Original subtitles

Suffice to say that I am Juan Pablo Castel, the painter who killed Mar�a Iribarne.

Why am I writing this confession?

I hope someone will come along who understands me.

I�ve always been a solitary person.

There existed one person who could understand me,

but she was precisely the person I killed.

No one knows how I met Mar�a Iribarne,

the nature of our relationship, and what gave me the idea of killing her.

At the 1946 Autumn Salon, I exhibited a painting entitled "Maternity."

It was in the style of my earlier paintings, which critics described as architectural.

In the upper left, through a window one could see a woman looking at the sea.

No one paid attention to this scene, nor seemed to understand how crucial it was.

Except for one woman.

That�s how I met Mar�a Iribarne.

Then I said...

Pardon me.

Come with me, I'm going to take some photographs.

She was with me, but I don�t know where she went.

Join us, Mr. Castel.

Look up. Look at me, please.

Until they closed the exposition, I returned every day hoping to run into her.

But she didn't come back.

Leave it there, please.

Here. - Thank you.

The Tunnel, based on the novel by Ernesto Sabato

For the next few months I only thought of her.

How could I find an unknown woman in a city like Buenos Aires?

That photograph proved she was real,

and not a figment of my imagination, or my desire.

How much time passed?

I was incapable of painting for months.

I was obsessed with her image.

Until the day I ran into her.

Excuse me, is this the metro entrance? - Yes, of course.

Why are you blushing?

You�re blushing because you recognize me,

and you think that it�s by chance, but it isn�t.

Because chance doesn�t exist. Actually, I�ve been thinking about you a lot.

Today I saw you on the street and followed you here.

I want to ask you something important about the scene by the window.

What window?

You�re telling me you don�t remember?

Well, I believe I was mistaken.

I�m sorry. Goodbye.

Wait!

Forgive me.

Forgive my stupidity.

You surprised me.

I didn�t realize you were asking about the scene in the painting.

You remember my painting?

I think about it constantly.

The idea of losing her again, possibly forever, made me dizzy.

The next day, I went back to the same place.

Come with me.

Where are you taking me? - There�s a lot I want to say to you.

Why did you run away from me?

I don't know.

but I also want to run away now.

Promise me something.

Promise me,

that you won�t run away again.

I need you.

Please, believe me, I need you.

I need to be with you.

You�re a great artist. Why would you need me?

At the bottom of my heart, I believe you're very important to me.

For what I have to do, even though I still don�t know what that is.

But it has to do with the scene by the window.

I�m no art critic.

Critics? Don�t mention those cretins.

You were interested at the exposition.

The scene by the window is my most personal work,

the most personal work I�ve ever done,

and not one of those charlatans noticed its significance.

You're the only person who was interested in it, and you're not a critic.

There was another person who paid attention to it,

but negatively. He was scared, almost disgusted by the scene.

Might I not have the same opinion?

What opinion?

The same as that person.

No.

You think like me.

And what do you think of it?

The scene by the window...

frightens me.

but it represents me.

That is to say, it is me.

Although the message isn't very clear. - A message of despair?

Yes, could be. A message of despair.

You see how we think alike?

Do you think a message of despair is commendable?

What do you think?

The word �commendable� isn�t relevant here.

What�s most important is truth.

Do you believe that scene is truthful?

I believe that it is.

When will I see you again?

Whenever you want.

Though I don't know what you'll get out of it.

I hurt everyone who comes close to me.

I hurt everyone who comes close to me.

I hurt everyone who comes close to me.

Hello? - Miss Iribarne, please.

What?

Does a Miss Iribarne live there? I want to talk to her.

Ah, yes, one moment. I'll see if she's here.

Hello? - Mar�a, I need to see you�

I need to see you again. I can�t stop thinking about you.

Hello? Are you still there? - Wait a moment.

I can�t talk. - Why?

There are too many people around.

Now can you? What happened? - I closed the door.

They know not to disturb me when I close the door.

Listen, Mar�a. I need to see you.

I know today you said we'd see each other again,

but that's not enough.

I didn�t dare propose to see you right away - tomorrow for instance.

