Original subtitles

Triz.

I always liked this short and delicate name

by which you liked to be called.

I'm in an old people's home. I'm fine, you don't need to worry.

It was my decision.

Yesterday our house was sold.

I need to set myself free, so I can rise there, where you are.

My body doesn't do what I want anymore.

When I was young,

my body was quiet and I wouldn't even notice it.

Now it exists more than I do.

Today our children began taking our house apart.

They will find you there, I know.

These last few years I have tried to keep the plants alive,

but they had more flowers when you took care of them.

I have tried to keep things where you left them,

but objects have their own secret lives.

Nothing is like it was when you were here.

I have tried, but could never keep it the same.

Everything changed in 1984:

my body, our house and our family.

Our children had kids, and their kids had kids themselves.

From home, I've asked them to bring me Saint Lucy's eyes

so that my sight may stay healthy,

if only to see you in my memories.

I've also asked for the Sorolla reproduction,

which was in the living room.

I've always thought it was you lying there with one of our children.

I feel closer and closer to you, Beatriz,

but I will miss seeing the sea.

A man and a woman meet.

A man, a woman and the possibility of love.

He said: "I would like to see you again."

She said, "If that is God's will, it will happen."

The man, full of insecurities, wrote to her:

"Maria Beatriz,

I believe that God's will will have to come true through us.

I suggest we meet so we can get to know each other,

in case He has destined us to be together. Yours truly, Henrique."

The man and the woman met.

As predicted, God had decided

that these two souls should never separate.

Henrique looked inside Beatriz

and saw in her the possibility of a house that could keep six children,

and of becoming a sailor.

When she fell in love with Henrique,

Beatriz had to let go of her fear of the sea

and become blindly devoted to Our Lady.

The sea made her genuinely anxious.

That might be why they had six children,

so that by looking at them her longing and fear could subside.

73,

74…

75,

76…

77,

78…

When the first child was born

the hyacinths were already starting to cover the back of the garden.

So it made sense that Beatriz would bring nature into her first seed.

I'd like him to be called "Jacinto" (hyacinth).

Henrique accepted his wife's wish.

To have a child rooted on land would keep him close to Beatriz too.

Jacinto grew up believing that one day he could live a little above the ground,

in that place inhabited by birds,

free from the gravity of earthly things.

Oh St Lucy, who keeps our sight in your heart,

preserve the light of my eyes

so that I may see the beauties of creation,

the glow of the sun, the colour of the forests and the smile of children.

Give me kind eyes, capable of seeing the traces left by the flight of birds.

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF BIRDS

The lunarias that grew in the house's garden

made Beatriz certain that mysteries lay in the details.

A practical woman with deep roots,

Beatriz saw in the verticality of plants an inspiration for the education

of Jacinto, Pedro, João, Nuno, Teresa, and the newborn José.

When she dared to have time for herself

Beatriz's thoughts searched for the beginning of time.

Here, she believed in God as much as in the alphabet.

First came water, then the trees and after that the birds.

But soon she remembered Zulmira

and realized that these theories were a waste of time,

since it was Zulmira who, alongside her, sustained the house's walls

and the children's roots, who prepared breakfast and changed the sheets.

In the beginning of time there was certainly Zulmira.

Beatriz couldn't remember when Zulmira had started working there,

but the peacocks were already part of the neighbourhood when she moved in.

Every new morning began with Zulmira's cigarette.

Afterwards she opened the door and let the seasons invade the house.

Triz, I have left a month ago,

but I could swear I have been at sea for half a year at least.

I miss you and the kids.

I look at the sailors around me,

and I see in them the sadness of those who long for land.

Often I notice that the sea doesn't care about my problems.

It has so much to worry about, Beatriz!

Every day it has to create so many waves, so many fish use it as their home,

so many souls have stayed here forever.

The sea doesn't have an easy task and I feel compassion for it.

But I can't look at it for a long time, because my body shrinks

and becomes so small that I get dizzy.

I know that it was already here before us

and when there is nothing left for us to do but die,

it will still be here.

I'm always surprised to see something so infinite get inside us.

Tonight, before going down to my cabin, I passed by the barque's cook.

I asked him: "What's for dinner, Tavares?"

"Heart rice, Lieutenant."

I instinctively put my hand over my heart, just in case.

I then remembered that even if Tavares had shamefully decided

to pull my heart out, he wouldn't find anything,

because my heart stayed on land, with you.

It hit an aircraft carrier.

G9.

G9… It hit water.

F7.

F7…

It hit water.

J1.

Water.

I caught you!

Call me Ishmael.

