Original subtitles

I wasn't expecting you.

I wasn't expecting you.

We love you so much.

We love you so much.

Button up your shirt, Andr�.

Andr�!

Andr�!

Andr�!

In the sluggish, lazy afternoons at the farm...

I hid away in the woods...

from my family's worried eyes.

Soothing my feverish feet into the ground,

and cover myself up with leaves,

I slept as quietly as an ailing plant...

wilted by the weight of a red blossom...

Were those stems around me all fairies...

patiently, watching my adolescent slumber?

Where those ancient urns...

calling me out from the porch?

Andr�!

Andr�!

And was the use of those calls,

if faster messengers...

rode the wind skillfully, corrupting the atmosphere?

When my slumber was ripe...

I harvested it as a fruit, voluptuously and religiously.

I remembered my father's sermons.

He said: "Our eyes are the lanterns of our bodies.

If our eyes are good, our bodies shall carry the light.

But if our eyes are blurred...

it means that's a dark, gloomy body."

The shutters...

Why are the shutters closed?

"TO THE LEFT OF THE FATHER"

BASED ON THE NOVEL "LAVOURA ARCAICA"

BY RADUAN NASSAR

A FILM BY LUIZ FERNANDO CARVALHO

Don't you worry, brother.

Find the serious voice you're looking for

Ask me what's been going on.

Disagree with me...

and shatter the family chinaware against my eyes.

This is how we used to sit around the table for meals...

or for sermons: Father at the head...

to his right, ordered according to age,

There was Pedro, Rosa, Zuleika and Huda.

To his left, Mother, myself...

Ana and Lula, the youngest.

The right branch...

had grown spontaneously from the trunk.

But the left branch was scarred,

as if Mother, where the left branch started, were an anomaly,

a morbid offshoot, weighed down by affection.

You have no idea of what we've been through since you left.

You would be shocked to see our family's strained face.

It's hard for me to say this, brother...

but Mother can't hide her sobbing anymore.

She didn't tell anyone you had left.

That day, at lunch time,

each one of us felt

the weight of your empty chair.

The day dragged on while we worked with Father...

we thought about our sisters at home...

busy in the kitchen, or embroidering on the porch...

sewing, or cleaning out the pantry.

No matter where the girls were...

they would never be the same after that day.

They no longer filled the house with joy.

You should have been there, Andr�.

You should have seen Father, locked up in his silence.

Right after dinner he left the table and went outside.

No one saw him withdraw.

He stood there...

staring blankly into the dark night.

Finally, at bedtime, when I went to your room...

I opened your closet and pulled the empty drawers...

only then I understood...

as the eldest brother, what had really happened:

The family's destruction had begun.

It began long before you think.

It began at a time when faith grew malignantly inside of me...

when I had more passion than anyone else at home.

Me...

a pious child...

would set my Marian society ribbon next to my bed at night...

and think about God waking me everyday at 5 AM...

for early communion.

Wake up, sweetheart.

Wake up.

Don't wake up your brother, sweetheart.

- My heart. - My heart.

- My eyes. - My eyes.

- My lamb. - My lamb.

My heart, my eyes...

As soon as I got up...

God was there in front of me, on my bedside table...

and it was a God I could hold in my hands...

and it filled my innocent chest.

And I went to church like a balloon...

The light we had at home during our childhood was fine:

Home baked bread, hot milk and coffee, the butter dish...

The brightness of our home...

seemed to be even brighter when we came from the village...

That clarity...

later started to disturb me.

It would make me strange and mute to the world.

The more united a family, the worse is the blow.

A family's strength and joy can be destroyed in one blow.

In the woods, behind the house...

under the taller trees, when the sunlight created

a gentle and joyous play of shadows.

After the smell of roasted meat...

was gone, through the leaves of the fuller trees,

the cloth, that was spread over the calm grass, was folded away.

And I watched it, sitting next to a trunk,

the frantic preparations for the dance;

young men and women rushing around,

my sisters joined in, with their country ways...

wearing light, bright dresses...

along with love's promise of a greater love.

Running graciously, they filled the woods with laughter...

they carried baskets of fruit to where the tablecloth had been.

The melons and watermelons were joyously split.

And I imagined, once the wine had dampened his solemnity...

the happiness in my father's eyes...

he felt reassured, then that all would not rot in the ship's hold...

And seated like that, seemingly relaxed...

I imagined from a distance the fresh skin of her face...

her lavender aroma, her full, tender mouth...

full of sweetness, mystery and malice in her date-like eyes.

I wanted to dig my nails into the soil...

and lie in that pit, covered with damp earth.

Come on, sweetheart.

Come play with your brothers and sisters.

Leave me alone, Mother.

I'm having fun.

That bright dust, when I look back into that distant time...

I see the day, when I had my feet in chains,

and I looked down to avoid her face...

As I left home, my knapsack weighed on my shoulders...

tied to my back, the two of us walked like twins;

yolks of the same egg...

eyes looking forward...

and eyes looking backwards.

As I stood there, I saw many distant things.

That afternoon, I made my desperate decision...

to dwelve into the soft womb of time.

Who knows, I could have told to my brother tenderly:

"Go away, send my regards to the family!"

I could shut the door...

then, alone in my darkness...

I'd bundle myself in the soft cloth there was on the wall.

