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AmericasCardroom.com brings poker back Million Dollar Sunday Tournament every Sunday

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This country never was.

And never will be.

Nobody talks about it, nobody remembers it.

It’s like it disappeared from the map forever.

Almost nobody remembers when a child was born here.

But once little Imriško stood by a bush,

and stuffed himself with unripe sloes.

Until one of them got struck in his throat.

Mamma Gretka couldn’t have born a child for a long time.

So she was very worried about her son.

Papa Nicholas used to be a fair sportsman.

He could run a 100 metres in well under 14 seconds –

even more if the stopwatch would have been better.

His speed now came in handy.

He ran to the doctor, but stopped by the carpenter’s to order a small coffin.

Doctor Josef Roth was the fastest member of the Czechoslovak automobile club.

He hurried to help the child, eventhough it was on a Saturday,

and he kept the Sabbath holy.

Imriško was lucky.

And the doctor had a glass of wine and a sweet kiss.

After lunch the carpenter brought the coffin.

They sold it to a neighbour whose daughter had just died.

They would have given it to them, but a coffin must always be bought.

This country was well out of the way. It wasn’t even on the military maps.

Nobody spoke aloud about the manoeuvres that always ended with an historic victory.

Fire!

Only certain whispers recall private Cypro,

who, with courage and tenacity, did battle for a pocketwatch on a chain.

Cease fire! Secure the guns! To the targets!

What is it?

May I have the pleasure?

- You’ve got a nice timepiece. - It belonged to my husband.

He was a watchmaker.

I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to upset you.

Never mind. It was a long time ago.

You have to be careful. You’ll also die soon.

- How so? - I can feel your end.

Madam Agatha lived only with her plants. She cultivated pelargoniums,

because no other plant could stand up to her love.

Perhaps cacti, but all other plants of which she was fond

drooped under her affections. A soldier would indeed not droop.

Would you like to come in for a moment?

- I would, if I may. - You always can, if you want to.

I haven’t touched anything since the death of my husband.

I just wind them up...

so that they work.

Wonderful.

Which one do you like?

This one.

Are you a man?

I’m a cartographer.

If you can make love to me for one hour, it’s yours.

Really?

You’re like a beautiful map, madam.

Call me Agatha.

So here is the...

parish boundary.

Here... the little boundary hill.

And here is the other one.

Would you like a windmill as well?

We’ve just passed the well.

We’ll cross the forest...

like this...

through the meadows...

and now we’ve reached...

the harbour.

You naughty boy!

Now show me your lighthouse.

Private Cypro made love to Madam Agatha for a whole hour.

He never knew the dial of a watch could move so slowly.

But he performed heroically right up to the end.

But still Madam Agata let him off almost seven minutes.

The tin rattling of Cyril Polka can be heard here no more.

He used to wander through the country like a starved hound.

Poor lad.

He never knew a home, as he was orphaned at birth.

His mother died giving birth to him and ran off to heaven.

He stayed alone and remained forever hungry.

He even used to sniff rocks, in case they might be worth eating.

If he noticed a bacon rind lying on the ground, he’d quickly say,

“he’d like to eat that.” And in a flash he ate it!

Thank you, St. Christopher.

A long night and great might!

Life is like a flower with the Lord’s power!

Couldn’t there be some broth for me?

- Don’t you come in here! - Whatever you have,

you have from the Lord. Will you give me something?

- I’m telling you, clear off! - Just a little bit of bread...

- and some pork scratchings. - Didn’t you hear me?!

After him!

You lousy beggar!

And don’t come back again!

You’ll see. He’ll show you.

Shush...

Quiet.

You’re a dog and I’m a dog.

A dog knows a dog.

A dog doesn’t tear another dog to pieces.

A dog is a brother to a dog.

Let’s have a drink.

Cheers!

This is what he loves. This is what he wants.

A thief! Dad! We’ve got him!

- Let me go! - We’ve got the thief! Dad!

Let me go!

Thievish filth.

You don’t work, but you would like to eat, right?

Give him a good beating!

Go and fetch the constable!

- You’ll go to prison, you bastard! - Slap him around! And do it well!

You’ll be sorry. Strip down!

What for?