Some years ago, never mind how long,

having little money in my purse, and nothing to interest me on shore

I thought I would sail again and see the watery world.

This is how I fight boredom and regulate the circulation.

When I start grimacing,

when it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul,

when I start pausing before coffin warehouses,

and following every funeral I meet

and especially when my hypos takes over me

and only my good sense prevents me from knocking people's hats off,

I realize it is time to get to sea as soon as I can.

Like the children, Zulmira also listened to the stories told by Beatriz.

And just like birds defy the laws of gravity,

Zulmira defied the rules of storytelling.

Among the horror stories invented by Zulmira,

the one that fascinated and scared the children the most

was about a ship that landed on a faraway island.

At night, when the crew lighted a fire, the island started moving

and scared the sailors, who then realized that the land

was in fact a whale.

Due to its size, the whale easily took the sailors and the ship

into the depths of the sea.

Maybe that's why during bathtime everyone was afraid

of the bottom of the bathtub.

When night fell the peacocks also took shelter

after spending the day wandering around.

Zulmira thought about that as she smoked her last cigarette.

But before going to bed she listened to Beatriz's prayers.

Even though she wasn't a believer, she liked to hear these prayers.

When I see them running through the streets

I have to close the windows and doors

to keep my scared heart from rushing off in their direction.

When they climb up trees I know that I can only see a possible fall,

but in their eyes there is only the promise of flying.

Mother, who have seen so many mothers before me,

give me a heart as big as a whale, which calmly dives during storms.

Or a heart as tall as treetops,

so that, from afar, I can always follow the flight of my children,

who are not afraid of the wind.

- Do plants think too? - What?

Plants. Do they think too?

I think so.

What about trees? Did they already exist before us?

There are trees that saw mom and dad being born

and there are trees that saw our parents' parents being born,

and there are trees that saw our parents' parents' parents being born.

- And do we live as long as the trees? - I don't think so.

Many of the sequoias that exist in California

were already old when Columbus arrived in the Americas.

These sequoias are mere sprouts

if you compare them with some of the pines

that germinated when humans invented writing.

There are trees that were already ancient when Abraham was born

and others that saw entire civilizations be born and disappear.

Beatriz knew all of this.

And she knew how to have the patience and wisdom of trees.

Her relationship with Henrique was similar to the one she had with God.

Even though they didn't see each other, she felt him around the house.

Darling, thank you for the photos you sent me.

I have been dreaming of Jacinto, Pedro, Nuno, Teresa, João and Zé,

who are growing up without me being able to see or hear them.

I have asked God to let me keep the memory of your body

and I have read your letters so many times that some words can't be read anymore.

I miss putting my nose in between the waves of your hair.

Henrique saw the family grow from afar.

He was only present for Jacinto's birth

and only met Teresa when she was already four.

His children were growing up

and Henrique held on to the details and stories told by Beatriz.

He looked inside the photos,

convinced that in them his children were little forever.

But this is a parent's selfish wish:

that children won't grow up too much.

He knew that children only belong to their parents when they are small.

When they grow up the parents must share them with the entire world.

Since he chose the sea, Henrique missed the moments

when everything happened for the first time. Forever.

Tortured by the way nature worked, he knew that his children's bodies

could no longer be trapped inside narrow picture frames.

Their arms now had a new strength

and their eyes could see beyond the house's walls.

No picture frame could hold them now.

I want some too, please.

- Who wants a piece of cake? - Me!

I just want some candy.

The cake is coming!

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday dear Jacinto

Happy birthday to you

I turned 12 and I learned in school that humans can live to 100,

but mayflies only live 24 hours, flies live 4 weeks,

dragonflies 4 months, mice a year at the most,

moles 3 years, rabbits 10, bats 15, dogs 20 at the most, and cats 25,

ostriches can reach 50 and they have found a 210-year-old whale

and a 250-year-old turtle.

From his ship, does dad see the same moon that I can see?

Holy bird, which are in heaven, Hallowed be your wings

May your flight come to us Watch over our houses' roofs

Before they realized that it was dead,

they couldn't believe that the bird wouldn't fly anymore.

Jacinto asked if they could have a funeral

and João even invented a prayer.

We all went to the garden and it was moving to see them so worried

about the bird's well-being in eternity.

Then something strange happened, Henrique.

Serious, Nuno looked at me and asked:

"Mom, dad died, didn't he?"

I was so shocked that I have must have made a dramatic pause

and then Teresa started crying and said: "Dad died!"

Jacinto hugged Pedro,

and poor João, who grew up too fast, fell over.

I finally managed to say: "Don't be silly! Isn't dad at sea?"

Jacinto said: "But maybe he died there and that's why he hasn't returned yet."

