for” remote.

Yes. “From”...

No. “Fr-om”.

No “h”.

“The people”...

No, “strong and powerful..."

No questions?

“The people it produces are the cream of the crop

so superb, so brave and so belligerent, with a “b”

I’m not sure whether “superb” ends with a "b" or with a "v".

No, no “d”.

With a "b" or with a "v".

“That they’ve never been” with a “b”...

“defeated by any king”.

No, not “i”, but “y”.

A “y” never has a dot on it,

only the Latin “i” does.

No. “Latin” is one word.

Not “la-tin”. That’s something else.

“Nor subjected to foreign rule”.

“Nor” is one word, “subjected” is one word.

Now let me tell you something:

I don’t like that you only ring to ask me these questions, ok?

Yes, “ask” has three letters, with a "k"!

That’s it! Got it? No more!

I’m serious!

I don’t want our relationship to be reduced

to a merely intellectual exchange!

No, no, let me finish!

No accent on “finish”!

Don’t hang up on me!

Goddamit! Dumbass...

Let’s go.

What should we do with Faúndez Garcés Marco Antonio?

Take his grave from the General Cemetery to the Catholic Cemetery.

And Manuel Belisario García Morales?

Repatriate his body.

Good night, Miss Luna.

I refuse to argue with the dead.

Is this how you treat your husband?

Dead you are, a widow I am.

Dead for you, long live Christ.

A husband who lied about his love for me doesn’t deserve to live again.

So you reject your husband?

Was it for me that you wanted to die?

Once dead, oh arrogant man,

a sleeping love awoke.

You robbed me of my life.

I’d die for you.

Let our love grow eternal roots

flourishing in my husband, dying to live forever.

Tell me whether what I’m living is life,

you speak of death in my dying.

A woman who betrays her husband, killing him with shame,

can’t demand his love.

I sailed the stormy seas of the living dead

and as my wounded heart revives

with these eyes my jealous heart lived again.

I wanted to die.

But being dead a thousand times in God’s garden

God doesn’t allow a love that transcends death.

I forgot your love.

I fell in love with my death

and my death loved Beatrice.

Meanwhile I’m here, dying while alive, sleeping.

Awake and eager to go and die in you.

God won’t forgive your adultery after death.

You are ferocious, terrifying.

You hardly know me yet.

What you see is kindness, gentleness, love, tenderness,

laughter, glib compassion,

loving caresses, the sweet dawn,

light, and a thousand rewards compared to my pain.

Now you’ll see who I am.

I’ll follow you to the afterlife.

If you come back, wherever you are I’ll find you.

I’ll build a train from here to there

back and forth

from here to there, dying

will be your daily life.

Oh my God!

Day 3

English in Sensitive Areas

Hey Ontario,

do you remember I said how perfectly stupid it would be

to use Interpol and FBI officers

to spread the use of English in sensitive areas?

What about it?

Because at this precise moment we’re speaking English.

You’re completely mad, Garcia.

You should follow my advice,

take a holiday, or go and see a doctor.

Can I tell you something? I’m sick and tired of all this.

I want to leave.

Nobody’s forcing you to stay.

Stop moaning, Garcia.

I suppose you enjoy it.

Nobody’s supposed to enjoy it.

That’s right.

So shut your beak and leave me alone.

Beak, beak, you’re always talking about the beak.

Do you know what “beak” means in a country like Chile?

I’m not a language teacher, Garcia!

In countries like Chile,

“beak” is an obscenity, and you're supposed to know that!

Aren’t you meant to be Chilean or something like that?

We’re supposed to be here to do what the boss wants, so shut your beak!

Goddamit! I mean shut your hole!

Do you know what “hole” means in countries like Argentina?

No, what does it mean?

It means “pussy”.

Oh! So you’re Argentinian now?

What you said before... were you being serious?

Of course I was, why?

Do I look like I’d make a joke?

No, I know you never make jokes, goddamit.

Ontario,

tell me once and for all what’s wrong with you.

Nothing, I just rather not be speaking English here...

It's the friggin’ worst to me.

Tell me something, Ontario.

Where did you learn that language we’re supposedly speaking?

I learned it from a girl from West Point.

Oh yeah!

Gorgeous, by the way.

She screwed me every morning after breakfast,

nothing too filling of course,

just papaya juice or something like that.

Do you want to hear something funny?

Alright then!

She fucked up her car, a big car, which she called "baby",

I can still see her cruising along Route 66 into the sunset

fucking up her own baby.

Didn’t she think of backing up?

No, she was pretty naive.

Want me to tell you the truth, Ontario?

You wasted a year.

Sure, you were in West Point,

but it was a waste of time, screwing around.

Don’t say that.

It’s the plain and simple truth.

