Original subtitles

Hear, O Auspicious King.

It has reached me that in a country, sad among countries,

a son of a bitch called Simão “Without Bowels”

was on the run, avoiding the justice of man.

Around 160 policemen scoured the hills

for almost six weeks searching for this man.

His mother named him Simão,

after his father.

The village people nicknamed him “Without Bowels”

for Simão had always been one of those bastards who were lean.

He had married a woman from the neighboring village over 20 years ago.

Both had been deeply in love, and that love bore a daughter.

Hey, Simão, have you come to kill me? Or to steal the sheep?

I'll hit you with this stick!

I'm not afraid of you, nor of your rifle!

Simão's village had also been his father's village,

and his father's father,

and probably the father of his father's father.

And they were all known for being lonesome, evil men.

But this is not certain, as there are those who equally guarantee

they were merely inward-thinking men, yet very honest and hardworking.

One, two, three, four, five,

six, seven, eight, nine,

10, 11, 12,

13, 14 - So many fucking dogs, shit!

15, 16, 17, 18,

19, 20,

21, 22, 23, 24, 25 - Fuck!

27, 28, 29, 30,

31, 32, 33,

34, 35, 36 -

It's heavin' with fucking ravenous dogs!

37, 38, 39. It has reached 40.

Drive on, man, we can hide better ahead.

- Further ahead? - Yeah.

It's like we're in the village ball.

You're screwed.

Fucked up your whole life!

- Have you got juices? - Yes.

Cigarettes? Got any?

- Yes. - Then get me a cig.

Just pull over and lower the music.

Here is good.

Here.

- Light? - Please.

The Guards have orders to kill you.

I'd have killed myself by now if I knew how my daughter is.

Your daughter is fine.

It's the others who have died.

Get me a juice, go on.

I heard you have a list of people to kill. Is it true?

Oh, that's just a bunch of cowards!

Always meddling in other people's lives.

Let me borrow your cell phone.

No, no way.

Well, you're not gonna tell the Guard, are you?

Here's 20 euros.

There's your change.

Hey, get me another juice.

Attention, company! Firm!

Shoulder, rifle!

At ease.

Simão “Without Bowels” belonged to a category of men

who eat a lot but weigh little.

These men recognize each other at first sight

and tend to think of themselves as very polished sons of a great bitch.

Their fear of each other might be due to recognizing,

in their peers' tales of wrongdoing,

signs of their own death,

near and violent.

What the fuck.

What's this shit? Fuck.

Fuck!

Quitério! You were always mean and ugly.

I'm not sure why you were killed, but you must have deserved it.

You're a great son of a bitch, you queer!

Simão, what are you doing here?

Everyone is looking for you.

Why haven't you run away to Spain yet?

I missed them.

The wickedness of evil men is often regarded as an epic thing,

driven by hidden and devilish powers.

But those who know bastards like Simão “Without Bowels”

know that evil is only a severe tendency of selfishness.

They are men who do not negotiate, just move onwards.

But none of this seems grave to them.

While remaining indifferent to the world,

they also recognize, in fairness,

that the world pays little attention to them.

It can very well do without them.

Here's a little one euro for you.

Thanks.

Another one for you.

Thanks.

Here, and for you too.

Thanks.

Go on, another little euro for you.

Thanks.

Have you still got that stomach medicine?

Oh, Simão, Simão.

Your disgrace was having left this place.

What am I to do? The women I get just screw my head up!

Simão, Simão.

The red one always wins.

No need to feel sorry for me, because Santa Casa's Charity is on my side.

All the money I lose, Santa Casa replaces it.

This one is the red. These two are black.

This one's red. That's black.

Done!

Ah, it's this one! Hold on a minute, what if you lose?

Losing is okay, right? Then let's shake like big men.

Lift the stone, please.

Ah, you lost again.

Fuck, what now?

I'm broke. You're broke?

Let me see that ring of yours then.

It's worth 40 euros. Bet 40, win 80.

Okay? Okay. Let's play then.

These two lose. This one wins. It moves here.

These two lose.

Now lift it.

And if you lose? Don't you feel sorry for me, man!

I told you.

I lose and Santa Casa's Charity pays me back.

Can I lift it? Yes, but not just yet.

What if you lose again? There won't be a fight, no problems?

No, no worries. Then lift it.

This one's lost!

What now? Oh, you've nothing left? Then leave, damn!

Fuck off and I go too!

Get off me, flies!

Fucking flies!

It was never clear if someone had helped Simão during his escape,

just as it wasn't clear why he allowed himself to be caught at home without resisting.

And I won't be able to tell you

as I too do not know why, O Auspicious King.