And Teresa continued: "Poor dad!" And Pedro: "He didn't even say goodbye."

With all of this going on, Zé ran away

and when I found him he was happily eating ants.

At least when they are this young they forget things fast

and after the crying and the shock passed

I watched them be the children that they are.

At home Zulmira and our children have been playing these weird games.

Teresa said that Zulmira is teaching them the language of birds.

Sometimes it seems that the garden birds live in our bedrooms.

The seasons pass and we, as always, remember you with a longing

that cannot be contained within our house's walls.

Today we left the island of Fogo towards Angola.

Minutes before setting sail we received the letters we craved.

We had been without mail for two weeks and you cannot imagine

how that can drive a man to unspeakable madness.

Alves, a leading seaman, was so disturbed

that he wanted to jump ship at high sea,

saying that he couldn't take it any longer.

Without noticing it, Sargent Silva Ramos spent the last few days looking at his legs

so he wouldn't forget his parents' faces.

Since I haven't been sleeping, I have started seeing things.

M

MY

MY L

MY LO

MY LOV

MY LOVE,

MY LOVE, M

MY LOVE, MY

MY LOVE, MY H

MY LOVE, MY HO

MY LOVE, MY HOM

MY LOVE, MY HOME

MY LOVE, MY HOME A

MY LOVE, MY HOME AT

MY LOVE, MY HOME AT S

MY LOVE, MY HOME AT SE

MY LOVE, MY HOME AT SEA.

On the days when we get letters a deadly silence falls on the ship.

But when the wind changes direction I can sense

the moving words written by families that, like ours,

have learned to deal with longing.

"My dear, your words have filled me with joy

and I keep your letter close to my heart, where I keep you too.

Our children are doing well, thank God.

Armando, here everything is fine.

Our José Carlos is doing well, thank God, and he sends you many kisses.

Poor Carminda had to have another surgery because of her leg,

but we had already warned her that she was getting old.

Now she has put it into her head to help the poor!

My dear son, I prayed to St Barbara that I may receive your letter

and to Our Lady of Seafarers to keep you safe.

Daniel, you know I can't swim.

Thinking of you in the middle of the ocean frightens me tremendously.

Waves give me tremors and for me the sea is beautiful if seen from a distance.

It makes me anxious to think of you in those faraway seas,

but I'm very proud of you.

I just wish Cape Verde was closer.

I don't even understand where you are.

She says that she can't send letters because she starts crying immediately.

She apologizes and asks you to be patient with her.

Kisses from your mother and Mimi, who sends her love.

Give me the ability to have things that are just mine,

no matter how lonely that might be sometimes.

Give me the time and courage to wait even if I don't know what for.

Give me the courage to know that sometimes everything won't be all right,

because sometimes things aren't all right.

Give me also the ability to be my opposite.

And, in the end, when you have already closed all the stores,

when you have already turned off the music in all the cafes,

when there is no one left in the offices

and when the streets become full of their own solitude

let me die standing up, like the trees.

The pain in his knees didn't appear suddenly,

but it gradually settled in

until Jacinto grew three centimetres overnight.

His body was growing to adapt to bigger wishes and desires,

which surpassed the borders defined by his bones.

Nonetheless, while he negotiated the end of childhood with himself,

all the exceptional things that make up the universe

of those who do not fear gravity still lived inside him.

Jacinto had always thought it was bizarre

that a seed smaller than the palm of his hand

could contain a tree that reached 100 meters in height.

Jacinto would eventually forget this disturbing thought.

Likewise, he forgot the pain in his knees, ankles and shoulders.

He also forgot the pain caused by his ribcage as it expanded,

creating space for a bigger heart,

which could now accommodate other things

besides his home, his siblings and himself.

A heart that was beginning to have its own reasons.

I know my hands better than I know my face.

Every day these trusted friends initiate my mornings:

they bathe me, dry me and slowly apply themselves to my wavy hair.

With a skill I didn't know they had,

they braid Teresa's hair

and sneakily pinch the bottoms and legs of all the children.

They rigorously knit sweaters,

iron, fold the laundry and the days.

Those who think that hands belong to us have it wrong.

It is we who belong to them.

They are the ones that know when to prune the trees in our garden,

when to pick loquats, when to pull out weeds.

They are also the ones that, after a long day,

hold my head as I watch our birds smiling.

When everyone in the house is already sleeping

and when I'm too tired to go against them

the hands start gathering our children's childhoods.

They keep them in secrecy as if they were relics.

And they are,

since they prove that they used to be children.

Sometimes I wonder what might prompt a mother's hands

to preserve her children's childhoods.