And tell me something, was she beautiful?

Of course she was, quite shy though.

She’d clam up for no reason.

Really?

I’m telling you.

She used to take the 66

and if it was wet she’d turn around and off she went.

She was very careful.

Of course she was. You’re not though!

What’s going on?

Oh God, we’ve lost him again!

There! He went off after that girl!

- Where? - Come on, quickly!

Hey, just a moment, no rush... Where?

There...

I’m telling you he went for that girl.

What should we do now?

Do you want to know my opinion?

I think we should go.

It’s too late.

And the chicks might leave on us.

What are chicks?

Chicks are birds.

Don’t tell me you don’t like birds anymore.

Are you kidding? I love birds!

Let’s go then.

As they say in Paraguay: “Let’s have some fun!”

I’m so happy!

Do you think they’re dead?

Completely.

You’ve no idea how happy that makes me.

We killed them!

For once justice is triumphant.

That’s worth celebrating.

Come on, let’s go.

But first, leave the proclamation somewhere.

Then let’s go. I can’t believe it! I have no words!

This isn’t my triumph, this is Chile’s triumph.

Let’s do the proclamation and go.

What proclamation?

What do you mean, the one they gave you.

Nobody gave me any proclamation.

Fine, it doesn’t matter, let’s write it ourselves.

Okay, just remember that this isn’t just my victory.

Years of work went into this.

I know, man, I know.

- Okay. Shall we write the proclamation? - Great, let’s do it!

What should we write?

Why don’t you dictate it to me?

I’m not good at writing.

Typical, modesty is your flaw. Okay, here it goes.

So, write:

“Today is a day...

- ...on which the proletarian masses...” - You see?

“...held the faith with the aim

of heaving us towards the great soiree...”

Perfect!

“The chickens have come home to roost”

"The gigantic mother hen made up

of the millions of the world’s damned...”

Fantastic!

“...will crush the worms of the earth”

“Let’s go to Victory Square,"

"let’s close ranks, we will overcome!”

Ready! Shall we go?

Ready! They’re gone. Quickly, the proclamation.

Here it is. Hey!

Why are four people dead if we only fired two shots?

The special training gives you the edge.

Take a photo as a souvenir.

We haven’t got time.

There’s no danger now.

Not much, but the danger’s always there.

Ok, where shall we put the proclamation?

On the windscreen.

Look! They’ve got another proclamation.

Don’t worry, they put it there themselves.

Who? The dead?

Who cares! Put it there and let’s go!

- On top of the other one? - Or underneath it.

You’re right. Nobody will notice.

- I’ll put it next to the other one. - No! In that case put it on top.

Hey... it’s getting cold.

We did it, Franklin, we did it!

- Don’t call me Franklin. - Who cares!

What matters is that we killed six, with two shots.

Hey, Ilich, we did it!

I did it! And don't call me Illich.

Hurry up!

I can’t walk any faster, my gout’s playing up.

Help me look, I’ve lost my glasses.

I don’t know where the proclamations are.

What proclamations?

The proclamations... the proclamations!

My groin hurts. I’m going... I’m going.

The cold in this country is terrible for me.

- It is. - I’m never coming back.

Ok, let’s put up the proclamations, I’m going to bed early.

This groin pain is a torment!

Don’t touch me! This is a prosthetic.

- Who gave it to you? - The Norwegians.

This part of my right leg is Swiss.

The only part of me that’s Swiss is this eye they gave me,

and my upper lip.

This knee is Swiss, and below it everything’s French.

All my ribs were fitted in Oakland.

Come on, let’s put up the proclamations.

Hey, is this your idea or are there eight dead?

No, they’re just pretending. They must be asleep.

Well... Unless...

Let's see?

Some political officials and regular civilians

have observed that the constitutional reform bill proposed by the government

suffers from, among other things one fundamental problem:

It doesn’t sufficiently address questions

of regional development.

Why?

It’s true that it gives the regions the right to vote

to choose some important political authorities.

But while this is undoubtedly important

it doesn't itself equate to regional development.

Rather than analysing it

in the light of one of the symptoms of regional under-development

which is the inequality of opportunity compared to the Capital.

Why?

When reforms are only political

and don’t create or encourage new institutional directions

towards equal opportunities

in the multiple complexity of communal life,

then regional under-development cannot be addressed.

Why not?

Because it can’t.

Because, in order to develop,

the regions need something irreplaceable:

For the State to trust them.

Why?

Just because.

Day 4

Alma C. Rios Guzmán

Who are you? I don’t know you.

I’m Alma, but on TV they call me “Sheherezade”.

Oh, you’re the fortune-teller.

My name’s a bit odd. Please don’t laugh.