And, thus protected, give in to wine and to my fortune.

SCATENA BOARDING HOUSE BREAKFAST, MEALS AND ROOMS

Since I ran away, I stifled my revolt

and step by step, I went away from the farm.

And If I asked myself, "Where are we going?"

"We are always going home."

When I told Mother I was coming to see you,

she stood back...

and her eyes brimmed with tears.

There was fear in her eyes.

"Come on, Mother, cheer up, you should laugh, instead...

Don't be like that, and don't worry.

I promise I'll not argue with that runaway.

You'll see how happy he'll be. You'll see.

Mother, you'll see how everything...

is going to be like it was, just like it used to be!"

Bring him back, Pedro.

Don't tell your brother or your sisters you're going.

But bring him back.

Now I'll bake the sweet rolls, he enjoyed so much...

As she said that, held me firmly as if I were you, Andr�.

That's how you feed a lamb.

Mother has aged a lot.

I saw her sitting on her rocking chair,

completely alone and lost in her grey daydreams

unraveling the lace woven during a lifetime around love

and family union.

As I saw her comb in her bun in majestic simplicity...

I felt for a moment it was worth a history book.

But no one at home has changed as much as Ana.

As soon as you left, she shut herself in the chapel to pray.

When she is not wandering aimlessly in the woods...

she hides strangely over by the old house.

None of us can break her pious silence.

No one causes us more worry.

I don't drink any more. Nor should you drink any more.

Father's wisdom isn't in this wine!

The spirit of this wine will not repair the damage of our home!

Put the bottle away, that's serious, it's about the family!

Lt's all right to have a drink!

I'm an epileptic! An epileptic!

Your brother is epileptic, now you know it!

Go home and tell everyone!

Go now, and you'll see that the doors and windows at home...

will bang shut by this wind!

And you, men of the family...

carrying Father's heavy tool box, will walk around the house...

violently hammering crossed boards over the windows!

And our sisters...

dressed in black, will run around the house in mourning.

It'll be a chorus of howling, sobbing and whimpering...

a locked-up family dance!

He abandoned us...

And with a flock of scarves to hide their faces...

they will huddle, exhausted, sobbing in a corner...

He abandoned us...

And you will scream louder and louder:

"Our brother is a convulsive. A possessed epileptic!"

And tell them I have a room in a boarding house for my fits.

We lived with him and we didn't know.

Never even once we suspected!

Never even once we suspected!

He abandoned us.

He abandoned us.

And yell as you will, gorge yourselves!

Although you don't understand the sinister web I got caught in!

And you, Pedro, as the eldest, you may lament:

"It's sad he has our blood!" Cry out! Cry out loud:

"He's been possessed by a cursed disease!" Scream it!

What a disgrace has descended upon our household!

"What makes him different?" And you'll hear the chorus...

He's possessed by the devil! He's possessed by the devil!

"He's possessed by the devil!"

Then you go ahead and say:

His eyes are gloomy...

He's possessed by the devil!

Then keep sputtering, like stones in a sewer and say:

"What terrible crime has he committed?"

"What terrible crime has he committed?"

"He's possessed by the devil!" And then say:

"He has stained the family!

He condemned us to burn in shameful flames!"

He's possessed by the devil.

He's possessed by the devil.

And you'll always hear the same cavernous hollow sound:

"He's possessed by the devil."

And then, as if in blasphemy...

raise your arms. Raise your hands to heaven.

He has abandoned us!

He has abandoned us!

Plug your ears, Pedro. Plug your ears.

Stick your fingers in the hole!

And after all the weeping...

all the sobbing and teeth grinding...

go straight to the linen closet...

open its doors...

and look for the old linen sheets, kept with such care.

You'll see that those sheets, even those...

like everything in our house...

even those carefully washed and folded cloths, everything!

Everything in our house was totally soaked with Father's words!

It was him...

It was him who always said...

We must start by the truth and end with the truth.

Look at my arms.

Look.

Look.

But it was also him...

He was the one who said probably unaware of what he was saying...

and certainly not realizing how one of us could use it some day.

Look at the strength of the tree growing in isolation...

and the shade it provides to the herd.

The troughs...

the long troughs emerging isolated on the immense field...

smoothed by so many tongues...

where the cattle comes for the salt...

that purifies its flesh and skin.

Did it ever cross your mind, even for a short moment...

to open the dirty clothes hamper in the bathroom?

Did you ever think of dwelving in...

to carefully remove each and every intimate garment of the family?

I dragged up a shred of each of us when I dug there.

No one heard each one cry like I did, Pedro.

I knew the family's every mood...

moulding away in the vinegary, rotten smell...

of the cold, vein-ridden walls of a dirty clothes hamper.

No one stuck their hands in like I did!

No one felt the loneliness more.

You had to get out of bed...

and wander through the halls.

Listen to the throbbing and moaning behind all the doors...

and our muffled, homicidal plans.

I knew the body of the entire family.

I held the red dust-covered sanitary napkins in my hands...

as if they were an assassin's rags.

No one heard us like I did, Pedro.

No one loved us like I did. No one knew the path to our union.

Grandfather led us along that path...

that tall, slender old man carved out in the wood of our furniture.

The truth is, it was he led us...

he was a guide carved out of plaster.