Is it our fear of no longer recognizing them when they can think for themselves?

When they are big we shall go down to the basement, Henrique.

And without anyone knowing,

we will visit our children, when they were little.

There was a time when Jacinto looked at his father's stamp collection

and only noticed the illustrations.

At the time his questions could fit in an atlas

and only concerned the animals that lived in faraway places,

but that were supposedly also called Portugal.

Later, the questions started growing and no longer fit in the house's books.

He observed each face and imagined their terror

when foreign men arrived from the sea

and told them that place now belonged to them.

Pulling their whips and quills out,

the Portuguese immediately started writing over them.

Jacinto couldn't stop thinking that you can't discover a continent

already inhabited by millions of people.

By then he was already in college

and had started having breathing problems.

Beatriz was convinced that her son had asthma.

But Jacinto's problem was the lack of oxygen in that house, country,

and imaginary fatherlands,

where everything had the name of that man

who choked everything that he touched.

They often argued.

Beatriz couldn't understand her son's anger.

In mass no one had problems.

Everyone arrived at 11:50 a.m.,

in time to kiss and give money to the poor.

At noon the priest started the mass.

But Jacinto was angry at the dust on the photo frames,

which had been there for so long that everyone said:

"But it isn't dust! That's the frame's colour!"

Jacinto knew that aged patina wasn't the frame's colour.

So whenever he looked in the mirror

instead of himself he saw the dust.

Beatriz quoted Ecclesiastes: "There is a time for everything."

Jacinto knew that until then time had never been on his side.

And maybe because he was almost becoming resigned

he went back to the stamp collection, to order the last years of the world.

In the stamps he saw that the dust might soon be gone.

Sometimes Teresa's eyes lingered over the bedroom's socket.

Sockets, which were female, were stuck to a house's walls,

unable to move.

But without sockets there would be no light, heating,

driers or shaving machines.

As for the plugs, they could freely move around the house

and enter any socket they wished.

Unlike her brothers,

Teresa knew that some tasks were for men and others for women.

Women knitted, cooked, got pregnant, cared for the children, aborted

and took care of the houses that belonged to men.

Men made encyclopaedias, discoveries, wars…

You take your passport

Inside the prayer book

To cheat death

You take the lucky sweater

That belongs to my brother José

Who doesn't know where Guinea is

Joaquim, my love, now I know

that when you get out of there

I'll already have cellulite over here

You cut through the wilderness

I cut through the days

You cut the longing

I cut you out… from photos

And this song is just to pretend

That when I'm alone

I don't mind having the Africas

Between us

SALAZAR DIED

What we have longed for has finally happened, Henrique: they grew up.

Zé's heart can be felt around the house. He's in love.

It started in the winter and now that it's spring he's never at home.

The other children are like rivers and I remember this sentence:

Everyone speaks of the violence of rivers,

but no one ever talks of the violence of the banks that contain them.

One day, Teresa came into the house furious

saying that she would never live like us.

She said it was a fantasy to believe that everything worked out the first time:

the first job, the first marriage, the first house.

The following day, between crying and anger,

Jacinto told me that he'll never accept

that duty comes before pleasure.

When I tried to hug him, he said:

"Mom, every day the earth's orbit changes,

as if it were telling us that we must change too."

Pedro was arrested by the PIDE.

I couldn't sleep for 10 days and I spent every night in his bedroom.

I feel that they are all growing up and want to fly higher.

I know that we have raised them to be better than us

but now I don't know how to deal with what they are and feel.

I suffer because I believe that the world must change too,

but I don't know how.

I had never seen one before, but they are common here in Lobito.

It's the closest I have ever been to a prodigious being.

A horse with a fish tail, which is not a sea monster, but a sea miracle.

A hippocampus like the one inside our brains,

which allows me to keep the memories of you and our children, Triz.

When I found it, it was lying dead on the sand,

but I could see beyond that.

And I saw its eyes and heart beating through its body.

They have told me that it's the males that have children.

That small being resembles you more:

it carries the children and the memories.

Holding it, I thought

that seahorses must have been here since the beginning.

How else would we remember who we are?

This one I'm sending you, so fragile and yet so beautiful,

will cross the vast sea that separates us.

It is full of the memories that we will still create together.

Every day the routine is the same,

but I can already feel it in my bones when the weather is changing.

I'm still moved by the trumpet that starts the day,

pulling the sun from under the sea.

After all of these years onboard it still surprises me

that we hold on to the little things that we do on land,

as if by doing them the sea became more human.

The sea dominates the world so completely

that our planet Earth should have been called "Ocean".