So you won’t run away.

Show us your chopper!

He is too shy.

He isn’t shy enough to steal, is he? Down to your underwear!

Stop beating me! I’m a good man!

The devil is bad for not taking you already.

Come here!

I’ll show you! Let’s go.

Come here, you!

Right.

You won’t get out from here!

And breathe in deeply.

Stand guard here, kids.

Step aside, I can’t see anything.

St. Christopher,

patron of pilgrims, help him.

He desperately needs your help.

Get some fire. We’ll have some fun.

St. Christopher, save him!

They are hurting him!

They’ll roast him alive!

St. Christopher, save him!

Do something! Quickly!

Help him now!

Down there, you think?

Well, if you think so...

Dad, they’ve arrived!

- Where is he? - In the shithouse.

We locked him up in there, so he wouldn’t run off.

Come, he’s in here!

Here he is.

Open it.

What is that supposed to mean?

Are you joking at my expense?

But... he was here!

Not even my cap could get through it!

You were supposed to watch him!

- You let him escape! - He didn’t escape.

He called on St. Christopher for help.

I’ll show you St. Christopher!

It’s a miracle.

I shit on your miracles.

You can’t make a fool out of a police officer.

How could he get out of here?

The saints always do it like this.

The farmer was gravely embarrased by the whole situation.

He placated the sergeant with the sausages from the hog-killing,

which destiny had failed to grant Cyril.

The villagers wished to consecrate the miraculous hut,

but the priest refused when he found out what it was.

From that day on Cyril Polka was called St. Christopher,

and nobody had any doubt that he had gone straight to heaven.

To all chiefs of the assembly areas!

In the spirit of the valid law,

the Jews who have been organised for work

are to come this morning to the assembly point by the station.

They are permitted to bring only prescribed baggage:

Firstly: clothing, consisting of one hat and one cap,

up to two or three sets of clothing, two overcoats, three sets of underwear,

two towels, two pairs of shoes, one blanket, and three pairs of stockings.

Secondly: cleaning equipment – a bar of soap, a shaving set,

a cup, a set of plates, a toothbrush, and six handkerchiefs.

Thirdly: provisions for three days.

The total weight of all items must be less than 50 kilograms.

All other things – for instance matches, cigarettes, watches, money,

and other things of value – shall be confiscated from the Jews.

On behalf of the minister: Dr. Konka.

For a long time the country wasn’t affected by the war.

Everywhere else people had died and were starving,

but here nobody was complaining.

One could buy a bread roll for a crown and also a square of chocolate.

Give me another one.

Peter! Palo! You little devils, where are you?

Great bang, huh?

Just wait until your father gets home!

You’ll see a merry dance!

Peter and Palo were terribly ashamed of their father, crippled Kamas,

whom neither the army nor fire brigade would take.

They didn’t respect him at all.

And they were cheerfully growing up heading straight for the gallows.

Throw me one!

Catch!

You want me to shake you down?

Get out of there!

Little bastards! When I get my hands on you!

- That to your bitch of a mother! - And to yours!

If I ever catch you, I’ll cut your throats!

The dead man they found was the builder Valihora.

Everybody thought he was working in Germany.

Nobody knew how he ended up there or who had killed him.

And so the war began for the village.

Hungarians moved into the house by the road.

Stay here.

What are you doing over there? Go home! Now!

Turn out your pockets!

Idiots!

I don’t understand.

Leave me alone!

Let me go!

Juro, help!

Peter and Palo couldn’t forgive their father

for not fighting over her.

We’ll make you handsome.

You’ll become a rooster.

Get out of there!

Where are you?!

Come out, you bloody rats!

What are you doing? When I catch you, I’ll break your legs!

At the end of autumn the Hungarians vanished.

There was a change of tenants in the house –

soldiers for soldiers.

The Kamas household accommodated the German linesmen Hans and Willy.

The boys loved the war.

They saw how machine gun nests were fortified...

how telephone lines were installed...

and how a bridge can be mined.

- Stop! At least show it to me! - Be quiet! Come on!

Watch this.

The Germans discovered very soon that a pistol had disappeared.

They suspected old Homola of stealing it.

Don’t you dare set foot outside the house.