I’m called Alma C. Ríos Guzmán.

Are you related to Julio RÍos?

No, I’m called Alma C. Ríos.

My surname is Guzmán.

But Ríos is your first name?

Alma C, like vitamin C, Ríos. Please don’t laugh.

Why would I laugh.

I’m called Alma Communist. Because my dad was a communist, I’m not.

Why aren’t you a communist?

I don’t know. Are you?

Sometimes I feel like becoming one, when I read the papers.

Did you read today's newspaper?

No, I don’t have the time. Soap operas are a lot of work.

Too much, I’d say.

That’s funny.

He's obviously not drinking whisky.

Maybe that tie isn’t a tie,

that vase isn’t a vase,

and those plants aren’t plants,

and the sofa isn't a sofa,

For those who’ve just arrived, let us be clear:

nothing happens in this soap opera.

All we do is watch other soap operas and comment on them.

No, I’m on holiday,

but I’d love you to read my palm anyway.

Okay.

I see a cloud that’s moving away at high speed.

No, it’s not a cloud, it’s a veil,

a veil that’s tearing.

Thousands of veils are blown by the wind to the big cities.

Every veil is an angry and rushed dialogue.

An unbroadcasted soap opera.

Now thousands of veils flutter onto the main square.

As soon as they touch the ground, they float away again.

A popular flight.

They take over the city.

Every home has its veil.

Every wife, every daughter, makes it hers.

From now on Chilean women will cover their faces.

The very worst of passions, decency, inflames them with chaste fervor.

The wandering soap opera has become flesh and blood.

I’ve been spying on some houses.

That’s Olegario, Alicia’s brother.

He looks presumptuous.

He organized a finance company.

What’s a finance company?

Hey, where do you come from?

I’m from the neighboring soap opera but I love coming here for the summer.

Now, I was abroad for many years.

I’m repatriated.

I went into exile when Frei...

Why?

Don’t know. I felt like doing so.

Look, that's Juan Antonio. He’s a doctor.

He looks presumptuous too.

Well, he’s also a partner at the finance company.

He’s been bankrupt four times.

This one definitiely looks presumptuous!

- Let’s crucify someone. - Who?

I don’t know, one of those over there.

I haven’t crucified anyone for ages.

I don’t feel like it anymore.

Come on. Already?

No. Then we kept going.

The other day I crucified with those guys over there,

and we felt like emptying them out,

then we boiled them, and in the end we breathed them in.

I almost breathe them in.

Those people have suffered and will continue to suffer a lot.

You only see their heads, but below...

They’re burning them, sticking pins through them

chopping their fingers off with scissors.

I don't know, I don’t like people who scream.

They shouldn’t allow soap operas that capitalize on human pain.

That’s for selling abroad.

At the end of the day, they were asking for it.

Shut up, before I lose control over myself.

Who are you to tell me to shut up?

You're talking to Alma C. Ríos Guzmán.

Guzmán, like the Bishop Guzmán?

Yes but my family isn’t sanctimonious.

I’m a bishop as well.

At your age? You still believe in all that?

And proud of it.

When you guys were in charge

there was a lot of torturing, wasn’t there?

During the Inquisition,

the family was warned before anyone was tortured,

and a family member was always present.

Secondly, there were only four types of torture.

Thirdly, no one could be tortured for more than 48 hours.

And fourth, the subject had to be able to leave the prison by themselves.

Let’s switch over, I’ve had enough of the shouting.

There’s been an earthquake somewhere.

In the south, look at the wind.

How terrifying!

Have you seen Leonor?

There she comes, I guess.

She’s walking so strangely as though she were floating.

Have you noticed? There’s not a single man.

Yeah, right?

Antonia said she was coming.

Aren’t you scared of earthquakes?

No, he wasn’t very dressed.

How strange, not a single man.

I’m going back, good night!

Now that she’s gone I have to tell you:

guess where I saw her coming out of?

Anywhere that’s not her own house.

Guess!

Out of my house?

How did you know?

What were you up to?

I went out for a walk.

You know you’re lying.

And if I were?

If you were we wouldn’t be friends anymore.

Have we ever been?

I thought we were.

Well, no. Hadn’t you noticed?

Didn’t you find it strange that I never invited you to my house

when we were at school?

I thought it was because you were ashamed of being so poor.

Or was there another reason?

Actually, there was.

The same as your other school friends.

Leonor, don’t play innocent!

You know very well what the other girls used to say about you.

Or didn’t you notice?

No, I thought they liked me.

Well, they didn’t.

So, what do you want me to say? Should I ask you why?

You know why. It’s because of the elevation.

The elevation...

Are you going to tell me you've been resenting me

all these years just for that?

And if I did?

If you did I’d think you're nothing more than hysterical.