But it has reached me that while on his way to court,

he was greeted by folks amidst shouts of incitement and applause.

Despite having shot his ex-wife and daughter

and having killed another two women,

Simão “Without Bowels” suddenly became a hero

for having swindled the local authority.

SIMÃO WITHOUT BOWELS, YOU ARE GREAT!

The ducks walk shoeless, shoeless and so do the male ducks!

Shoeless, shoeless

The ducks walk shoeless, and so do the female ducks!

Who are we?

And where do we come from?

We are scouts!

And come from the village!

Place your foot in the center of the supporting ropes, okay?

Then walk forward, and as we move

push these ropes outward to stabilize things.

I'll show you. I'm walking there and back.

Any questions, just look, okay?

Like this, just stabilize it, with no fear.

No worries, the rope is stable.

Get it?

Easy, stabilize it well. Feet on the supports.

No rushing, easy. Let's go!

Simão “Without Bowels” was locked up in cell number 17

in Viseu Penitentiary Establishment

where he awaits trial.

His cell is four square meters wide.

He decorated the walls with photos of his daughter,

a poster of the Benfica soccer team

and English prints of a hog hunt

that he ripped from a magazine.

From a small window, obviously barred,

he can see a tall poplar,

a wall topped with shredded glass

and a burnt old van without wheels.

Cats sometimes pass by.

That is all the bastard can see.

Oh, Mother, to you I write

This letter of simple plight

That to my heart will bring delight

And I beg you, crying

That you'll be my visitor

Behind the bars of this prison

I live hence in my cell

With my innocent soul

Without the love of someone

Hear, O Auspicious King.

It all happened in one of those nights of three moonlights.

I love you.

- Mother. - Daughter.

I am happy.

You were right, Mother.

Diogo Drumond was the best choice.

He was kind and yet firm.

Spot on.

Are you all right?

Did that hurt, my daughter?

A little.

It's by the book.

Experience will teach you how to relax the perineum.

One can't avoid the thorns when picking the first rose.

Did you bleed?

Yes.

Diogo Drumond will be pleased.

You did him the honors. He'll feel he's the chosen one.

I congratulate you on this day and the preceding ones

when you, my dear and thoughtful daughter,

decided to keep your flower intact.

What else?

Diogo sleeps.

I thought I'd bake him a cake for when he wakes.

Do the following.

Take a bowl from the top shelf.

Whip together 100 grams of butter and 200 grams of sugar.

Add four yolks.

Whisk until you get a homogeneous mixture.

Add the flour little by little.

Oh, and keep whisking to avoid lumps.

Put a third of the mixture into a bowl

and add two spoonfuls of powdered chocolate.

Grease a cake pan. Sprinkle with flour.

Then add the light and dark mixture in turns.

Bake at 180 in a preheated oven

for 45 minutes.

Let it cool

and serve with two scoops of vanilla ice cream, which you'll find in the freezer.

I listen and I obey.

If you can't fulfill this marble cake recipe,

wake up the black woman to do it.

I fear, however, that if you begin today

to resort to other women to satisfy your man,

he may think, and rightly so,

that he'll be free to replace you with this one or another whenever he needs.

Good luck, my daughter.

Thank you. You are outstanding, dear Mother!

I know.

I had time and the right conditions for that.

I am also very glad.

But I must hang up because I am presiding, sweetie!

All that can be seen here is part of the contents of an apartment in Vila do Conde.

As everywhere else,

the good people of the North must deal with scarcity of income.

Selling home furnishings is one solution to rebalancing domestic finances.

All this was put up for sale.

And that would have been fine

if only it had been sold by its rightful owner

instead of the tenants who rented the apartment and its contents.

This constitutes theft, hence this court will meet now.

May the plaintiff rise.

May the accused rise.

May the accused rise!

I see them.

There's the mother and the son.

- Do you confess? - We can do nothing else.

All the better. Let's get this over with.

The case is simple and so will be the sentence.

I shall, however, question a little further

in order to share thoughts and moralities with you all.

Madam,

are you familiar with the concept of the right to property?

I ask you since you are the oldest

and because you look less foolish than your son.

Indeed, my son is very stupid

and made us incur a great debt.

Not owning any assets,

I had to resort to my landlord's furniture,

fully aware that I was in the wrong.

That was only attenuated

because I found the landlord very rude.

Instead of greeting us, he'd say,

“Fuck you both!”

And when I'd ask him, “Pardon me?”,

he'd answer, “Your cousin's cunt!”

All that came out of him was rude and out of purpose,

and all that left us very nervous.

If the landlord truly speaks such barbarities,

we can infer two possibilities.