Jesus Christ!

Hurry up!

My sons...

He didn’t give you enough.

Nasty bunch.

The boys forgave their father everything,

including the fact that he wasn’t a soldier nor a fireman.

The war in this region ended in winter, when the Germans left.

Great bang, huh?

On the following day the Russians came.

They were met by silence and a few men.

The women hid from them. They were afraid they’d be raped and lose their good names.

Only two old spinsters, the Točka sisters, didn’t even have that to lose.

The Russians stopped in the village just to bury their dead.

Peter and Palo felt they had won the war.

Their best prize was a German compass they stolen from the linesmen Hans and Willy.

- Give me your watch. - This isn’t a watch.

I understand. Give me the watch!

Don’t touch me!

Well?

Please, give it to him.

Please.

Pretty watch. Thank you, lads.

Go to hell!

The brothers Kamas were sad when all soldiers had left.

But nobody else was sorry. There was no time.

A new life had begun.

Eventually everything would belong to everybody.

Occasionally strange things would happen in that country.

Sometimes so strange that even eye-witnesses couldn’t believe their eyes.

The goatherd Vojto was deaf and dumb.

Nobody had heard a word from him.

He was born dumb and dumb he remained.

What happened?

What?

You saw a snake?

You haven’t eaten it, have you?

You fell asleep and it slid into your mouth, right?

So we’ll have to get you cured.

Some hot milk. Snakes love it.

Let the snake get to your armpit and reach your sleeve.

I hope you don’t also have some young ones in there.

Vojto had to tell and re-tell his great adventure

with his hands and legs until night fell.

It was a story with a happy ending.

Although... what would the grass-snake say?

You know, Mr. Kusalík, I have been on my own,

and my boy ought to do something with his hands.

Hard times are coming. You’re a decent man.

A Christian, a catholic.

And so I thought... a craftsman will always prosper.

And people will always need to dress themselves.

And to undress as well.

Please take care of him.

Don’t worry, Mrs. Perinová, the boy will learn.

À votre santé.

The tailor Kusalík was a globetrotter,

in French “un voyageur”, in Slovak hed’ be called an itinerant.

He had travelled through almost the whole of Europe.

If it was necessary, he sewed a man’s coat for a bowl of soup,

or a skirt for something better and more memorable than just soup.

It was always cheerful at his place.

There were trophies from his journeys hanging on the walls,

even a propeller from General Štefánik’s plane.

Here you are. But first show us how a woman lies down.

Ondráš always had a few guests at his place –

mosty the local upholsterer, comrade Brko, and file sharpener Murín.

I got the letter yesterday. They’re closing my business.

Haven’t they sent you anything yet?

It’ll turn out badly.

Long live the Communist party.

Who is it?

- Perhaps another cock. - Or a chicken.

Good afternoon.

Hi. Have you got it ready for me yet, Mr. Kusalík?

Just as I promised you.

Try it on.

Show me.

Will it fit me?

Mariška, dresses must be run-in first.

It must adapt to the body which will straighten it like an iron.

And you have some irons.

And no peeking from you.

When I die...

I want to go to hell.

All the pretty women will be there.

Barking dogs don’t bite!

- So are you satisfied? - I won’t take it off.

I’ll leave it on.

- It really suits you. - How much do I owe you?

As we agreed.

Here’s your bill, Mariška.

“The average time of the sexual act is 3 minutes.”

- What is it? - Don’t you know how to read?

“The standard length of a male penis is 15 centimetres.

“The woman’s body absorbs 6.75 metres of it during one love-making.”

- You pigs. - Just read on, read.

“The average woman makes love 3 times a week, twice a session,

“which means 320 times in a calendar year.

“So in that time she uses for her gratification

“about 2.1 kilometres of male penis.

“If you are short of such pleasure, due to any reason,

“you are free to ask the man who has passed this note to you.”

So, Mariška?

Here you are, Samko.

You can use it.

You’ve chosen well.

Samko liked his master. Every day he learnt something new –

how to cheat at cards, how to drink a beer,

how to shave his first moustache.

Iron them.

- Are they moving their shop? - No, they’re closing down.

Go and do the ironing.

- What have we got here? - Do you know Comrade Mitchourin?