All I want is to be by your side. I didn't want you to leave.

I haven't done anything but think of you.

I have to go now. Call me tomorrow.

I went for a walk and discovered something very strange had happened,

I felt happy.

Hello? Miss Iribarne?

She's not in. She went to the country this morning.

Sorry, what did you say? She went to the country?

- Yes, sir. Are you Mr. Castel? - Yes, I'm Castel.

She left a letter for you. She said she didn't have your address.

Good morning. My name is Juan Pablo Castel.

I'm here for a letter from Mar�a Iribarne. - Follow me, please.

Please wait here.

You must be Castel.

Yes, Mr. Iribarne.

My name isn't Iribarne. And don't call me 'Mister.'

My name is Allende. I'm Mar�a's husband.

She always uses her maiden name.

Mar�a has told me a lot about your painting.

Because I'm only recently blind, I can still imagine things well.

Here's the letter.

Go on, read it.

Though being from Mar�a, it shouldn't be too urgent.

No thank you. - Please sit, Castel.

I also think of you.

Anything urgent? - No, nothing urgent.

Maria has always been like that.

Many people confuse their impulses with priorities.

Mar�a does things that don�t change the situation at all.

I don�t know if you know what I mean.

It�s as if someone were in the desert,

running rapidly from dune to dune.

The speed isn�t important,

because the landscape will always be the same.

No, that's not quite right.

I�m not good with metaphors.

Today for example,

she woke up early and said she was going to the country house.

What country house? - Ours, my grandfather's.

But now it belongs to my cousin Hunter.

Do you know him?

Hunter, the architect? - That's right.

I've heard of him.

I have to go. - Come on.

I'm sorry.

I hope that we meet again.

Of course.

What kind of abominable comedy is this?

I also think of you.

I had to accept that if Mar�a wanted me to go to her house,

it was so I'd have to face the fact that she had a husband.

But why did she do it in such a cruel way?

It was a clear provocation.

Mar�a wanted to continue our relationship in the most dangerous manner.

What did you mean, Mar�a?

I'm desperate. Write to me.

I spent three very strange days.

The sea. The beach. The roads.

They brought me memories of other times,

not only images, but also voices and shouts.

It�s strange, but to live consists in constructing future memories.

I look ahead, and I see your face.

Dear Mar�a,

I love you.

Two days later, I finally received a response with only these words:

I�m afraid of hurting you.

It doesn't matter what you can do for me.

If I can�t love you, I will die.

Every second that passes without seeing you is an interminable torture.

Hello? - It�s me, Mar�a.

I just got back to Buenos Aires.

Mar�a, I want to see you right away. - All right. Where?

I'll wait at the park in Palermo.

I'd prefer Recoleta. I'll be there at 9.

Why did you go to the country?

Why did you leave me that letter? Why didn't you tell me you're married?

Why did you leave me alone?

Juan Pablo, you're hurting me. - Why don�t you answer me?

Why?

Does everything need to have an answer?

Let�s not talk about me.

Let�s talk about you and your work. About what's on your mind.

All I�ve done is think about your painting.

Have you been painting? - I want to talk about us, not about myself.

But... - Listen. I need to know if you love me.

I need to know. That and nothing else.

Then you don�t love me.

Is that true?

Of course I love you.

Why must one say certain things? - But how do you love me?

I have to know. I need to know.

Juan Pablo, it�s very late.

Tomorrow we can meet again. - No.

Every time you say that I lose you.

Every time? - Listen.

Listen, I've spent my whole life losing you.

But tonight I won't lose you.

One moment, I have a match.

You're laughing.

Why are you laughing?

Why are you laughing?

Wait a moment.

Wait.

Are you laughing at me? - No, I'm laughing...

- At what? - At us.

Be careful, you'll burn yourself again.

They're going to hear us. - It doesn't matter.

If you knew how much time I�ve spent here thinking of you.

Sometimes I've had the feeling that�

we've been living in two parallel tunnels.

One next to the other until at last we met.

Isn't that so?

In front of my painting, as if it were a key just for you.

A secret code to tell you that I was looking for you.

Now you have found me.