We haven't seen land for two weeks

and I can feel my eyes getting sharper as they stare at the horizon.

And I'm not the only one. There are 150 men staring at it,

thinking that the line that separates the sea from the sky

contains all of those we love.

We perform this task so well that sometimes we see the contours of trees,

cities and houses emerge from that line.

And when we finally glimpse land we rub our eyes hard,

in case it's one of those illusions fabricated by our desires.

When the six children already had deep roots

and bodies capable of climbing to the highest dreams

Beatriz's heart started having room for the horizon.

Beatriz's untiring love for her children

was now reflected on her love for a land, where she dreamed of a house

with room for her children, grandchildren and fruit trees.

The orange trees were the first inhabitants of that unruly land,

which Beatriz loved as if it were an extension of her family.

With the verticality that she had inherited from plants,

she dreamed up every tree.

She even dreamed that the house would face the water,

so that Henrique's floating roots could always find a place to rest.

Beatriz had never been as happy as she was then.

When I laid eyes on her,

my bird-like body found the happiness and calm that only mothers can give.

In German "mutter", in Armenian "mai",

in Bulgarian "miada", in Catalan "mare",

in Chinese "mutchi", in Danish "mor",

in French "mère", in Greek "mitéra",

in Hebrew "ima", in Hindu "mat",

in English "mother", in Latin "mater",

in Thai "mai", in Portuguese "mãe".

The day that Triz died I said for the last time

the first word I have ever said.

I took a deep breath and said quietly to myself:

"Mother".

Even though it was the middle of spring, when we lost my mother

an autumn similar to the sadness we felt descended on us.

Every day the sun rose,

every day there was morning, afternoon and night as usual,

and every day the rivers threw themselves into the sea,

without fearing that it would overflow.

And, for us, it was all too sad. We were a still life.

We observed the world as if we were inside a painting,

while outside life insisted on carrying on.

Our father's stays in the sea became longer.

I believe that he found it hard to look at us,

the same way we avoided looking him in the eye as much as possible.

We cut down our vocabulary to the essentials

and I found refuge in the house's garden.

I would put on rubber boots and gloves and grab the rake and shovel.

I pruned every shrub,

I watered every tree, plant and being that moved.

And, like I was five again,

I tried to put some of the dead leaves back on their branches,

as if their fall had been a mistake or an error that I could fix.

A few days later my brother Nuno interrupted the silence

that had become common between us and said: "We are ghosts."

And that's what we were.

The dead don't know they are dead.

Death is an issue for the living.

I still can't remember that day very well,

because the days when something that big happens, like a mother dying,

never become memories.

They stay stuck to us forever, like skin moles that never leave.

They are too painful to reach the brain.

That's why we keep them on our skins.

My mother wasn't just a mother: she was a tree.

Trees love the ground and let us climb up their branches

as if it were easy.

When my mother died we could no longer swing from her branches

and fell down, all of us.

I never forgot

what it was like to see the world perched on her arms.

In German "tochter", in Armenian "dustry",

in Bulgarian "dushterya", in Chinese "niar",

in Danish "datter", in French "fille",

in Greek "kóri", in Hindu "bitit",

in English "daughter", in Latin "filiae",

in Romanian "fiica", in Thai "Luksaw",

in Portuguese "filha".

The day you were born I said for the first time the word "daughter".

Afterwards, without anyone seeing,

I took a deep breath and said quietly:

"It's a miracle."

This is my first photo.

My father Jacinto took it and,

to this day, he doesn't know how it is in focus,

since his hands were shaking.

About me, my mother only knew what she had imagined for 9 months.

This is the moment we met and promised to bake chocolate cake on Sundays,

rent melodramas that would make us cry a lot

and know the name of many trees.

That day my mother said: "Catarina, it will be beautiful to see you fly."

17 years after this photo was taken we walked into the hospital.

We entered her room and I asked why my mother didn't have an oxygen mask.

You told the nurse that the metastases had already reached her lungs,

so your mother needed oxygen in order to breathe.

I just stared at you

and said nothing because I didn't know how to.

And because, in time, your brain accepted reality.

Your eyes opened wide, which is what you do when you are about to cry,

and you touched Ana's face.

You didn't say anything.

You left the room and walked out of the hospital.

I followed you.

You walked a few meters and collapsed on the ground,

holding on to your belly.

It was a rainy night and you were crying alone.

I froze up.

My sister Teresa, who was beside me, moved forward.

She didn't say anything, but she took off her coat and put it over you.

You didn't move. I didn't move.

I stared at you, knowing that I couldn't protect you

from that inevitable tragedy.

I felt very guilty, lost for words that would comfort you.

I couldn't understand the world either.