He had no eyes, our grandfather.

Nothing more than two deep, hollow, somber pits in his face, Pedro!

Nothing else shone besides his terrible, golden hook!

I'm tired of soothing thoughts...

afflicting eyes, gentle contortions.

I want everything to burn:

My feet...

the thorns in my arms...

the leaves covering my wooden body...

my forehead...

my lips...

provided my useless tongue is spared.

I don't care if only laments are left...

the family's sobbing and moaning.

Pedro, my brother...

father's sermons were inconsistent.

The world of passions is an unbalanced world.

The passionate must be careful averting their eyes...

so they are not blurred by the rusty red dust.

Building a fence, simply shielding the body...

those are the ways...

to prevent darkness from one side...

from invading and contaminating light on the other.

Through isolation, we can escape the dangers of passion.

But do not think...

we should just always sit and cross our arms.

No one in this house shall rest while there is land to be tilled.

No one in this house shall rest when walls need building.

And let no one shall rest...

when a brother is in need.

I hadn't left home yet, Pedro...

but I saw suspicion in Mother's eyes.

I wanted to tell her:

"You are saying farewell now without knowing me."

I could have said:

"All I did was nestle in the straw of your womb for nine months...

and receiving for many years the tender touch of your hands and lips."

"That's why I'm leaving home...

that's why I'm going away."

I could have told her so much, Pedro.

But I thought it was useless.

"It makes no sense", I thought...

to leave in her poor, flour-coated hands...

an exasperated carnation stem.

"It makes no sense", I thought twice...

to stain her apron...

to cut the cord...

and other leaves.

That's why instead of saying...

"Mother, you don't know me..."

I preferred, Pedro, with my mouth dry and salty...

I preferred to remain buckled up before her...

as if nothing was the matter.

I had nothing to say, but she wanted to say something...

and I thought:

"Mother has something to say that I might listen to.

Something perhaps that should be saved carefully."

But all I could hear without her saying anything...

were the cracks in her old chinaware womb...

I heard in her eyes a desperate cry of a delivering mother.

I felt her fruit drying under my hot breath.

But I couldn't do anything, my eyes were darkened.

Still, I could have said:

"Mother, you and I have begun to ruin this house.

The time has come to throw out the window...

all the dishes and the flies of our old cup board..."

But I've already told you Pedro, my eyes...

were darker than they'd ever been before.

Me, the wayward son...

It was not of roads that I dreamt of.

I'd never thought to leave home.

I never thought of running afar searching for sensual thrills.

I knew, dear brother, from the most tender age...

how much disappointment awaited me outside our home.

Pedro. It's your silence I need now.

Lift your blinds.

Give your eyes free reigns.

Leave aside the family strength and caution.

And hold your harsh tongue.

Moisten your lips...

your mouth.

And your rotting teeth...

and probe the depths of your stomach.

Fill this leather pouch tightened by your belt,

let the wine seep through your pores.

That's the only way to idolize the obscene.

Oh, brother...

we've come to understand each other.

I can see your mouth is decongested

and the sweetness of the wine is in your eyes.

Take it in your hands, Pedro,

and feel this filthy ribbon.

This rag is the subtle extension of the red fingernails...

of my first whore.

What a crazy shame...

you poor, quivering boy.

You've got such a pure face...

and such a clean body.

What a crazy shame...

to see a boy with peach down...

with a smooth, bare chest...

burning in bed...

like kindling.

Take this.

Take this.

Take what you've asked me.

Keep this grimy little ribbon with you...

and come back to your niche, my little saint.

My little saint!

That's where I took my communion, Pedro.

Oh, brother. I lied on the blazing tangerine-filled ground.

Didn't I surrender like a child in the orgy of killer berries?

Wasn't it a precarious peace that came over me...

to have my body stretched out on a weed mattress?

Wasn't this different slumber perhaps temporary?

To have my fingernails dirty, my feet numbed.

Lice cutting trails through my hair.

My armpits visited by ants?

Wasn't this second slumber perhaps temporary?

To have my head crowned with butterflies.

Fat larvae sprouting from my bellybutton.

My cold forehead covered by insects.

My limp mouth kissing scarabs?

Such a sleepiness...

such a lethargy...

such a nightmare of adolescence!

What kind of rock is that, so heavy on my body?

There's a mysterious chill in this fire.

Where will I be taken, someday?

A white board...

and a pale dust.

A silent field...

lilies and the taller cypress trees...

such long cries, mourning my young body!

Get a little inside these things that lulled me to sleep.

Fatten your eyes with that crumpled orchid.

With this bracelet and these pink garters...

all these trinkets I bought with coins stolen from Father...

I buried it in this box to dig it out someday...

and spread them on the ground thinking, as I do now:

It was a long adolescence!

Take it with you, Pedro. Take home all these scraps...

and tell them how did it happen the story of the son and the brother.

Then request a warm night or a big fat moon.

Gather our sisters.

Make them dress up scantily in muslin...

wearing strappy sandals.

Paint their placid cheeks crimson, their eyelids green...

and their lashes dark charcoal.

Adorn their arms and their bare necks.

Put these cheap beads on them, ivory models.

Have these earrings bite their earlobes.

And don't forget the sensuous gestures...

exposing their clevage, and parts of their thighs.