First, we may be before a person of no education

who feels bitter at life

and materializes this state in gross verbalizations.

Second, he may be mentally ill

and derives a certain aesthetic pleasure from those immoralities.

This can be medically verified.

But none of this attenuates the theft of the furniture.

The landlord is coarse, you have no scruples,

and your son is very stupid.

Tell me, in what way does your son's stupidity materialize

and how has that incurred you in debt?

Son,

tell the Lady Judge what you think about man and woman.

Man must have pussy in the morning and at night.

It's the wife's task to provide it.

Provide what?

Pussy.

How stupid!

And nobody can convince him otherwise.

So, having to pay compensation to my daughter-in-law

for being repeatedly raped twice a day,

I had no other solution than to take the household contents

of where I live with my son.

This story saddens me.

Mothers can sometime become unwise out of love for their children.

There is no guilt-free crime,

even if sometimes we may feel sorry for the criminal.

Your misfortune was having a crazy son.

Madam, you cannot dispose of your landlord's furniture,

even if you're desperate!

Young man, you cannot dispose of your wife's vagina

as it belongs to herself only!

All things in this world have their rightful owner

who decides their fate!

Maybe you'd better neuter the boy!

But don't you worry, madam,

that won't be at extra cost.

About the wife's compensation -

Let's extend the monthly installments to ease this mother's expenses

in the hardship of having such an absurd son.

Your Honor, I wish to forgive this man.

Who speaks?

I am the daughter-in-law of this loving mother,

wife of this obstinate husband

and the carrier of relevant information about their landlord...

who is nothing but a madman

who dialed 112 over 6,200 times just to watch the ambulance drive past.

And as if that wasn't enough,

and after his voice became notorious

among the entire staff in the emergency services,

he moved on to personal abuse of these workers for no good reason.

He would phone them with meaningless stories,

bored them and blocked the phone lines.

Given that I was one of the phone operators working for the victim protection plan

and witnessed his improper and gratuitous behavior...

I even think it serves him well to steal his furniture.

I add

that time has sweetened the memories of the relationships with my husband.

Given that he longs for my pussy

and that I'm available to give it to him again...

I beg you to revoke the sentence.

May his member be left intact and capable of fulfillment

and may the furniture be returned,

as I abdicate of my due compensation.

Give me pussy now!

The moons have already risen!

Nobody gives anything to anyone here!

I hope you don't regret your decision

because it's clear that your husband is no different than a wild animal.

He knows no shame. He can't behave in society.

I grew fond of him.

And what sort of bad joke is that with the emergency services?

Find something else to entertain yourself!

You shall not desire this behavior in the future,

otherwise you will be back here again to be tried.

If so, I shall not be tried alone.

The genie should be tried with me.

What harm has this man done to you?

He is not a man. He comes from the posterity, from Eblis.

And is the son of the powerful Domriatt,

the supreme leader of the genies of the air.

He is very wicked!

He blows irresistible words to my ear,

making me want to speak rudely and act foolishly and senselessly.

I confess to being the author of the phone calls,

but add that I regretted it every day.

I would ask him, “Why must I do such foolish things?”

To which the genie would answer,

“It must be so.

That shall be your will!”

Are you wicked, genie?

No, I am a good genie.

Then how do you explain your crime?

I acted under orders of a bad man.

A good genie stops practicing the good

if he unfortunately falls under the control of a bad man.

As you know, a genie is obliged

to fulfill the wishes of the man who frees him from the lamp.

To my master, all is lawful to reach his aims.

And where is that man?

He's absconded.

Some friends at the Public Ministry informed me

that he is being investigated.

Well, one thing at a time. What's the name of this man?

He is

old Drumont, the banker.

You realize you are talking about a very respected person.

- He's worthless! - Genie!

It's a family of ancient traditions!

They are thieves.

And why would a good-looking, well-groomed and filthy rich banker

ask a genie to bewitch a foolish and rude man,

forcing him to call 112?

Just to demean the medical customer services,

to stir revolt in the population,

to push for administrative reform in the health sector,

to raise the insurance prices,

to give a push to certain business deals regarding transport of patients,

in other deals in hospital infrastructures

and to help buddies in the pharmaceutical industry.

All you're telling me sounds vague and unlikely.

On the contrary, it's all very concrete.

See the anger caused by the story of the brother who killed his youngest brother

because he had no food on the table.

The older brother killed the youngest one due to hunger?

Yes.

He shot him.

And what did the younger one have to do with the dinner?

Nothing. But he stood between the eldest and middle brother.

And why did he do that?

Because the eldest brother wanted to kill the middle one.

Since he stood in front, he died.