Grandmother, when I was born your absence already took up space,

but I couldn't feel it.

When my mother died,

my father and I came together in the absence of the word "mother".

At that time my father's eyes stopped being green

and I know the memories of you opened the doors he had locked.

I then realized there was a part of my father that I had never known:

the part he was with you,

the part that disappears with the birds when they migrate.

A while ago I found out that for hundreds of years

bird migration was a mystery to man.

Where did the birds go when winter came?

Where did the ones that arrived come from?

Linnets left at the same time as thrushes

seemed to arise from winter trees.

Cuckoos appeared in spring

and never crossed paths with hawks.

Therefore, the ancient thought they were one and the same.

With a different appearance and characteristics,

but the same animal.

They had simply gone through a metamorphosis.

What human beings can't explain, they invent.

Catarina, don't tell anyone,

bring a flashlight and the house keys,

leave a note that doesn't say too much or too little,

say: "I went with the birds. Please water the plants."

Leave the house tidy, the fridge full of food

as if you were coming back tomorrow.

Don't cry and don't say too many words.

Take my memories. Take me with you.

Take time with you.

Don't disappear all at once. First blend into the chairs and sofas.

Stop answering the phone and dissolve into the corridor's carpet.

Don't be afraid of ghosts.

Be the size of what you see and not the size of what you feel.

I opened the front door.

I closed it gently so that not even the silence could hear it.

Everyone was sleeping.

I caught the first bus to the place closest to the sky.

There were many things I couldn't understand,

but I knew that the sky was where humankind

had thrown everything that it couldn't grasp.

God, the dead, infinity and UFOs: they all lived in that unknown place,

sharing it in a civilized manner so they could all fit.

If the sky was the place where the unknown started,

then the landscape was the bridge between the known and the unknown,

between the visible and the invisible.

And I really wanted to be invisible.

The landscape doesn't belong to anyone, they say,

but when I saw it, I gave it my eyes.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5…

6, 7, 8, 9, 10…

11, 12, 13, 14, 15…

16, 17, 18, 19, 20…

21, 22, 23, 24, 25…

26, 27, 28, 29, 30.

Jacinto!

Catarina!

Catarina never imagined

that one day she would feel jealous of the clouds and mountain peaks,

which rose to great heights and thus bonded with the sky.

But she was stuck in her body, now too small for what she felt.

Between her and what she saw fit all the world's mothers.

When she stared at the crest lines

it upset her to think how easy it was for the colossal mountains

to enter through her narrow eyes, as if they could see her inside out.

The truth is that Jacinto felt like he was getting smaller.

His body was too large, as if he had too much skin.

At first he felt like he couldn't reach the tips of his fingers, later his hands

and finally he found it hard to reach his shoulders.

He was shrinking so much that the cells of his body

were becoming as massive as mountains.

Even though he tried hard to be the size of what he saw,

Jacinto was the size of what he felt.

Nonetheless, this brought a certain innocence to his eyes.

He now paid so much attention to the world

that questions appeared with ease.

He wanted to know in which part of his body she still lived,

which part of his body remembered her best

and which part resembled her most.

Sometimes he melancholically counted the days

since he had last said "mother", and fell into overwhelming sadness.

He would then think of all the mothers that had ever existed and died.

And all the mothers' mothers, and all the mothers' mothers' mothers,

and all the mothers' mothers' mothers' mothers,

and all the mothers' mothers' mothers' mothers' mothers,

and all the mothers' mothers' mothers' mothers' mothers' mothers.

And he realized that what he felt was nothing new.

It was actually pretty ordinary.

But he believed that only his mother had been a tree.

It was precisely that and his floating child's eyes

that allowed him to see the obvious similarities

between his body and the things that surrounded him.

From inside his small size, he paid great attention to details.

It is said that, after being away for two months,

Bach returned home to find out that his wife Maria Barbara had died.

Alone in the house and drowning in sadness,

he sat at the kitchen table

and stared at the walls and the empty house around him.

Afterwards he grabbed a piece of paper and wrote the "Chaconne" for violin.

The "Chaconne" was made not only to invoke the dead,

but also to awaken them.

For a moment he couldn't feel his body anymore.

And Jacinto swore that the language of men no longer made sense.

He felt himself levitate and, like Zulmira had once said,

the language of birds only reveals itself to those who no longer have a body.

Jacinto felt that he belonged there,

in that place located in the intervals of existence,

between the earth and the sky.

Weightless, Jacinto could now clearly hear the language of birds.

Jacinto, the scars in one's heart can't be seen,

just like our flight, which leaves no trace in the air.