Maybe I am.

The elevation... What an idea!

You always fainted during the elevation.

So you could get out of Mass.

While the rest of us were obligated to go to church every day.

You used the time to seduce Hernán Jaramillo.

If you want to know, he wasn’t the only one.

Of course he wasn’t.

Everybody in this community knows that our men flirt with you.

If you want to know, that’s not all.

Speaking of men, where are they?

Are you worried?

Aren’t you?

No, I’m not.

Because my husband is perhaps the only one who doesn’t think

you’re the most beautiful woman in this community.

That’s not what he tells me.

Here they come, about time.

Here we are! Hurry up, we’re cold!

Hey! What’s wrong with them?

Why are they walking so strangely?

Waddling like they’re sleepwalking.

Hey! We’re over here!

What’s wrong with you?

Where are you going?

Oh my God, it’s terrible...

The men... All the men...

Calm down, what’s wrong?

They’re all dead.

What do you mean?

They died suddenly with a blank stare.

And if you want to know something else,

not one of them is in his own bed.

That doesn’t bother me so much.

What I care about is that they’re all dead.

Really? I thought you hated men!

But how can they be dead?

We’ve just seen them, and they were fine.

Maybe... it was just an illusion.

Maybe!

So we’re all widowed... at the same time?

What an extraordinary coincidence.

What do we do now?

Bury them.

Then back to our daily lives.

I would hope we can carry on living together,

but on one condition.

You’re always putting conditions.

I’m sure that even you will accept this one.

We’ll all stay together until death do us part.

We’ll never marry again.

We'll make a blood pact. Did you hear me?

I love how creative you are.

- I’m in! - Me too!

And me!

So let’s get to work and bury our husbands.

A life full of satisfactions is waiting for us!

Long live the Widows of Dardignac Street!

Long live the Widows!

Day 5

Those with an H

Asshole!

You crashed into my car, asshole!

Get out, you idiot! Be a man!

- Hey... - Huh?

Do you know where La Concepción Street is?

What?

La Concepción Street, where is it?

Somewhere around here.

Sure.

But where?

What do you mean “where”? I told you. You don’t believe me?

Ask someone.

That’s what I’m doing, I’m asking you.

It sounds familiar, I wonder why?

Because you know where the street is, that’s why.

No I don’t, but it does sound familiar.

Well, it sounds familiar to everyone, me too.

Does La Concepción Street sound familiar to you?

Yes, why?

Because it sounds familiar to me, why does it sound familiar to you?

I have my reasons.

Hey, don’t pretend you’re offended.

Hang on, what happened?

My wife. Why?

Nothing.

What about your wife?

She’s called Concepción.

There she is, do you want to meet her?

Okay, let’s go.

But let’s give the car a push first.

What car?

That one.

That one? What’s wrong with it?

It’s old-fashioned.

That car's battery must be dead. Don’t you want to buy another one?

- I’ll sell it to you. - Okay.

But let’s push it first.

Okay, let’s push it, it can’t be too hard.

More was lost in the war, wasn’t it?

Which war?

The War of the Pacific.

That’s why La Concepción sounds familiar.

The battle.

I thought it reminded you of your wife?

Her as well.

Well, she’s not actually called Concepción.

She’s from Concepción.

It’s not the same thing at all.

Oh really?

You’re easily offended, aren’t you?

Because I’m from Concepción.

As well? But you don’t know where your street is?

It’s a different Concepción.

Well. Still!

- Come on, let’s go and push. - Let’s go.

- People can be awful, can’t they? - Why?

How could a father call his daughter Concepción?

Knowing she’ll be called “Concha” sooner or later.

My parents called me Ubaldo.

Ok, but that’s not the same, you’re a man.

Ah...

So?

Keep pushing, it’s about to start!

Our friend’s not such a hot driver is he?

The wife’s not bad though, is she?

But what a name. Awful.

And what’s your name?

Homer.

People must have cracked a joke or two in your time.

Not really.

Why don’t you push your car and I’ll start it.

Okay.

Your friends are nice. Who are they?

We’ve only just met.

He was looking for La Concepción. I’m funny, he’s not!

Why not?

Hey, talk less and drive more!

Oh, you’re so funny!

Did you say your name was Homer?

Yes, and yours?

I’m called Hermes.

I wonder where those names come from?

The masons.

Really?

Yes.

I hadn’t the slightest idea.

Your car’s pretty heavy for its size.

It’s not mine, I borrowed it.

That’s what I imagined.

You’ve got quite an imagination.

- It was a joke. - Yeah, I know.

So... Hermes is the name.

Thanks.

Hey... Could you get me out of a jam?

Another one?

No, it's just that the other day I was asked...

is Hermes written with or without an “H”?