Imagining fatal charms for their ankle bracelets.

Provoke on those newly red, debauched lips...

the thick flow of pestilent fluids.

Take it with you, Pedro! Take all those trinkets home!

And when you get there, announce solemnly:

"From your beloved brother." But be careful in handling them.

"To repay Father's sermons, our misfit brother also sends...

with the gifts, a heavy, scornful laughter."

Come on, put them in the bag!

As I look back on our utensils...

and the family clothing...

I hear diffused, lost voices inside that trench.

I'm not surprised by the clear water springing from the bottom.

And I withdraw into our weariness.

And I step back after such an exhaustive struggle.

And from our bale of routines I draw, one by one...

the sacred bones of our code of behavior:

The excess: Forbidden.

Zeal: A must.

And condemned as a vice...

through constant preaching any waste was to be banned...

denounced as a serious threat to our work.

And I face again the tepid message in looks and frowns.

And our hidden chagrins burning through our cheeks.

And the acid anguish of a stingy scold.

And discipline oftentimes rude...

there was also the children's crafts school...

forbidding us to buy elsewhere...

what could be made with our own hands.

And the toughest law said that it had to be right there...

at the farm, that all of our bread had to be kneaded.

We never had on our table a bread that was not homemade.

And by the time we would share it...

which happened three times a day...

we had of our ritual of austerity.

And it was also at the table, more than anywhere else.

Where with our heads bowed, we learned about justice.

Move, brother.

Open your eyes! Set them agog!

Take my hands in yours.

Let's go.

Once upon a time, there was a starving man.

Who's there?

Where do you come from?

Didn't you know...

you can have all you want if you go to our lord and master?

Lord and master, in God's name, I beg for charity.

- I am so hungry, I may collapse. - Stay here, poor man.

I want to break bread with you.

You must have the salt of my table.

God bless you and your saintly mother.

The starving man was writhing...

he thought to himself the poor must be patient...

when faced with the whims of the powerful...

refraining from showing any sign of anger.

Dear guest, my house is your house...

and my table is your table. Make yourself at home.

Eat until you are satisfied.

What do you think of this bread?

This bread is very pure and good.

I've never tasted a bread this good.

What about the delicacies on your left?

What do you think of this meat stuffed with rice and almonds...

or these lamb cutlets?

And what do you think of the aroma?

The aroma is inebriating...

as well as the presentation...

and the divine flavor.

You will now taste a tidbit from my own hand.

You must chew carefully.

Excellent!

You may bring dessert.

We shall make ourselves sweet.

Eat, eat. Do not stand on ceremony!

You must also try these figs fresh off the tree.

Here. Eat up, eat up.

God is merciful to human beings.

I am satisfied, sir. I can't eat anymore.

This is strange. You were so hungry when you arrived...

it's amazing you are already satisfied.

No matter, it has been an honor to share my table with you.

Ah... but we still haven't drunk.

What a perfect wine.

Finally, having searched all over the world...

I have found a man with a strong spirit...

and firm character, who, above all, has proven...

to have the most important virtue known to mankind:

Patience.

From now on, because of your fine character...

you will live in this huge, uninhabited house.

You can be certain...

you'll never lack food on your table.

At that moment, the servants brought a bread...

a true bread, and the man, thanks to patience...

was never hungry again.

How could a man who has bread on his table...

the needed salt...

meat and wine, tell a story about a hungry man?

How could Father have omitted so much...

every time he told that tale?

The most powerful ruler of the Universe...

confessed that after much searching he had just found...

a strong spirited man...

straight minded...

who above all had the rarest of human virtues:

Patience.

But before he could compliment his guest...

father didn't mention that the starving man...

with the amazing strength born of hunger...

struck violently the old man the beautiful white bearded!

Lord and master of my laurels...

you know I am your submissive slave...

I have sat at your table with you...

and shared a banquet of delicacies fit for a king...

to finish off, I've tasted your many old wines.

What else can you expect, my Lord?

The wine has gone to my head.

Therefore I am not responsible for what I just did...

when I raised my fist against my benefactor.

Impatience also has its rights!

Lmpatience also has its rights!

Lmpatience also has its rights!

I'm 17 years old.

I'm perfectly healthy...

and I'm going to start my own church on this rock.

I'm founding a church for my own needs...

a church I'll enter bare feet, naked as I came into the world.

I want to be the prophet of my own history.

Instead of gazing upwards...

I want to look with certainty to the fruits of earth.

And I can do it!

I can!

I can be the prophet of my own history!

I can do it!

I can!

I can be the prophet of my own history!

I can!

I can be the prophet of my own history! I can do it!

I can!

Maktub. (lt is written.)

Until someday...

a pestilent breath...

invades our carefully sealed boundaries...

reaching the surroundings of our home...

seeping slyly through the slits of our doors and windows...

catching an unaware member of our family...

no hand in our home...

shall clench a fist against the stricken brother.

Let each one of us look...

more candidly than ever...

upon the desperate brother.

And the care of each one shall be given to this needy brother,

each of us will inhale...

the noxious odor of this brother...

and our gentle hearts will soothe his wounds...

and our lips will tenderly kiss his tousled hair.

For love within the family is the supreme form of patience.

It is through family union...

that we may find the achievement of our principles.