He sends you his regards and a new sort of plant.

You’ve never seen such a palm. Give it water.

Don’t be stingy. Just keep pouring it on.

That’s some weed, isn’t it?

- Primerus gum... - How did you do it?

Baking powder... Don’t you need it?

Me? My little Willie can still lift his head.

Stop laughing.

And press them down at the creases.

They must be so sharp you could cut yourself on them.

They’re ready now.

These?

You mean these?

These? You’ve learnt this from me?!

Put it on the hanger and hang it here.

Now kneel down and apologise to them nicely

for mucking them up so much. You hear me? Kneel down.

Repeat after me: Dear trousers, I humbly beg you to forgive me...

Come on!

My dear trousers, I humbly beg you, forgive me...

...that I have, through my evil doing and shitting around...

...that I have, through my evil doing and shitting around...

...so callously and wantonly fucked up.

...so callously and wantonly fucked up.

- Amen. - Amen.

Right, now get up and have a drink with us.

All has been forgiven.

So maybe we’ll make a man out of you.

Well, Ondráš, do you have my trousers ready yet?

It’s good that you’ve come. We’ve just pressed them.

Try them.

Nobody liked Benko the barber.

During the war he collaborated, and after it he nationalized.

And he was also an informer.

What, are you shy?

- Will you be cutting tomorrow? - Yes, and perming, too.

- What about shaving? - Leave me alone.

- It cuts me here. - What? I felt good in them.

- And to me as well. - You’ve screwed up my cloth.

Don’t worry, we’ll fix it. Catch him!

Leave me alone! At once!

- Do you hear me?! Let me be! - All right, that’s enough.

Let him be.

What’s wrong? They fit perfectly.

- You’re a shitty tailor. - Don’t call me names.

Have a drink instead.

Yesterday I had a dream about you.

I was visiting the Pope in Rome.

We were all sitting together in a large chamber.

And after giving us his blessing he suddenly pointed just at me.

Like this, with his finger.

I was scared stiff. Everybody turned towards me.

I asked: “Me?” The Holy Father nodded

and beckoned me with his finger once more.

So I stood up and the crowd parted before me,

and I approached the holy throne that stood on a lovely red carpet.

I knelt in front of the Pope and kissed his hand.

I asked the Holy Father why have I deserved this privilege.

“What do you want from me?”

And he said to me: “Nothing, my son,

“I just want to know which prat gave you such a terrible haircut.”

And so I told him that it was you, Benko.

You’ll pay for this!

You forgot your trousers!

Send us a bill!

Here you go.

We’ll alter them for you.

So Samko sewed his first trousers.

His mother liked them very much.

He had to wear them to church on Sundays.

Everyone started to called Benko “the Heavenly Barber”.

It didn’t take him long to send the master tailor a bill.

They closed down Ondráš’ workshop,

and arrested him for being an anti-government element.

We, the workers of the Kovotvar factory, are denouncing flunkeys of the Vatican,

which are spreading its rotten ideas throughout our young republic.

The Vatican use its diplomats to perform espionage.

Their devoted hypocritical army of catholic priests

is subverting our socialist system.

We were shocked by news that enemy agents had been hidden in monasteries

and weapons had been found in churches.

That’s why we appreciate the actions of our security forces

destroying this network and imprisoning the leaders of clergy.

The Vatican is finished in our country!

We suggest to check-up all the churches and rectories.

The collaborative ones must be given to the working people

who will convert them into recreation centres.

Peace to the world!

The workers of Kovotvar.

In the middle of the country, in a small house,

there lived wild Sibert and his good mother.

Everyone was afraid of Sibert.

Once his spit struck the gravedigger so hard, that it broke his nose.

Another time he shook a gypsy so hard, that his tattoo fell off.

His mother got nothing but suffering from him,

and people said she had already earned a place in heaven.

Bloody moths. They always gorge under the armpits.

Perhaps they like salt.

They like the tast of sweat.

Does it show?

I’m going to confession. Give me some change for the bell.

Sibert was very religious.

After his father died, he went “to confession” every single evening.

Vodka he called The Lord’s Prayer, plum brandy was his Hail Mary,

and rum was his Creed.