I’ve no idea, would you believe it?

Must be with an “H”.

Probably...

Excellent.

So, Hermes the little man, with an “H”.

You’ve hit the nail on the head.

That’s how it should be.

You’re funny, aren’t you?

So Hermes, huh? That’s a good one! With an “H”.

Hey, it’s no joke, it’s tragic.

People have been cracking that joke since I was a boy.

Well, people call me Homer with an “H”.

- Seriously? - Yes.

- So we’re both with an “H”. - Yes, that’s what God wanted.

Around the corner there’s a bar called “Those with an H”.

Seriously?

I'm telling you!

- Nobody I tell will believe it! - Sure!

Let’s have a beer at the “Those with an H” bar.

Okay, what about your car?

It doesn’t matter.

It’s not even mine.

Fine, but what about your wife?

She is, but it doesn’t matter.

Let’s go. These conversations make you thirsty.

That’s true, isn’t it?

And your wife?

You seem to worry a lot about my wife.

Of course I do, they suddenly disappeared.

It doesn’t matter, she’s old enough to look after herself.

That’s what worries me.

She must have gone home.

Home.

She’s very home-loving.

If only she were.

I can see that my wife worries you a lot.

How could I not worry?

Well, cheers.

- Cheers! For the “With an H”. - For the “With an H”.

Hopefully only with an “H”.

Oh really, why?

Thinking about your wife.

What about my wife?

She’s quite beautiful.

Have you looked at her that much?

Hey, I’m not the problem, it’s the other guy.

What about him?

He’s looking for... La Concepción Street.

Excuse me?

Are you from this soap opera?

I don’t know, why?

Oh, it must just be a coincidence.

I thought I heard you talking about La Concepción.

And if I was?

I’m looking for someone who could recommend me for that soap opera.

La Concepción is a soap opera?

Sure, don’t you know it?

They’re pretty deep into the story.

Apparently it’s one with veils in it.

Sure, like the Evangelicals,

exactly like them, no drinking and all that stuff.

I’d love to work on that soap opera.

Live-in or part-time?

Don't be like that.

I’m intrigued about what you said.

I think you’re taking the mickey.

Well, are you or not?

I am. I don’t know about this gentleman.

Let’s say I am.

Why can't you give me a recommendation?

Neither of us has got a pen.

“Us”, says the free-rider.

Which one? The one with an “h”?

Oh come on, don't be like that...

Hey sweetie, do you want to do something in the soap opera, or work for it?

I’m going.

It’s not the same thing.

It’s true what he says.

For example I work against soap operas.

Against, or without, or behind.

Against, against. “Because of” isn’t the same as “with”.

Or “for”.

I’m convinced that soap operas are a fourth power.

What do you mean a fourth?

I thought France was the fourth power.

No, that’s the fourth world power.

That’s not the same at all.

For example, whenever I go there

they ask me whether I worked on this or that soap opera,

and I always say “against”.

Because I’m against the fourth power.

No, right... me too.

Or rather, if I were against it I’d watch them non-stop.

Shut up, you dumbass!

This conversation’s done.

I’m leaving as well, they sacked me!

So soon?

That’s what they’re like here.

Without severance pay or anything?

They take advantage of me because I’m a woman.

Even if you weren’t they’d do it.

Excuse me.

No, nothing’s happened here.

What do you mean, nothing?

Oh, I’m sorry.

Now we're talking.

This country’s incredible.

They sack you without even telling you.

It’s because I’m from the south.

I bet you’re from Concepción.

No, from Talcahuano.

- Same thing... - This is a country of exploiters...

Are you back from exile?

Yes, can you tell?

No, it's just that I like your watch.

It’s Russian.

What? They make watches in Russia?

They make everything!

I thought Communism fell apart?

Such a shame, wasn’t it? It was so lovely.

I heard otherwise.

Well, where shall we go?

I know a strip joint that a friend of mine owns,

and they serve food there.

Good idea, because I’m getting hungry.

Fine. What about your wife?

Why, what about her?

I’m worried, with what you told me about her.

She’s probably at home.

What I’m worried about is an egg that I’m getting here.

Oh really? Let me see.

There.

True, you do have an egg there.

- What sort of an egg? - A quail’s egg.

I get much bigger eggs, but...

My wife takes them away for me.

Let’s go, I’m starved.

I haven’t got any money.

I don’t either.

I’ve got a bit, but I have to pay the rent.

Let’s go, we’ll sort it out there.

So you’ve got an egg, have you?

Day 6

Beyond the mountains

Thank you.

With your permission

I’m going to take a small sentimental liberty, if you will,

because on occasions like these

when I find myself with such a select group of friends

it fills me with pleasure to recite something, a poem.