And occasionally...

amongst our most immediate needs...

each of you should take the time to sit on a bench...

with one foot set squarely on the ground...

then, leaning over...

rest an elbow on one knee...

then approach the chin...

rest the head on the back of our hand...

and with gentle eyes, watch the movement of the sun...

and the rains...

and the winds...

with these same gentle eyes...

watch time's mysterious manipulation...

of the other tools it skillfully wields...

in its transformations...

never once questioning its unfathomable...

meandering designs...

just as you never question the pure flat plains...

or the winding trails drawn by the herds on the pasture.

Because the cows...

always go to the trough.

The cows always go to the watering pit.

Patience is the virtue of all virtues.

He who despairs is not wise...

he who does not submit is foolish.

I'm crazy. I'm crazy...

God...

I make no mistake in this fire...

in this passion...

in this delirium...

I should have baited her with grape seeds...

a winding trail up to the front stairs...

and held fresh pomegranates at the front windows.

I should have done a colorful flower garland.

I should've ran on the old railing at the porch...

White, white...

Her white face...

Ana!

Time...

Time...

This sometimes gentle...

sometimes cruel torturer.

Despotic devil that affects everything.

He still decides everything. Now and always.

This is why I bow down to Time in fear...

and held in suspense, I wonder:

In which exact moment does the change happen?

Which instant?

Which terrible instant marks the leap?

Which gale of wind?

Which end in space conspires, taking us to the limit?

The limit in which all vibrationless things...

cease to be just part of daily life...

to come alive in the depths of our memory.

A miracle, my God. A miracle!

Let this hand breathe like mine, oh God!

And in my lack of faith I will give You back the existence.

Allow me to live this passion!

A miracle!

And in Your name, I'll sacrifice a lamb of my father's herd.

One of the ones grazing in the bluish dawn...

a young one in the dew, a plump and agile, wild animal.

A miracle, my God!

And I'll give you life in return!

We'll drink many wines.

We'll get drunk like children.

We'll climb steep hills, bare feet...

and holding hands...

together we'll set the world on fire!

It's mine!

It's mine!

The doves in my yard were free to fly.

They took long journeys, but they always returned.

For it was nothing, but love what we had to exchange.

They flew far away and I could recognize them on distant rooftops.

Among stray birds I hoped someday...

would come to my immense garden.

It was Ana, Pedro.

It was Ana.

My hunger was for Ana.

Ana was my illness.

She was my insanity.

My breath...

my blade...

and my chill.

My breath...

my harassment...

I was the crazed brother.

I was the desperate brother.

I was the vile smelling brother.

I was the one who had the skin covered with slugs slime,

and the devil's slobber coating my skin.

Hurry up, Pedro, bring me the basin...

in which we bathed when we were little.

Bring the warm water...

the ash soap...

the scratchy sponge...

and the white fluffy towel.

Wrap me up...

wrap me up in your arms.

And dry my tormented hair...

then run your earnest hand over my neck.

You must do it, Pedro.

You...

who were the first to open our mother.

You...

gifted with the saintity pertaining to an elder brother.

It was Ana.

It was Ana.

It was Ana.

It was Ana.

Ana...

When I saw my brother covering his face with his hands...

it was clear to me that he was seeking support.

He was definitely in search of some solid, hard ground.

I could even hear his cries for help.

But when he suddenly got deeply still, it was my Father.

I also thought it was maybe an exercise of patience...

in which we'd withdraw...

to consult in darkness the elders' texts...

the noble, ancestral pages...

but in my trance, his pain didn't matter any longer...

nor did my respect for the ancient sayings.

I had to scream in furor that my madness...

had more wisdom than Father's wisdom.

That my illness suited me better than the family's good health.

That my remedies had never been mentioned in the books.

But there was another medicine. Mine.

I recognized no science except my own...

and everything was merely a matter of perspective.

Only my point of view held any meaning whatsoever.

I wanted to tell him only a satisfied person would

test the virtue of patience with other people's hunger.

I had to say all this in a verbal fit...

turning upside down the sermon table.

Destroying clamps, bolts and moorings.

Establishing a different balance, and gathering strenght...

to go higher and higher.

Tightening mainly my clandestine muscles...

rediscovering at once the beast in me,

My hooves, jaws and spurs...

letting the oily grease coat my sculptured self as I galloped...

with my feathered mane flying like feathers.

Stepping with my sagittarius paws the soft belly of the world.

Taking from this pasture a grain of wheat...

and a fat slice of wine-soaked wrath.

Me, the epileptic.

The possessed, crazed epileptic.

Me, the starved, rolling in my convulsive speech...

the soul of a flame.

A veronica cloth and a squirt of mud...

mixing the salty name of our sister into this flowing broth...

the perverted name of Ana.

Such shivering...

So many suns...

Such agony.

And Ana was there next to me.

Her presence was so necessary.

I thought how often, like two children...

we would be able to laugh riotously.

Spraying the urine of each one...

against the other's body.

Wetting ourselves as we had done just awhile ago.

And mixing together with our laborious tongues...

the saliva of each other.

Uniting our faces, wet by our eyes...

cheek to cheek.

Thinking that we were made of dirt...

and that everything in us would germinate in the other...

with the water received from the other.

The sweat of one for the sweat of the other.