And why did the eldest want to kill the middle one?

Because the middle one hadn't cooked dinner yet.

And what's that have to do with the landlord's phone calls?

The youngest one died because the ambulance took too long.

He went straight to the morgue. He was 11 years old.

How awful.

I'm so tired.

Tell me, genie,

might that tragedy have occurred under a moonlight like tonight

near the lane with the 2,800-year-old olive tree?

Correct, under the moonlight.

I fear that the ambulance destined to help that brother

has failed to reach him due to a terrible misfortune.

I ask permission to tell the story of the fugitive cow

and the cattle thieves.

Granted!

I was peacefully asleep among my sisters

when a group of men entered our corral.

I woke up and realized they were not our owners,

as ours are fair and good people.

They whipped and forced us into a truck,

shouting all sorts of abuse into our ears!

The truck exited the farm and turned left into the 251 road,

which made the journey most uncomfortable

given that it is a very bumpy and damaged road.

You are surely not here to comment on the state of the national roads.

You are surely going to allow me to tell my story

because the genie wishes to hear it.

Very well,

cow!

If I find that the state of the road has nothing to do

with the development of this story,

know that you'll end up in the slaughterhouse.

My sisters and I were in the truck,

very sad, depressed,

and far from thinking of escaping,

when a bump on the road threw me out of the truck.

When I got myself together I was on a lane with an olive tree.

And the tree said,

“I can see you've been kidnapped.

I've been hurt too.

Some unkind and unfair men took all my olives

by the force of the whip

and of all kinds of insults shouted into my ears.

I've known many men, and some have hurt me.

I thought I'd be immune to sadness

because we get used to everything in this life.

However, I am sad.”

I'm sorry that you're not looking at this olive tree

because it's beautiful and ancient.

Meanwhile, I hear the siren of an ambulance.

I even thought it was coming for me.

I ran to the middle of the road to show myself

and the ambulance ran me over.

I was very maimed.

I never heard of my sisters again.

Are those thieves here?

Your misconduct set a boy's death.

We are guilty of many crimes,

some rural, others urban.

But we don't have blood on our hands!

I have a list of crimes in my possession

where the police weren't able to find those responsible

due to negligence or a lack of means.

I shall read them out

and you gentlemen will tell me if you're responsible for any of them.

There are certainly punishments in penal law

that I will apply with relish.

On the 11th of October 2013,

4.5 metric tons of copper wire

and 45 traffic lights were stolen.

We did it!

Pavement stones from a certain street in Alter do Chão were stolen,

resulting in it being without pavement on both sides.

We did it!

A crime aggravated by the use of a wheelbarrow, also stolen.

I lost my job as a result of the theft of the pavement stones.

How?

Because I was staring for five hours at those horrible holes

that ruined the public streets!

The scene was even more Dantesque

given that the tower blocks in that street have several enclosed verandas.

I began to imagine what the buildings would've looked like

before closing the verandas.

Next,

I couldn't avoid noticing the proximity of a traffic circle

and how little sense this made to me.

So for hours,

I reviewed the road layout of Alter do Chão.

But do you intend to press charges?

No.

Because it's my nature to stare at everything that defaces public space

and it would add nothing to the general good.

Caretos...

you have stolen 40 showerheads

from the local Carregosense Youth Soccer club,

six sprinklers

and diesel from their boiler,

and also the plaque that commemorates the opening of the changing rooms and field,

causing great distress to the club.

We did it!

We are thick as thieves so there are other crimes we'll own up to

and spare you from reading, Your Honor.

We robbed 19 churches in Bragança district.

We stole books and beehives.

Stole junk from a yard,

three pirogues and a canoe, plus its oars.

And two wet suits from a nautical school.

We assaulted the postman -

And robbed a sausage from one of his parcels.

On top of this we took all the olives from an ancient tree

by the force of the whip

and of all kinds of insults shouted into its ears.

We are guilty of all these crimes -

Because we are lazy

and we like eating and drinking unrestrainedly

from the profit of our activity.

And what fate did you bequeath the sisters of this miserable cow?

We sold them to a woman in great need

who paid good money and asked no questions.

This great calamity falls upon me! Am I to tear up my dress?

That shall not be your penitence.

Am I to slap myself and self-harm?

That shall not be your penitence.

And don't you start crying because tears are contagious.

A judge is neither immune to emotion nor insensitive to suffering.

I didn't expect this long rosary of tragedies.

This list of misfortunes is leaving me indisposed.

Despair is anguishing because it muddles the reasoning that guides me.

Madam,

what was your use for the stolen cows?