Especially if the poem is by Carlos Pezoa Marín

a renowned bard, my father,

who died in exile... in Sao Paulo.

So in your honor and my father's,

from Carlos Pezoa Marín, “Nostalgias”.

Far away

Beyond than the mountains, and the perfumed valleys of Baghdad

beyond the olive green and misty land,

beyond the underwater continent

of mountain chains and converging rivers,

towards the sea of new Spain

lies a hamlet.

Like any other from a fairy tale,

with its squares and avenues,

its old men and women

sitting on the pavement airing their morals.

With their country fairs and bitter feuds,

their funerals and their parades,

their choirs and their beauty pageants,

their monuments invaded by the weeds.

Far away, lies this hamlet.

The dying traveller opens his eyes

and sees the palaces and temples

the eucalyptus groves swaying in the wind

where the lepers live with their shrieks of pain

muttering their “far away"...

...goes to his abode.

How are things with Russia?

No one here ever gets out!

The only time I got out they stole my wife.

Was she pretty?

I don’t know. He knew her.

Uh? Not much, ok? But yes, she was pretty.

I bet you made her life hell.

Don’t you believe it.

I didn't let her go out on her own, that's true.

Because I was afraid she’d leave. And she did.

He witnessed it. He knew her.

I don’t believe it.

Hey, congratulations.

The food’s great in this strip joint.

Isn’t it? The owner’s a doctor.

I don’t believe it.

Would he know anything about eggs?

Sure! He trained in the USSR.

Speaking of which, how are your eggs?

- Not so good... - Really?

I’ve got a new one coming out.

Really? I’ll take it out for you

When I met her it was raining.

I think that must have made a difference.

I bet it was love at first sight.

First I took off her clothes, they were wet.

What was she wearing?

A long skirt and a blue blouse. Why?

That was me.

No, you’re kidding.

No, I'm serious.

It’s happened to me many times,

sometimes I just forget everything, and abandon what I love the most.

- Like? - Like my husband here.

Hey, I’ve never seen you before, huh?

Did somebody mention an egg?

Let me write you a letter. You might forgive me.

I’m an egg as well.

Oh, another one with “H”!

No, without “H”.

Gorki "Huevo" Beltrami.

He's the owner.

- Do you know anything about eggs? - Of course, I eat them.

I’m for the recuperation of all eggs, absolutely,

because the hunger in this country is terrible.

Okay, go on, read it...

Sorry, we’re flirting.

Nibaldo:

That’s a bad start.

My name isn’t Nibaldo, it’s Hermes.

Nibaldo, I love you.

My name isn’t Nibaldo.

I know I hurt you.

My name isn’t Nibaldo.

I know that for you I’m less than a blood-stained handkerchief.

My name isn’t Nibaldo.

Something dirty that comes and goes, like a passenger.

- My name isn’t Nibaldo. - But what’s a train without passengers?

My name isn’t Nibaldo.

Sorry to interrupt you, when was this?

Not long ago.

Oh, then it can’t be. Where do you put the drought?

You’re right, there was a drought. You’re lying, girlie, we caught you!

Sorry to interrupt you but... have you seen that soap opera?

I haven’t. Are they far into it?

Way ahead. - It’s called “The Repatriated Women”.

No, that is “The Abandoned Women”.

I know it as “The Repatriated Women”.

No, that’s the wives of the men who came back

who abandoned them to marry young girls,

and they’re all ministers.

Interesting plot. And?

That’s it, because I’m upset now.

I wanted to read a letter to my husband.

Have you seen this soap opera?

It’s called “Victims of Love”.

It’s about love...

...and sex.

All the children are still awake at this time.

This country has become so modern.

How much do they earn per episode?

At least 20 thousand.

How much is that in dollars?

In dollars I don’t know, in German marks it's quite a lot.

Well, not that much.

Who would have said that so many women would return.

There’s no point going anywhere because...

You have to be far gone to go where you’re not meant to.

That’s what they said over there! You shouldn’t have left.

I wasn’t done what should have been done,

but about doing it, when you should have done it.

Otherwise, just don't do it.

Let’s got through it step by step.

What I meant to say

was that before the intervention that occurred, that took place,

it seemed like what was done shouldn’t have been done,

because when something’s done, either it’s done or it’s not.

I would have thought the same earlier.

But I’ve seen things done here that had never been seen before.

If they had been or were done, that would have been a different matter!

Apparently there were things like tombs.

There were? Or there will be?

I’m not sure, because...

they’re still doing and undoing! So no one knows anything.

- Can I read it, yes or no? - Later!

It won’t be possible later.

Fine, you know what, girlie, just go.

I can’t, I work here.

When did they hire you?

While I was watching “The Repatriated Women”.