My eyes were still closed...

when I touched the hay again.

Ana was gone.

I didn't know love required watching over...

that there's no such thing as everlasting peace...

nor a goblet without a trace of poison.

Ana.

Ana!

Ana, if you're here, please answer me!

Answer me!

I love you, Ana.

I love you, Ana.

Ana, listen, that's all I'm asking.

What happened between us was a miracle, dear sister.

We've discovered our bodies fit so well.

Through this union our childhood can thrive...

with no sorrow over our playthings...

no longing for our shared past.

It was a miracle to have discovered above all...

that we've become whole in our own home...

just as Father said...

happiness is only found within the family.

It was a miracle, Ana!

This arrangement of destiny shall not vanish.

I want to be happy.

Me...

the odd son...

the black sheep no one wants to confess...

the family's good-for-nothing...

but who loves our home.

And I love this land...

and I also love to work, unlike what everyone thinks.

My hands are blessed for planting.

I can hear the call of the land all the time.

I'll take perfect care of our animals...

sheltering the cows from gusty winds.

Protecting them under the trees during heavy storms.

I have a shepherd's soul, dear sister!

I'm very versatile.

There's nothing in the farm I wouldn't do.

And some day, our father...

will be lost in his thoughts, and I'll walk towards him...

sit down by his side, and very naturally...

start the conversation we never had.

That's how it'll be, and wonderful things will follow.

Help me to lose myself in this family love through your love, Ana.

I can't take another step in such darkness!

Give me your hand, Ana!

So many things are waiting for us...

A single gesture of yours will guide my attitude,

my behaviour...

my virtues...

Everything, Ana, begins with your love.

That is the seed.

Your love for me...

is the beginning of the world.

Help me, Ana.

Answer me.

Say just one word!

Nod your head slightly, it's enough...

or gently move your hair...

or the soles of your feet!

Be kind to me, Ana!

Be kind to me before it's too late, Ana.

Don't push me away, don't let me go!

I've already said, I'm tired.

I want my place at the family table.

The family can be spared of our secret.

For my part, I'd even give up the children we would have.

The old house is enough.

I want to come again and feel the intense joy of our love.

Acknowledge with me where this passion began...

If our severe Father made a temple of our home...

Mother...

with her lavish affection...

only made it the house of our damnation.

I'm thirsty, Ana. I want to drink!

This wound, this fester isn't my fault nor is this thorn...

nor the mucus flowing through from my pores!

I can't be blamed for this cursed slime...

not for this blooming sun...

this crazed flame. I can't be blamed for my delirium!

One bead on your rosary for my passion!

Two beads for my testicles!

All the beads for my eyes!

Say ten rosaries for the brother gone mad!

I'm bathed in spleen, Ana...

but I can still face your rejection.

I won't hide my smile...

if disease plagues our herds and crops.

I'll turn my back as everyone rushes around.

I'll cross my arms when they ask for help...

cover my eyes to avoid their wounds...

turn a deaf ear to their cries...

I'll shrug if the house tumbles to the ground.

I did not get what I wanted, I'll have no pity for the world!

To love and to be loved was all I asked...

but I was cast off unfairly.

I was amputated.

I'm now in the brotherhood of rejects...

of the forbidden, the unloved...

the afflicted, the anxious...

the restless, the writhing...

of the brotherhood of tainted foreheads...

bearing the ashen scar of sacred envy...

of the thirsty for equality and justice...

those who eventually end up bowing to Evil!

His whispering forces us against the current...

his harsh breath scratches our ears.

Seducting us until we reject the fragile solidity of order,

those stone buildings,

constructed on weeping shoulders!

He is the first, the only, the sovereign!

Your generous God is just a servant.

He doesn't see his own laws fuel the Eternal Fire!

I feel a new wave coming on...

I feel like piercing your saints.

Your tender angels...

I want to bite into the heart of your Christ!

I'm dying...

I'm dying.

And the thicker the shell is made,

more suffering there is under its weight.

Instead of being safe, they are consumed by fear.

They hide from everyone...

not knowing that their own eyes are withering.

They unsuspectingly become their own prisoners.

They hold the key, but they forget what it opens.

They agonize over their personal problems...

and never reach the cure, for they reject the medicine.

Wisdom is found precisely in...

not shutting oneself in a smaller world.

Being humble, a man abandons his individuality...

to become part of a greater whole...

from where he draws his greatness.

It is only through the family...

that each of us shall have a greater existence.

Only by surrendering to the family that each one shall forget...

about his own problems.

In preserving this unity...

each of us shall reap the finest rewards.

Our law...

is not to withdraw, but to join in...

not to separate...

but to unify.

Wherever one shall be,

his brother shall be there as well...

He's back.

He's in his room.

He who was lost...

has returned home.

He for whom we have wept...

has been returned to us.

Rosa!

Andr� is ill...

he needs care.

We better let him rest for a while.

Pedro is right.

Meanwhile we'll prepare his homecoming party.

Blessed be the day of your return.

Our home has been wasting away, my son...

but it is once again it is filled with joy.

I want to talk with you.

Later...

once you've rested.

For now...

take a bath, wash off the dust...

before sitting at the table your mother has set to you.

Andr�, dear brother, God bless you!

Ana ran off to the chapel right away to give thanks...!