I’m not giving you a single crown.

- Where are you hiding it? - I’m not giving you anything.

As you wish.

Stop it, you monster!

Well?

Wait.

You see? God bless you.

God help me...

so that you perish!

Sibert had inherited the motorcycle from his father,

and his mother gave him money for gas.

And a bit more.

Sometimes Sibert hit a hen and brought it home for a soup.

Well, here I am!

Now we’ll have a blast!

Bang, bang, bing... I’ll fuck everything.

Now we have some jazz... for the globe!

Great!

Nice work.

- You were cheating, tanner. - You’re not a man anymore!

Let go of him!

He has done you good and proper.

When Sibert rode on his bike, he put his jacket on back to front,

so he wouldn’t be blasted by the wind through his buttonholes.

He rushed from pub to pub, and everyone was afraid of him.

Everyone, except his mother.

You stink of cunt. You left your spunk in some woman again.

Women are always after me. The best woman in my life was Zuza.

That one would pray for me. She gave me her last 5 crowns.

She’d show me her purse: “I’ve got nothing left.”

She was a saint, I can tell you from the bottom of my heart:

life with her was fair play.

She ran away from you. She took the furniture as well.

It’s true. She was very greedy. All I’ve got left are my ears,

my balls and nationality.

Open it. It’s for you.

I’ve bought you something for a dress.

You bloody pig!

You filthy drunk!

Bloody pig!

Don’t get so angry, you’ll die from it!

You filthy pig!

Let me go! Let me go! Let go!

Are you mad at me?

Come on.

Don’t be upset and sing to me.

Just sleep!

Mommy...

sing for me.

Otherwise I’ll put you into the stove.

His mother sang to him,

but the next day they’d see her with a bruise on her forehead.

What did I do?

You destroyed my pelargoniums. And then you ate all of them.

Oh, I’m filth. I’m rubbish.

Don’t be angry, mommy.

You ran after me naked when I didn’t pour a glass for you.

I couldn’t sleep the whole night.

Oh, my God...

What kind of person am I?

And you called me dirty names, Sibert.

All the f-words, you know.

His mother didn’t always tell Sibert the truth,

but she liked it very much when he felt regret and wept.

You really should get a job and earn some money.

- I’ll do that, mommy. - When?

Give me some money for gas. They’ll hire me at the mine.

You think I don't want to be good? I want to go to heaven, too.

If only...

Perhaps Sibert was indeed on his way to the mine,

but the motorbike stopped in front of the pub, as if it needed a drink.

Well, here I am!

Mommy, kill me.

I haven’t a single crown. I’ve spent it all on booze.

You devil. To bed at once.

I’m no good.

I’m not bad, but if somebody comes here,

I’ll kill him with this axe!

I’m Ilya Muromec, the giant!

You are good.

I’d never do any harm to you.

You’re like me.

Come on, go to bed.

But you don’t help.

I’m alone in everything.

You don’t come: “Please, Sibert, have a drink.”

I’m not going to beg you.

I’ll pull out seven carrots with one hand – I’ll get one beer for that –

with the other hand I’ll pull out seven parsnips –

that’ll earn me a dram.

Cheers.

Jesus Christ said:

“Wild Sibert must stay alone.”

My speech is pure.

Good night.

In the morning Sibert promised his mother

that this time he’d really go to work.

I’ve got a toothache. I put a drop of acid on it,

- so my mouth won’t stink. - It’ll burn your gums.

That’s the idea.

I’m a miner... who is better?

At the pub Sibert slowed down a little, but didn’t stop.

Perhaps because it was still closed.

So he rushed off to heaven.

- He’s breathing. - His head is back to front.

We should put it right.

He’s not breathing anymore.

And so wild Sibert, who wanted to better himself, got to heaven.

He left his good mother back on earth roasting in purgatory.

On the morning of All Souls’ Day the verger was on his way home.

He had a beautiful voice and he knew it.

He sang at all masses and funerals.

And also at a few weddings and christenings.

But most of all he liked singing in the pub.

There he was paid best.

Christian spirit, do you happen to know where Adam Braxatoris lives?

- But you are Adam Braxatoris. - I know that, you calf of Christ,

but I don’t know where I live.