And you?

Me, ready for whatever.

So we’ll see you dance later.

Looks like it.

All the girls of this generation are so pretty, aren’t they?

Because girls nowadays eat more fruit.

Did you sleep well?

I had a dream...

I dreamt about you guys.

That I was here,

but it wasn't this soap opera, it was another one,

but you couldn’t tell which one, nor when they paid you...

and suddenly my daughter appeared on stage...

...and began to dance naked.

Isn’t that her?

Could be.

Don’t tell me that my daughter dances here.

You come here every day, hadn’t you noticed?

She doesn’t dance much.

She only comes to show herself.

Why don’t we invite her to the table?

Of course, but not only for that,

I’ll give her a good hiding at home.

Look, “The Wandering Soap Opera” is on.

Pirates!

Pirates! Pirates!

Pirates! Turkish pirates!

Pirates!

I assume you already know everything.

I do, and I don’t want to. I can’t believe it.

Do you need proof?

Yes. Show me the photos.

I’ve got them here, but I’m afraid to show them to you.

Please Ali, the honor of our family is at stake.

Here they are.

Look. Look.

I can’t believe that’s our daughter.

The fruit of my loins.

I’m sorry Fatima,

...but I have to disown you.

- What if I sing you something? - No...

It’s too late.

Or if I dance?

I’m sorry, Fatima.

Alí ibn Mustafá ibn Guzmán can’t accept it.

I have to kill her...

and disown you.

The worst thing is I also have to kill Mustafá ibn Cortínez.

Which means the feud between our families is inevitable.

Especially as we’re all members of the Club de la Unión.

Which one is Mustafá ibn Cortínez?

That short blondish guy, owner of Roma Salon,

formerly Iberia Salon.

Pirates!

Pirates!

Do you realize how these Turks sow discord between us?

I'm for banning that soap opera. Thank you.

Day 7

If you behave badly in this life, you become a Chilean in the next one. RR.

Hi.

Remember me?

Not really.

Imagine me without a beard.

I can’t imagine you without a beard.

Does the number 24 remind you of anything?

Not much.

How about 25?

Not really.

Have you only just arrived?

A week ago.

I never even left.

How’s Venice?

I wasn’t in Venice.

No, I know.

How long are you staying?

Two more weeks.

So we’ll have time to see each other then.

- Sure. - Come with me.

So you’re 24?

- You were 25. - Martones. You’re Manzano.

- I wouldn’t have recognized you. - I would have.

Let’s meet up one of these days.

Right now.

No, I can’t, I’ve got things to do.

But... Can I help you?

No, thanks... a friend’s coming to help me.

I know him.

Who doesn’t?

What do you have to do?

It’s personal.

For you or for him?

Me.

What are you reading?

- Can you read French? - I have to!

Nice language.

And that address, who lives here?

It’s for the errand you have to run.

More or less.

That name rings a bell, come with me.

He was in our class.

- Murillo, No. 26! - Yes, he died.

Oh did he? Is that why you’re here? Do you want me to help you?

- With what? - With Murillo.

Hey, I have to go, because...

Just go! I’ll come with you.

Let’s meet up one of these days.

Right now, you can’t turn down a beer.

- No, I can’t, someone’s waiting for me. - Let them wait.

Let’s go to the pharmacy and buy a immodium,

and have a beer like the good old days. I’ll come with you.

I really can’t, there’s someone waiting for me.

Let them wait.

It’s a friend.

Yeah, him...

He left. He’s gone.

- What, he was here? - Sure, he’s left.

You can’t turn down a beer, can you? Let’s go for a pint.

- No, it's just that my friend... - Come on...

- Now I’ve really got to go. - Okay, me too.

Let’s meet up one of these days.

When? So I can show you my house.

- What about right now, it’s on the way. - Which way?

Any way, it’s just across the road.

Why should I follow you everywhere?

It's good for you, you're there too.

Me?

Among others...

Murillo as well.

Impossible, I went to the funeral in Paris.

I know what I see.

So I’m in the house as well.

Me too. We all are.

That’s where we get to.

Who knows where else.

Let’s leave it there.

- You don’t believe me. - Yeah, I do.

Maybe they’re just illusions.

Everyone looks similar, so...

- Wasn’t there a cabaret here? - A bakery.

- No, before that. - A night school.

No before, a long time ago!

An armory, a water heater factory.

For a while it was a boarding house.

And a...

And a hairdresser’s.

And now?

Now it’s nothing.

Or rather, it’s everything.

Oh. And that's where you saw me?

Did you see me?

I don’t know.

Just yesterday I went to the house.

I always used to go there.

Once in a blue moon.

I went at the most once a week.

It gives you a headache.

And what did you see?