I was merely the middleman working for an unscrupulous man,

who calls himself a businessman,

exporting meat to the third world.

I met this man long ago at university

during freshmen's week.

He forced me to roll over a pile of dung

to the sound of the song “My Dad's a Queer.”

He also convinced me and my colleagues

to simulate sex with a pig

and then extract a piglet from under my skirt,

thereby creating a theatrical allegory about the reproductive cycle of pigs.

What faculty was that? Agronomy?

Yes.

In this case, rituals involving animals and fertilizers seem fitting.

Maybe paternal homosexuality appears as the odd element,

but it is certainly compensated by the finale,

a celebration of life!

These freshmen rituals are not consensual across society.

But what you described is within limits, which seem to be harmless.

As I see it, it's instructive and formative.

Well, I thought it was filthy,

and since then I feel repulsion for this man.

I'm certain he involved me in the theft of the cows

because he thought my silence was a synonym of discretion.

I entered this deal out of despair,

due to having my wallet stolen containing 140 euros.

This money is a single payment for the food allowance

that the father of my children is obliged to pay monthly.

It's the truth.

I am the legal representative of this man

and state that my client is obliged to pay a monthly food allowance

of 70 euros per child.

But I equally state that my client cannot honor this expense.

He has been extradited to Spain, where he comes from,

and where he serves a prison sentence for having over exceeded himself

in his role as a bailiff.

Social Services are obliged to replace his payments of the food allowance,

but that has not yet happened.

It hasn't and won't happen, as long as I have the strength to prevent it.

As senior technical manager of the Social Services

it's my duty to work with zeal

to avoid the collapse of the pensions scheme.

Are you very old or just not very well kept?

I am 93,

and I remain firm in my post,

paying into my work pension and hence delaying receiving it.

The zeal I mentioned starts with me.

And as it's impossible for the father to pay the food allowance,

don't you think Social Services should help this mother?

No. Because there's not enough for all!

So what is she to do?

Borrow from friends.

And if she has none?

Tough!

Are you senile or merely insensitive?

Insensitive I am not

because every night I go around the town distributing food to the homeless,

and cook large quantities of soup

to feed my many great-aunts.

My great-aunts don't benefit from any Social Services support

because they are dead.

And nevertheless,

they beg me.

They are hungry.

Madam...

I fear there's not much hope of receiving support from the Social Services.

Resign yourself.

This is a lost case.

And to add to all the nonsense you just spoke,

I recognize you as the impostor

who pretended to be a homeless person on a recent TV program.

My salary is not in proportion of my expenses.

The Portuguese people must get some on the side!

Then start giving private math tuition!

Or limit yourself to TV appearances without being an impostor!

Given that you work in Social Services,

you can blabber banalities about the state of the public finances like the rest of them!

Let the ex-head freshman of agronomy and current cattle dealer rise.

Do you confess to being the true mastermind behind the theft of the cows,

covering it up by involving this woman in need?

No.

Bring the lie detector close to that man!

Are you the one they call “furious machete man”?

Notorious for having attacked acquaintances and then policemen

without contention or fear of any consequences?

Yes, that is I.

No talking!

Do you think you're a liar?

I do.

Then can you reconsider your previous reply?

Yes.

I ordered the theft of the cattle,

and if things went wrong

I was to deny it all and blame the deaf woman.

The truth surfaced.

Speak, if there's anything you want to add.

But think carefully

because the detector will be next to you.

I organized the theft because the Chinese man had placed an order.

I planned to deliver my own cows,

but I couldn't because they were poisoned by villagers from the southern hills.

That's no reason to steal!

Nevertheless we should investigate

why the villagers poisoned the cows.

Your cows were killed because you let them loose

to feed on vegetables from the villagers' gardens.

- Just so you didn't have to feed them. - That's right.

Look, if I didn't deliver the cows they'd break my legs.

The Chinese sent the Spanish bailiff after me.

I didn't dream that this terrible man was the father of the children of the deaf woman.

It's good he was arrested.

It was, indeed, a Chinese man who handed my Spaniard to the Guards.

He accused him of crossing the line

between the lawful recovery of debts

and the unlawful practice of beatings.

Really, he was no worse or better than the rest of us.

Shut up, Detector of Lies!

You should abstain from considerations

while doing community service.

That Spaniard was really nasty!

He left three Romanian slaves I kept to shepherd the cattle in an awful state.

I assume that son of a bitch Chinese guy will stand up next.

Mr. Wu is not here today as he has been extradited to China

under an international warrant issued by Interpol.

Mr. Wu thoroughly enjoyed his stay in the country

and recommended it on TripAdvisor.

He appreciated the people, weather, landscape and gastronomy.