Don’t be afraid.

Remember me?

You are Doctor Roth.

When I was twelve...

you took out my tooth.

That must have been in 1925.

And in 1942 they transported you.

For God’s sake, what happened to you?

Where have you been until now?

Elsewhere.

I’ve been searching for my wife and children.

The hospitable reception of the Jews in Europe was over.

We were like a wandering theatre company,

hissed off the stage everywhere.

All Jews will vanish from here.

The few that are left have little in common with the Israel of today.

God is with me...

and with every person.

The verger never spoke a word to anybody about this meeting with Dr. Roth.

But from that time on he sang even more sweetly,

yet somehow more sadly.

Truly, nobody could remember when last a child had been born here.

But the soil of the countryside had become vastly populated.

One body after another was added to the cemetery.

Could you give me a light, madam?

Yes, of course.

Thank you.

Aren’t you little Annie Kišová?

Pretty little Annie? Are you really?

I’m Marianna Horváthová. Do you remember me?

I was married here in 1946.

You lent us a candlestick for the wedding.

And a complete table set. You must remember, certainly.

It was a long time ago.

Weren’t you married in May, and then went to Prague?

It’s such a long time since I was here.

When I was young, I was as thin as a wand. Anywhere I went, they’d say:

“Look, the coat has arrived.”

But in Prague they stuffed me. With doughnuts and beer.

I’ve been there 30 years. One kilo for every year.

So you’re home.

- Marienka, come in for a while. - I can’t. I’m off to my sister in Skalica.

Come on, I’ve got some dark beer.

That’s Martuška Kubalová. She’s no longer alive.

She drowned.

This Zuzka was always strange. She didn’t speak to anybody,

and then all of a sudden she changed into a lad.

Really?

And here is Brko, an upholsterer.

I remember him. His father was a road-mender.

He’s dead as well. He was sent to an uranium mine.

After that he was called the Lord of Light.

And this is Matuš Perina.

He isn’t alive either.

And do you know this one?

No.

That one is still alive.

That’s me.

Such lovely hair you’ve got.

You were already pretty on this photo.

This dark beer makes me nostalgic. My Simon used to drink five of these a day.

I learnt that from him.

He was an engineer?

Only formally. In ink.

He never managed to finish school,

but he got himself a title for his whole life long.

I had to support his lazy ass.

And besides, he always was a skirt-chaser.

I made him move up to the attic.

A flat and warm meals and that was it.

- Have you got any children? - A daughter.

Simon didn’t want another one, so I take care of her children.

She only thinks of herself.

I wanted her to drive me here, but she didn’t have the time.

She shits on me.

Annie, I’m old now.

I can’t do a somersault for five crowns anymore.

But you’re still pretty.

If only I had such hair...

But all of us have perms, every month to the hairdresser.

This is what is left.

Come, I’ve got something to show you.

My God, it’s wonderful.

I cut them off every seven years.

It simply grows back.

My heart.

I shouldn’t have drunk that beer.

Do you need a doctor?

Don’t worry. It’ll pass.

You’d better sleep here.

Could I?

Of course.

Thank you.

Thank you, Annie.

I hope it will help.

It’s good to be with you.

I’m glad, too.

There’s a smell of tobacco. Of smoking.

Can you smell it?

- Were you married? - Yes, I was.

And when did you get married?

When I was fifty years old.

They all said he was a good person.

You know, I wanted him to live at my place.

I had a house, a farm, poultry, a lot of flowers.

- After less than seven weeks he left. - It wasn’t so bad that he left.

You didn’t have children.

I haven’t heard a single word from him for eleven years.

I sent him a postcard from a health spa, but he never replied.

Somebody from his family let me know that he’d died.

But even so, I’m not sure if I’m a wife or a widow.

It must be here somewhere. I remember carving in it.

- Name and date. - Perhaps it’s higher up.

Go ahead, but be careful.

There’s nothing here. Perhaps it grew over.

Perhaps on the other side.

For a long time the two friends searched round the tree for that childhood carving.

They didn’t know that the old lime tree dried up, and this one was another tree.

They thought the carving had been overgrown, and was sleeping under the bark forever.

This is for you.