- Shall I tell you? - You are already telling me.

I was there yesterday

Yesterday?

I’m here!

Who?

Only me.

Me too.

Wait, say that again.

What time is it?

Julio Martones, at your service.

Sit down, Julio.

How do you know my name is Julio?

I just know it.

I used to live here.

Who didn’t?

What's special about you?

I can sing.

Careful with the pig!

I used to live here, when it was a boarding house.

When I lived here there was an old lady called Gracias.

Shall we sit down?

Gracias what?

Gracias Chile, pronounced “Shile”, like “Shile”.

Even though it’s written “Sile”.

I could have sworn there were some girls here just now.

Maybe they were chairs?

Because I see some chairs here.

Let’s sit down.

It can’t kill us.

So...

where were we?

Don’t tell me.

Let me tell you.

And if I say no?

I might even agree with you.

There’s always something to laugh about.

And that table?

Here it is.

I’d swear it’s not.

Let’s see, what about you?

What about us?

What are you doing here?

Just out for a stroll.

Nice stroll.

And by the way...

The obvious question is, what brings you here?

Memories, that’s all.

A good reason.

A great reason.

And who are you?

Me?

I’m this table.

Take a seat, Don Meso.

Mezzo-soprano.

Mesopotamia.

I declare this table open.

Who does that radio belong to?

I brought it in the suitcase, I don’t know how it got there.

Radios are presumptuous.

This one isn’t.

It tells the truth.

Well, what about the girls?

I’d rather be sitting down.

So do we have to give up our seats to women here?

Same as over there.

- Oh really? - Everywhere.

You think people are only polite here?

- It’s the same everywhere. - Oh really?

And this bottle?

Wine from our land.

"Our"?

“Our” said the free-rider.

What? Isn't it ours?

And this glass?

Secretions from the sow.

Which sow?

Who are you?

I don’t like to give my name away.

The man doesn’t trust anyone.

“The man”, that’s what they call me.

The little man.

You start.

Here’s to the fields and berries of my lands,

To the desert that the vagabond walked in,

To the forests in the south, to the linden trees and the mushroom.

To the... bunny rabbit.

To the Immaculate High School,

to the house I was born in.

To the blue sky, to the straggling clouds, to the sea urchins and to salt!

Here’s to the Aconcagua mountain, to the Ojos del Salado,

to the Llullaillaco and the Licancabur,

for tripe stew and for the sparrows.

Here’s for my homeland but above all,

here’s to my piggy.

Here’s to the kitten.

Hang on partner, tell me,

Where are we?

Who are they?

What are they doing here? What are we doing here?

Tell me my little puppy,

why does nobody love me?

No answer? Alright.

My little bunny rabbit from the steppes,

tell your uncle...

why don't they leave me alone in this house?

Tell me... tell me, sweetie.

What?

Okay. How about some spiritualism?

But we haven’t got a three-legged table.

We haven’t got a table, but we’ve got a radio.

True.

Who shall we contact?

What about Celia Sultán the mambo queen.

Great idea. What if she’s not dead yet?

Even better! Where I’m from we do spiritualism with the living.

Okay... Are you staying?

So? Are you staying?

I will.

Everyone.

Everyone?

Why? How many are they?

As many as there are chairs.

So there’s some spare.

There’s just enough. Perfect fit.

Are you staying or not?

Depends. What are you offering?

Everything.

That’s too much, I’m too old.

Half then.

Not too much, not too little.

I’d say first things first.

He’s right.

First the spirit, then the flesh.

Then the fillet steak.

And then?

What comes afterwards doesn’t have a name.

And you, what’s your name?

- My name is my name. - Which is?

Says he’s called Mirto.

Every time someone says your name you start crying.

I’m not crying, they're calling me.

Where are they calling him from?

And you? You left the radio on!

It wasn’t me, it was your kitten.

Darling little nephews:

I’m writing from somewhere in Valparaíso.

It’s sad for me, and perhaps for you too,

your Uncle Nobaldo has failed you.

When you hear my voice I’ll be far away, way down there.

But before I cut my veins,

I wand to tell you the story of my life.

Once upon a time there was a sweet and clean little boy.

He was a prince and he fell in love with a princess.

But an evil king declared war on them,

and they had to run far away, to exile.

Which is how they came to Valparaíso,

in a ship of the Italmar company,

the only truly professional company.

The prince and princess had a small and weak little son.

The parents wanted him to become a doctor or an engineer,

but the boy, since he was tiny,

loved to tell stories to the other children.

This boy hated and still hates adults,

and decided to dedicate his life to other children.

One day the boy looked in the mirror

and was horrified to see a black mark all over his body

It was hair. Adult life had begun.

Okay, the film’s finished.