When they ask you, say:

"I went with the birds. They have wings and I need a new heart."

We will both start again. We will replace our feathers

and you will find new words.

Words will take you to new meanings.

And when you can't remember…

invent.

One day Jacinto asked Triz how much she loved him.

Triz answered:

"Try to count a bird's feathers, the grains of sand,

the stars in the sky, the sea waves.

Try to enumerate the scales of all fish, the hairs of all animals,

the weeds in the fields around you, the trees and their fruits

and count the incalculable number of so many other incalculable things.

"That's impossible," said Jacinto.

"Impossible? No, but it's a lot."

When he finally reached the peak of the highest mountain

Jacinto felt like he was the size of what he saw

and in all infinite things he saw his mother's eyes.

On top of the highest mountain, Jacinto no longer had eyes for the landscape

but only for Beatriz.

Sometimes Catarina got discouraged and missed her mother's clarity.

Her only remaining conviction was that mothers

were the only gods without non-believers.

Wanting to unlearn who she was,

she climbed to the top of the highest mountain.

But when she got there,

Catarina didn't find the vastness of the landscape,

the innumerable waves or the excessive dimensions of the trees and mountains.

She looked hard, but only found herself.

I dreamed that you were coming to visit me.

It was very awkward because I didn't know what to do.

My body was no longer used to yours

and my heart, full of happiness, could hardly believe it.

But you came and I told you: "Mom, you can't be here. You died."

And you said: "Don't be silly, Catarina. I didn't die. Can't you see I'm here?"

"I had to take care of some business and it took me longer than I expected."

"It took you longer than you expected? Mom, 15 years have passed."

"Like I said, I didn't think it would take me this long."

"I'll explain later. Now tell me about yourself. That's what matters."

"How are you? What have you been doing?"

And in that moment I'm petrified,

because I don't know how to summarize 15 years.

I don't even know how to talk to you anymore

or what it's like to have a mother.

I immediately ask you:

"When have you arrived? Where are you staying?"

And you, always resourceful, say: "I rented a room. It wasn't easy though."

"Have you seen how expensive the houses are in Lisbon?"

"What do you mean you rented a room?"

"I didn't want to bother you or your father."

So that was really happening.

You were next to me and I had so much to tell you.

But I was in a hurry to get to a meeting,

so I grabbed my phone to look at the time.

And you said: "What is that?" "What? This? This is a cell phone."

"But where are the buttons?"

And I told you about smartphones and that you can even go on the internet.

You seemed surprised and then, suddenly, you became very sad.

"How could I have missed so much?

Look how different you look! So much older."

And since I saw you were about to cry, I quickly said:

"No, mom, things haven't changed that much,

but I'll explain everything you want to know."

"We have time, don't we?"

I decided that I wouldn't tell anyone that you were alive after all,

because I was afraid that by telling that stopped being true.

And I really wanted you to be alive.

Every day I woke up really early,

went to work and then left in a rush,

always with the excuse that I had things to do, but I went to meet you instead.

You wanted to see everything.

You were amazed at Lisbon and wanted to eat sushi,

since you had never done it and now it was a common thing.

Every day brought new discoveries.

You were especially excited about Wikipedia.

Every day you told me about a new discovery you had made.

You never talked about yourself, we always talked about me.

And there was so much I wanted to ask you.

I have so many doubts about so many things.

Mom, you were the one who went with the birds,

but it's always you I remember when spring comes.

Who fixes their children's hair?

Who straightens the tablecloths and creates a home?

Who guides their children's eyes?

Mothers.

Mothers' hands, full of past shipwrecks,

but where every day new flowers are born.

In a mother's hands there's always sleep and there's always time.

My mother is in discussions about the existence of God and UFOs.

She's in autumn, in the yellow leaves that gently fall on the sidewalk.

My mother is in the tidying up of chests,

in the tidying up of our childhoods by age.

Who else besides her would have kept the toys that João made when he was 6?

My mother is in afternoon treats, in tea,

in the brown couch that doesn't exist anymore

and in the bookmark collection.

My mother is in Montargil, in the orange trees that bear fruit all year round,

in the unconditional love for flowers and in her short nickname, Triz.

My mother is in red mullets from Setúbal, in foolish decisions,

in the humility and violence of nature.

My mother is in the love letters that are locked in a chest,

she's in the Christmas dinners prepared by my sister.

My mother is in my sister's eyes, in João's nose, in Nuno's shoulders,

in Zé's gentleness, in Pedro's empathy.

My mother is in my laughter,

in my freckles and in the inability to make plans.

My mother is in the Land Reform.

My mother lives in the crimson cloths, in the green felt curtains,

and in the vinyl record we made

so our father could hear our voices out at sea.