He was so delighted that he became a Portuguese citizen

through the golden visa scheme.

This scheme is an extraordinary idea from the Portuguese government,

which grants special residency status on our national territory

and freedom of movement in Europe for citizens from outside the EU

who buy real estate for half a million euros or above.

Even if they reside here for only seven days, consecutive or not.

The visas have added value to the Portuguese economy

because many Chinese see it as a great opportunity.

As fans of gambling,

any Chinese who acquires property

and shows his tax receipt is also lured

to a weekly draw to win a luxury car

from the tax department.

If Mr. Wu wished to win the car,

why did he then buy 13 cows from a dishonest slave dealer

who surely won't write any receipts?

We are ex-lovers of Mr. Wu.

There were 13 of us when we arrived.

Mr. Wu was a very rich bandit,

but he went bankrupt

and became a poor bandit without friends.

He couldn't afford the upkeep of more than one lover

and so decided to keep the best one and leave the rest.

He organized a three-day competition.

We went before a jury

and performed skill tests in the arts of dance,

of giving pleasure in all holes, of serving hot and cold drinks,

wearing winter and summer clothes, massaging feet,

singing and reciting Chinese poetry,

shaping hair in a Western style and seasoning beef.

Since we were 13 lovers, he sent for 13 cows.

There was a winner,

but the 12 that lost believe there were illegalities in this competition.

This is making my head spin and I want to throw up.

This grotesque chain of stupidity, evilness and despair

is beginning to overtake my incumbencies and especially my patience.

What a court must judge follows this logic:

Someone commits a crime.

It's unlawful and harms someone else.

The court judges the graveness of the crime in proportion to the damage

and social impact caused.

The rest of society acknowledges the unlawful acts committed

and the sentence applied by the judge

and infers conclusions for its own behavior.

Some will find the punishment light. Others harsh.

Because, unlike genies,

men realize that good and bad are relative things.

This is normal.

What is not normal and begins to seem remotely repugnant

is this endless list of misery and guilt

where there are neither innocents

nor enough prisons to house all the culprits!

This random chain of events is a slimy issue

that saddens and sinks us.

Screw the lot of you!

There is not a hint of honor in this assembly.

He was not completely deprived of ethics,

that thief who stole my wallet,

which contained the only food allowance

my children's father pays,

who received it from the Chinese man

for threatening to break the legs of the cattle dealer,

who in turn would hire me to steal the 13 cows.

He was a considerate thief.

He returned the wallet to the cafe where he took it,

empty, but with a note that said,

“To the owner:

If I had lost a wallet with 140 euros

you would probably not return it to me either.

I'm sorry,

but I'm very poor and I need to eat.

God bless you.”

Ask for mercy, son!

Get up, stupid! Confess!

You will stand up to hear the sentence! Let go!

Look at the judge!

Straighten up!

Look at her, in the eyes!

On a day of days,

and without anybody understanding how this came to be,

a gracious and intelligent dog arrived in a suburban neighborhood.

This place was inhabited by happy and sad men

yet almost all were tired,

worn out by the commuting between work

and this place where they slept.

Many of these residents were poor,

although a few rich ones also lived there,

either due to taste, convenience or tradition.

Many of these people had,

had had or would have a pet dog.

And it was not unusual that these dogs resembled their owners.

Any observer could therefore spot similarities and differences

between the residents of this neighborhood

by merely observing their dogs.

Nobody thought the arrival of a new dog was odd,

given that there were so many of them around,

but the lack of the pet's owner didn't go unnoticed.

If we think of these similarities between men and dogs,

we would say that this pet, beautiful like a full moon

and causing amazement to onlookers,

would've had a charming prince as its owner,

a discerning and kind one.

It is not the purpose of this story

to tell of the misfortunes that lead him there,

so dirty and abandoned.

So we shall utter not another word about it.

Oh, Ms. Glória, how cute!

It looks like he's been well looked after.

He resembles my Dixie.

Maybe God sent him like this, just like the deceased.

Everything has its time. Old Dixie's is long gone.

Dixie!

The car is kaput.

I didn't mean to do it.

I fell asleep.

Hey, dog!

Dixie!

Is she mixing up the medication from her two doctors?

Maybe.

Who are you, boy?

Doesn't he look like that other dog you had?

Dixie's friendliness -

I too shall refer to him by this name -

was so amazing that he seemed to lift the most disgraceful of souls

and draw a smile out of the sternest of faces.

Seeing her neighbor Luísa always consumed by distress and sadness,

Glória thought it would be the best use if the dog stayed with her friend instead of her.

For several reasons.