A little souvenir, because you liked it so much.

Thank you.

- You must visit me in Prague. - Certainly, I’ll do that.

Annie knew that she didn’t have the strength for such a long journey,

but she didn’t want to spoil Marienka’s pleasure.

I’m the last one. Just like New Year’s Eve.

On August 21th in the morning,

troops of five armies, led by the Soviet Army,

treacherously crossed the borders of our state.

The intruders took over the Communist Party headquarters,

the residences of the government and the President.

The political management of the state was driven away...

...to an unknown place, later to Moscow for negotiations.

Leadership of the army was taken by collaborators.

The citizens of Prague, Bratislava, and other cities resisted resolutely.

Citizens, we appeal to you not to be provoked into unnecessary action.

Keep to passive resistance. Don’t co-operate with traitors.

We are with you. Stay with us.

We are with you. Stay with us.

The country was abandoned. It was losing its people – its memory.

Nobody could remember the story of little Imriško.

And yet the same Imro stood by the bushes

looking at his son Vinco.

A nice one!

Not so tight.

- What shall we do with it? - We’ll eat it.

It’ll do for soup.

Imro and his son Vinco were poachers. It was in their blood.

They sniffed out and sold everything that moved,

and spent all the money on booze.

Nothing alive ever escaped them.

It’s nice.

You will have money for a new coat.

Hi there, Pepo.

Since Vinco’s mother had died, his father looked after him.

He did all the cooking, darning, washing by himself,

and burned each new shirt with the iron.

What are you doing here?

Nothing. I’m just peeping, you peeper.

- Show me your tits. - What’ll you give me?

Give me your hand.

Don’t be afraid.

See you!

I’ll be seeing you, you peeper!

Every year father Imro looked forward to the first snow.

He would poke his ears into the white silence.

Until he went deaf.

Better?!

Don’t shout at me. I can hear now.

Where are you going, skin dealer?

Zip up your slaughterhouse.

Hop on!

Don’t be afraid!

I’ll be seeing you, you peeper!

Can you hear it?

It’s braking.

Come, I’m freezing my ears off.

A fox?

Hold the dog.

Father had taught Vinco how to read the snow.

So Vinco knew all the droppings in the forest.

From bloody feathers he knew where a fox had savaged a pheasant,

or he could track a small weasel and once even an stoat.

The gin...

Damnit...

A fox will come out,

but with a badger you have to leave the dog behind.

A badger is a son of a bitch. It lets the dog into its hole

and then walls it in on all sides with soil.

You end up with neither badger nor dog.

The badger is a courageous fighter.

I used to sit here.

Behind me sat Kamas, and in front was Jožo Trabalka.

Once I really pissed off the teacher.

I once saw a guy at the circus who did everything in slow motion.

I liked that very much.

So when the teacher called me in class, I began to imitate him.

I went to the blackboard like this.

Old Vodová nearly fainted.

“Stop it!” She roared at me, but I didn’t care.

I took the chalk...

and slowly started to write on the blackboard... like this.

At the end of that year I got an F for behaviour.

It’s ours.

- Hi. - Hi.

Give me a cigarette.

You shouldn’t smoke. It’ll dry up your tits.

Where are your skates?

I don’t have any.

- Pull me. - Really?

- Watch out! - Watch out!

Do you know what that is?

Do you?

Light one.

What are you doing? Kissing is dangerous. One can catch tartar.

Don’t be afraid, you’ll survive.

Some things are better left unspoken. So we won’t mention them.

Vinco had slept at Pavla’s house and returned home in the morning.

Dad?

When his father hadn’t returned by noon, Vinco became worried.

And so he decided to track him down.

He found his father’s footprints in the snow and followed them.

Then he found the place where his father had smoked and also had pissed.

Všivák, come here!

Dad...

Dad...

Father Imro had been hit by a train, killing him instantly.

The train then slipped into the tunnel like a fox into its den.

You didn’t close them.

This country will never be again.

All that is left of it is a small landscape.

And that too is disappearing in the snow, which melts on the tongue like powdered sugar.

Some say it is more like plain flour,

others that it’s like baking powder.

Anyway...

everything is white.

And the landscape merely a white spot on a map.

In memory of...

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