My mother lives in the sunset

and every day she dives to the bottom of the sea.

621, 622, 623, 624…

625, 626, 627, 628.

Without him noticing it, time had finally passed by Jacinto,

who had gained grey hair, new memories, a family that grew, and 69 years.

When he turned 57, Jacinto realized that he was the same age

his mother would be for all eternity.

He looked at himself in the mirror and reflected on everything he had done

and on all he had yet to be.

He came to the conclusion that if he died in that moment

he would be extremely sad.

Father, when you read the script for this movie, you said:

"Some things didn't happen exactly like this."

I answered: "If they didn't happen like this, then what's the problem?"

"But they could have! My name isn't even Jacinto!"

"But it could be. It's much more original than Henrique."

"Yeah, but my mother called me Henrique."

"Sorry, dad, but it would be confusing if we had two Henriques in the film."

"Catarina, it's not children who decide their parents' names."

"Time doesn't move backwards."

"I understand that might not be very reassuring, but that's how it is."

"Dad, let me tell you about an encounter I had at the flea market."

"I was looking for clothes to use in the film

when I found a nice saleswoman."

"Take that, miss, it's cheap. And take this skirt.

It goes well with the shirt."

"Thank you, but it's not for me. It's for a movie."

"Oh, you make movies?" "I'm making this one."

She looked at me and said: "I used to do theatre. I loved it."

I smiled. "When was that?"

"Ages ago. I believe it was before I worked in Amadora's city council."

"You worked there?" "Yes, I did. From 1981 to 2001."

"Then maybe you knew my mother, who also worked there."

"And what's her name?" "Ana Maria Pinto."

"Of course I know her! Ask her if she remembers…"

I didn't let her finish her sentence. "I can't anymore. She died."

"That's terrible! She was so young. I can see her now."

"Such a beautiful woman, with freckles and a big smile."

"She was such a nice person." "Yes, she was."

"She really was. I'm not just saying that because she was your mother."

"It makes me sad to hear the news."

The saleswoman looked moved and I said:

"What a lovely coincidence! After all of these years we meet here."

"You're right." And she put the shirt in a bag.

"I'm offering the skirt." "Thank you, that's really nice."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, but I forgot to ask you your name."

She smiled and said: "Esperança" (Hope).

Before he died, my grandfather asked his children

to help him burn the letters between Triz and him.

Henrique, who was now very ill, couldn't do it

and found it too painful to burn the proof of his love.

His children reacted badly, because they found it unbearable

to burn those words that had come out of their mother's hands.

Those words contained the gestures of the hands that had raised them

and shaped their worlds.

Nonetheless, deep down,

they knew that those letters belonged to the private lives

of a man and a woman who happened to be their parents.

They each imagined the words that were in those bundles of letters.

If they couldn't have them, they had the right to invent them,

and thus imagine their mother again.

The following day, while everyone was sleeping,

Jacinto left the house and went down to the dam,

where they had burned the letters.

Moved, he realized that some things are stronger than fire.

The day they took the remaining furniture from the house

where the family had grown, my grandfather passed away in his sleep.

He didn't suffer. And he knew that he could leave.

Everything had been impeccably prepared

and his children's hands had multiplied to take out the childhoods

that were perfectly sealed in the chests, the endless collections,

the many decades, and their mother's memories.

But nobody remembered to take the seeds

that, throughout the years, Beatriz had scattered around the house.

They say that plants grow faster when they are away from sly looks.

For a month the house was left alone.

And during that month every seed sprouted,

and nature, which in the past lived through their mother's hands,

took over the house.

Because Beatriz would not let herself die.

Her love for the earth was too great and by invading the house

she reminded her children that they were destined to be birds.

My dear, I have with me our four eldest,

who, though shy and awkward, also want to leave their message.

They must be moved, in their own way, since they know that you will hear them,

without them hearing or seeing you.

Anyway, my dear, here we are, close to you,

wrapping you in tender kisses.

Daddy, I'm Henrique Manuel.

I want to send you many kisses

and say that we never forget to ask Jesus to keep you safe

and also that we miss you a lot.

Now it's Pedro's turn. Pedro! What?

Come talk to daddy. I already did!

What did we agree on?

What do you want daddy…? Love and kisses.

Many kisses? Right.

What about Nuno? Come talk to daddy!

What was it?

But you have to say it louder or your father won't hear you!

Many kisses to daddy.

Lots! And little Teresa? She's also here and wants to send…

Isn't that right? Lots of kisses!

You would like daddy to come home soon, right?

Are you sure?

Send kisses to daddy!