Mother is preparing your party, we'll help her.

We're inviting everybody.

- Relatives... - Neighbours...

...friends, cousins, everyone!

But for us in the family...

the greatest joy is to have you back.

You've brought back twice the joy we'd lost.

Now, let's wash up. Mother can't see you like this.

My heart...

is acking to see your scarred face, my son.

Don't hide anything from your father, be clear.

To make yourself understood, your ideas must be organized:

Word by word.

In all order there is a seed of disorder...

in clarity, a seed of obscurity. That's why I talk like I do.

For example, I could be very clear and say...

that I had never thought of, ever, until I changed my mind...

I never thought of leaving home.

I could be clear and say as well that I never thought...

neither before nor after I left...

I'd find elsewhere what I wasn't given here.

And what weren't you given?

I wanted to have my place at the family table.

So that's why you abandoned us?

Because you didn't have a seat at the table?

I have never abandoned you, Father.

All I did, when I went away, was to spare you from watching me...

surviving on my own guts.

Yet there was always bread on our table...

and you were never forbidden to sit down with the family...

on the contrary...

all we ever wanted was to have you at our table.

I'm not talking about that kind of food.

Share only that bread may in some cases be just a cruelty...

it would only perpetuate my hunger.

What are you talking about?

- It doesn't matter. - This was a blasphemy!

No. Father this wasn't blasphemy.

I spoke like a saint for the first time in my life.

You're not well, son.

A few days work with your brothers will quieten your pride...

you'll recover your health very soon.

I'm not interested in the health you talk about.

There's always a seed of disease in it...

just as there's a strong seed of health in my illness.

Forget your whims, son.

Mixing up our ideas is pointless.

Don't try to keep me out of your problems.

I don't believe in the discussion of my problems.

I don't believe in exchanging ideas.

One plant can never see the other.

Conversation is very important, son.

Every word, indeed is a seed.

If I lived ten lives, I'd still think that talking...

is like an overripe fruit.

You're young, naturally selfish...

you think only of the fruit when planting.

The harvest isn't the greatest reward, when we sow...

we are grateful just by knowing our lives are meaningful.

There is glory in the long cultivation...

a valuable glory we hand down...

if indeed, that is the legacy we bestow.

- Father, sowing is not enough. - Of course not, son.

If others are to reap what we've sown today...

we now reap what's been sown before us.

That's life, such is the current of life.

I'm already disenchanted with the current.

Those who sow and don't reap, still reap what they did not plant.

I didn't get my share of the legacy, Father.

Why forge on?

My hands are already tied, I'm not going to bind my feet.

So, I don't care how the wind blows.

I don't see what difference it makes.

Things can move forward or backward.

I don't believe the little I understand here.

You can't expect a prisoner to serve happily in the jailer's house.

It's absurd to demand a loving embrace...

from one whose arms we've amputated.

Or worse, a person with maimed hands...

clapping his feet at his torturer.

The ugly, bowing to the beautiful becomes even uglier.

- Go on. - The poor man applauding...

the rich becomes poorer...

the small man, smaller for applauding the great...

the short man, shorter, for applauding the tall, and so on.

I can't embrace values that crush me.

It's a sad game to live in other people's skin.

The victim crying for his oppressor becomes a prisoner twice over.

What you say is very strange.

It's a strange world, Father...

which only reunites by dividing.

Built on accidents, there's no self-sustained order.

Merit is spurious, Father.

I wasn't the one who planted that seed.

What are you trying to say?

I'm not trying to say anything.

- My son, you're terribly disturbed. - No, father, I'm not disturbed.

- Who were you talking about? - No one in particular.

I was only thinking of hopeless cases...

of those who moan with reason...

of those who cry out in thirst, passion...

and solitude...

I was thinking only of them.

I want to understand you, son...

but I don't understand anymore.

I'm mixing things up as I speak, my words are rushing, but I'm lucid.

If there's chaff, there's plenty of grain in what I say.

But you're hiding your meaning.

I've said I don't discuss my problems.

It's dangerous to cross boundaries.

It takes strength to face reality...

you'd be insane to think your family hostile.

Reality isn't the same for everyone.

I only know any place is hostile, insofar as the right to live is denied.

There's no hostility in this house, you're not denied the right to live...

such thoughts are inadmissible.

- That's one point of view. - It's not a point of view!

We've lived for you children.

No one in need has lacked support in this family.

- Father, sir, you misunderstood me. - How can I understand you, Andr�?

You're stubborn, I don't understand that.

Where else could you share your problems?

Nowhere, much less here!

Our family life has been precarious!

You set impossible limits!

Father, you just said every word is a seed...

they contain life, energy...

and may even contains an explosive force,

we run great risks when we talk.

Don't interpret me with suspicion and levity!

You know you can count on our love!

The love we've learned here...

I discovered later, doesn't know what it wants.

It's now just a mere hindrance.

Love doesn't always unite, it can separate.

I could say love in the family may not be as grand as we think!

Be quiet!

Enough of your eccentricity!

I don't think I'm eccentric.

Still, it doesn't matter what I say.

Since you think I'm eccentric, who cares if I'm as plain as the doves?

If I set an olive branch on this table...

you might only see a thistle!

I'll have no provocation at this table!

Enough of your pride!