Firstly, because she was wholeheariedly generous,

despite her fair share of wickedness like nearly all people.

Secondly, because while recognizing in this dog the traits of another

she owned earlier and that had already departed,

she intuitively knew not to keep him, as certain things in life don't happen twice.

Third - and where I mentioned wickedness I should maybe say weaknesses -

because Glória had secretly renounced Luísa's company,

finding that it caused her anguish

and dragged her to the same world of shadows where she saw her friend.

She believed Luísa was cursed

and that those who socialized with her could be contaminated with endless sadness.

Simply, she didn't want to put up with her

and believed that the dog, the spitting image of old Dixie,

was both ladies' salvation,

cheering up Luísa's life

just like Dixie had previously done to hers,

and allowing her to avoid her gloomy neighbor.

Dixie!

Dixie!

Come here.

So, Dixie?

Okay, you can turn the tap on!

Ms. Isabel.

So cute!

What's its name?

How old is he?

I don't know.

You can leave your jackets there.

Humberto!

Meet my husband.

This is Vânia and Vítor.

His name is Vasco.

It's the first time ever we are invited for dinner.

I hope you like spareribs.

This is a fucked up love story!

Really fucked up! But still a love story.

I met Vasco because he was a user and I was a dealer.

He was shy and all stuck up,

a mama's boy, but I kind of liked him.

And he had to come to me because he was hooked.

I didn't take drugs. I was afraid.

But I told him,

“Me, selling to you, only if we both do it.”

He said I shouldn't get into this fucked up shit.

But I insisted and told him, “You're gonna be my man.”

Was it not, Vasco?

- Sort of. - Yeah.

I'm only telling this because Ms. Luísa likes love stories.

It's a beautiful story!

We both dropped it and we're still together after all that shit.

Hmm, I love this!

You know,

the reverb they added to the voices in those times was really cool.

Songs carried a hell of emotion.

Really nicely clone.

This was the first record I bought.

I had to play it at the neighbor's 'cause I had no turntable.

Vasco,

your companion is a very special woman who deeply cares for you.

Don't ever let her go.

Go on, go home.

Ms. Isabel!

She must be giving them money.

What the hell have they got in common?

So, Dixie, you had visitors last night, right?

Soon the dog will reach 500 kilos.

I need his help. You are all very fast eaters!

Do you know what the lady from the second floor calls Luísa?

- The mother or the daughter? - The stutterer.

“S-S-Slow mo-motion neigh-neighbor!”

The peanut seeds caused a crisis of the liver that nearly killed him.

The owners took him to a vet in Telheiras

who said she would bring him back to life

with an injection that cost 1,000 euros.

The love they had for a previous parrot,

who is now buried near the palm tree by Tower 4,

made them get a loan to save the pet.

And so it was.

The parrot came back home safe and sound

but never made a squeak again.

They say he will speak again once the trauma is forgotten.

They no longer give him peanut seeds. He now eats low-fat birdseed.

Let me see.

Let me see!

I'm going to tell Mom.

Okay, look now, you shithead!

SARA FROM 1st B

Okay.

I'm alone I'm alone

I'm alone in my bedroom thinking about my future

Jobless, unemployed Looking for a path to nurture

So many mistakes made and not a change of course

So many lessons learned I learned to walk by force

As a child I didn't bother how I had light and water

My mother worked flat out Arrived tired and worn-out

Not one weekend off in all her life

No wedding ring on her finger Growing up like a warrior

Spanking me if I was a fool She gave me this true school

My mom's a single mother and she will always bother

What's my respect and love in reality made of?

So many hours you wasted

I never had a father present at my table

My tears are now dry I can't feel his absence

My unwanted adolescence

Made me grow dependencies and make the wrong choices

Sixteen years old

This kid already working

At 18 I'm drinking and smoking

Alone I got to know the life I got hooked into

But time only showed this wasn't what I dreamed of

This wasn't what I dreamed of

This wasn't what I dreamed of

Hey, neighbor!

Apartments D and E have verandas facing north.

The drafts that blow through those apartments

when the north wind blows are serious business.

There was a family on the sixth floor who liked having barbecues.

And couldn't care less.

When there was too much smoke inside the apartment,

they would open the window and the front door to get rid of it.

On a day with a north wind someone called the fire brigade to check.

It's always the damn same!

The cops and the guys from the bank arrived at 7:00 in the morning.

They were all asleep, a couple and three children.

They were given five hours to leave the house.

They had been living there for many years and had lots of stuff.

The neighbors felt sorry for them

and spent the whole morning helping them take their things out.

Since then, every time there is an eviction order -

and lately it's nearly one per month -

the evicted people prepare

and begin removing their things during the preceding weeks.