Control the snake under your tongue!

Ignore the devil murmuring in your ear!

Be humble in your manner, Andr�, answer me as a son should!

- Be clear as a man should be! - Lf I'm confusing.

Stop the confusion for once and for all!

- Lf I avoid being clearer... - Be quiet! Be quiet!

Our water doesn't flow from this fountain...

nor our light, from this darkness.

Your haughty words aren't going to destroy now.

What it's taken millenniums to build!

No one in our family will mix words as they speak...

tangle ideas, grind everything to dust.

Because if you open your eyes too wide, you'll be blinded.

Furthermore, pretentious enlightenment...

is as blinding as darkness.

Never try to set a new course to avoid the unavoidable.

Let no one confuse that which cannot be confused:

The fruit bearing tree with the barren...

nor the seed that multiplies, with dry grain!

The simplicity of our daily life, with barren thoughts.

I'm telling you to hold your tongue!

I won't have depraved wisdom contaminating our family!

It was not love, after all...

but pride...

scorn...

and selfishness...

that brought you back home...

That's enough, Yohana!

Spare our son!

I'm tired, Father.

Forgive me!

I have not returned with a proud heart...

I've come home humble and submissive.

I have no more illusions...

I know all about loneliness now...

I know about misery...

And I also know now, I should never have taken one step from home.

From now on, I want to be like my brothers:

I'm going to submit to my tasks...

I'll be out in the fields before sunrise...

and I'll stay long after sunset.

My work will be my religion...

my fatigue will be my euphoria.

I'll help maintain the family union.

From the bottom of my heart, I want to deserve...

all your love.

Your words...

have touched my heart, dear son.

The tears of joy...

erase the bitterness of your absence.

I feel a new light on this table.

For a minute I thought I had sown...

on barren land...

on gravel, or on a field of thorns.

But no.

Tomorrow we'll celebrate the once blind son...

who can now see.

So, go rest.

My son.

My dear son.

My heart.

My eyes.

My lamb.

The box...

my box.

Lula...!

Lula...!

Lula...!

- Were you asleep? - Of course.

Couldn't you tell?

I wanted to have a little chat with you.

- That's why I woke you up. - Chat about what?

- Lula, I've just come home. - So what?

I thought you'd be happy...

Why?

- I don't know, I just thought so. - Well, your thought was wrong.

If that's how you're going to talk, then we'd better just forget about it.

You shouldn't have started, good-night.

What's wrong with you, Lula?

- I just wanted to talk like friends. - What's wrong?

What's wrong, you have the nerve to ask?

I've been here waiting for you for over an hour.

A whole hour, Andr�!

Now you feed me this line about friends...

- I didn't know, Lula. - You didn't know.

Where else would I be?

I wasn't out in the pasture, with the sheep.

Okay, Lula... Good- night, then.

I'm running away, Andr�!

Tomorrow, during your party.

I can't stand this prison anymore.

I can't stand Father's sermons, the work...

nor Pedro watching over me.

I want to be in charge of my life, Andr�.

I wasn't born to live here. I don't like to work the land...

not in the sunshine, much less in the rain.

I can't stand the boring life on this filthy farm!

I said not to talk so loud!

As soon as you left, Andr�...

I spent all my time sitting up on the gate...

dreaming of the open road...

Iooking out as far as my eyes could see.

I couldn't take my mind off your adventures.

I want to see lots of cities, travel all over the world.

I want to exchange my nosebag for a backpack...

travel from place to place, like a vagabond!

I'm leaving never to return!

I'm not giving in to begging, Andr�!

I'm brave, I'm not going to fail like you!

What are you doing, Andr�?!

What are you doing, Andr�?!

Time...

time and its inflammable waters.

The tireless, wide, flowing river.

Father used to say, "Woe unto him..."

who tries to hold back its movement...

for he shall be consumed by its waters.

Woe unto him, the wizard's apprentice...

who tears open his shirt to confront it...

he will succumb to its flames.

Time and its changes...

present in everything, in every inch, in every grain...

and also present, with its seconds...

in every letter of this passionate story of mine...

transforming the dark night of my homecoming...

into a bright morning.

That was how Ana...

draped in the vulgar trinkets from my box...

caught my party like a storm...

sweeping the dance circle with her diseased body.

She controlled everyone with her violent spirit.

She knew what she was doing...

with her moist dance and soaking body.

She hurled me impetuously...

into bizarre ecstasy...

until I saw my legs to one side...

and arms to the other.

My amputated arms and legs...

struggled to regain their ancient unity.

Oh versatile devil!

No, Father!

What horror, no!

What horror, no!

Where is the family's union?

Father!

Time is the greatest treasure known to man.

Although not consumable...

time is our most valuable nourishment.

Time is immeasurable, yet it is our greatest gift...

it has neither beginning nor end.

A miser who compares his worth with his wealth is poor...

so is the man who spreads himself out over vast lands.

The only rich man is the man who has.

Learned to live piously and humbly with time...

approaching it gently, never disrupting its current...

always welcoming it wisely to receive its favors, not its wrath.

Life is essentially, held in balance by this supreme gift.

When seeking, if you know when to wait.

And how much time to give things...

you won't trip up in error.

Only the true measure of time reveals the true nature of things.

Done by (c) dCd / September 2005