There are three elevators in the tower block,

but in the last 10 years only two have been working.

One New Year's Eve there was a big party on the 12th floor.

Maybe their water had been cut off or something,

but in the early morning, they decided to use the lift as a toilet.

The piss slowly dripped down the shaft

and corroded the locks of the elevator doors in the floors below.

It was never fixed.

The Brazilian nudists still managed to get up there

about three or four times before being caught.

Now the only one who goes up to the roof is Ana, the door-woman,

who's not afraid of heights.

She has lunch there in the summer.

In the winter, she watches the traffic jams

when the highway tunnel gets flooded.

No one else goes up there.

Some because they suffer from vertigo.

Others, due to an overwhelming attraction for the abyss.

Yes.

I do know the Lord's teachings

and why there is no peace on earth.

The blood of men is dirty.

I speak from my own experience. I've caused much misery in life.

This dog is good, and I am bad.

I don't know about you ladies. I don't give a damn about it.

I know I am sick. I will die soon.

After my death, I will still burn in hell for a good while.

Since I don't like talking about that, you'd better go and preach elsewhere.

Excuse me.

There were no good-byes on the last day that Dixie saw his owners.

He crossed the familiar neighborhood pulled by the leash,

although this time towards the decrepit tower blocks never visited before.

It would be an exaggeration

to think that this was other than a normal day for a dog,

despite all the charms and signs of intelligence

displayed by Dixie.

It was therefore a day like any other

when Dixie went to a new home

and met his new owners.

He's already used to you both. I couldn't leave him with anyone else.

We should arrive before sunset on Wednesday.

Dixie, stay!

Shush, Dixie.

- Are you nuts? - It tastes horrible.

We will never see them again.

They are dead.

Oh, no.

I've told you this many times: We don't hand out cash.

Food, yes.

If you need clothes,

I will try to get you some items.

And food. But not cash. That's out of the question.

Can't do that.

But it's always the same canned food,

and we needed some money to -

It's not always the same food.

To buy other things.

It's not always the same food. That's not true.

It's not always the same food!

It may be very similar weekly,

but it's not the same.

Right, but -

But what you really needed is money, right, Vânia?

Well, that I can't do.

Maybe we'll try the Social Services

or applying for minimum social benefit.

Because we can't give you money here.

Only food.

But you must understand that we can't live constantly

on the same type of food.

But it's not always the same type.

We vary what we give out a little.

Is it not to your liking?

Is it not to your liking, Vasco?

Are we giving you too much food?

Your household comprises two people.

I wonder if we are giving you too much food, Vânia?

- It's always the same! - ls it?

KILL NAZIS!

Someone should go to their apartment.

They said they'd be gone for three days

but left enough dog food for three months!

He hadn't left the house for over one year. He was sick, I think.

She's tried killing herself three times.

She was seeing two doctors.

They had enough pills to go to hell and back.

Say she never said good-bye to the dog!

Well, you know better.

I've done my part.

Two hours after the mirror had been lowered,

the police entered Luísa and Humberto's apartment.

They had been dead for 16 days.

Unlike the usual mess, the apartment was immaculately clean and tidy.

Vasco and Vânia were not present at Humberto and Luísa's funeral

because they thought their presence would displease the residents of the tower block.

At the café, they read a newspaper article

that mentioned a suicide pact.

They were themselves mentioned as the couple

who had befriended Humberto and Luísa in the last few months,

notorious among the rest of the neighbors.

Having no means to keep Dixie,

they decided to give him to Ana, door-woman,

so that she would help them find a new owner for the dog.

Before heading to the tower block that Dixie knew so well,

they took a photo of him on her cell phone

and Vânia cried.

Ana was happy to see Dixie again

and decided to give him to her son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren.

Vasco and Vânia would not see him again.

Despite asking for permission to visit Dixie sometimes

and regardless of living only a few hundred meters away,

the paths of the old and new owners of Dixie would not cross again.

He's got a blue shirt. Blue?

He's got a brown shirt.

- The one under? - Yes.

Dixie adapted to the new home as if he'd always lived there.

It always went like that with Dixie.

Each new owner was cherished

as if there'd never been one before him.

Dixie was as much a love machine as he was a forgetting machine.

The dog would have probably never returned

to Luísa and Humberto's building

if it wasn't for Ana's daughter-in-law abandoning her husband.

So,

having to take care of her grandchildren

while her son went on the road as a truck driver in Europe,

Ana took them and the dog along to the tower block where she worked.

Don't run around. It's a big building.

There are lazy bastards still asleep.

They will complain to me, your granny.

Where is Dixie?