No, no.

Don�t look at those paintings. They�re not finished yet.

Why haven't you finished them?

I needed you.

How strange.

What's strange?

I have the feeling...

that we've been living together before now.

Me too.

I'm afraid. - Afraid of me?

No.

Afraid for us both, Juan Pablo.

For a month we saw each other almost every day.

A time that was both marvelous and horrible.

My feelings vacillated between the purest love and the most relentless hatred.

At times she seemed like a modest woman.

And suddenly, it occurred to me that she was a woman like any other.

Where? How? Who? When?

Sometimes I felt like she invaded my intimacy

and I took refuge in my room to ruminate on my apprehensions.

Mar�a.

Why do you call yourself Miss Iribarne instead of Mrs. Allende?

How silly you are. How important can that be?

For me, very.

It's a family tradition.

The first time that I called your house...

and asked for Miss Iribarne, the maid hesitated before responding.

Maybe you imagined it.

Could be, but why didn�t she correct me?

I just explained it�s our tradition, as the maid knows very well.

Everyone calls me Mar�a Iribarne.

Mar�a Iribarne seems reasonable to me, but�

It's less reasonable that the maid wasn't surprised to hear you called Miss.

So that's what you're getting at. It's not usual, maybe that's why she hesitated.

Yes, she hesitated. But she didn't correct me.

Who?

The maid. She didn�t correct me when I said �Miss.�

Juan Pablo, it�s not important. I don't know what you're trying to prove.

That it probably wasn't the first time someone called you Miss.

Otherwise, logically she would have corrected me.

You're incredible.

When you got on the phone, your voice was neutral, like a clerk's.

until you told me you had closed the door.

Then you resumed talking in your tender voice, but why the change?

How could I talk to you tenderly in front of the maid?

Fair enough, but you said "They know not to disturb me when I close the door."

You couldn't have been referring to me. It was the first time I called you.

Nor Hunter, who you can see whenever you want at the country house.

It seems evident to me that other people call you.

That�s right, people who call you, or called you.

Isn't that so, Mar�a?

You could answer me instead of standing around.

Of course other people call me.

Cousins, friends of the family, my mother�

For those kinds of conversation, there's no need to hide yourself away.

How dare you say that I hide? - Hold on, don�t get angry,

All I want to say is that you once talked about a certain Richard,

who wasn't your cousin, or a friend of the family,

and wasn�t your mother either.

Poor Richard.

Why 'poor?'

No one knows it, but he committed suicide.

And in a way, I�m partly to blame.

He wrote me some dreadful letters,

but I could never do anything for him.

- I'd like to see those letters. - Why? He's dead.

I don't care. I'd like to see them.

I burned them all.

You could have started with that instead of telling me he's dead.

It�s always the same with you.

I don�t understand why you're so mysterious with me.

Why did you burn the letters, anyway?

Well, that�s if you burned them.

They must've been very compromising for you to have done that.

I didn�t burn them because they were compromising,

but because they were sad. They made me depressed.

Why?

I don't know.

Richard was very depressed.

Just like you.

Were you in love with him?

What strange ideas you have.

Strange ideas? What strange ideas?

You felt obligated to burn letters from a man who killed himself,

and I have strange ideas. Why strange?

Because I was never in love with him.

Why not?

I don't know. Maybe he wasn't my type.

You said he was like me.

I said in a certain way he resembled you, not that you were identical.

He was a man incapable of creating anything.

Very intelligent, but in a destructive way.

A little like your dark side. - My dark side?

That part of you that feels apprehension, fear,

almost disgust before that scene by the window.

If you weren�t in love with him, why did you burn his letters?

I told you I burned them because they depressed me.

You could have kept them without reading them again.

But if you burned them, it means you read them more than once.

There must've been a reason, or you must've found him attractive.

I didn�t say he wasn�t attractive to me.

Of course you did. You said he wasn�t your type.

You can�t expect me to be capable of explaining all my feelings.

Sometimes, I find the idea of death attractive.

I was attracted to Richard.

In the same way I�m attracted to death.

Or maybe the idea...

of disappearing forever.

I want to sleep with you.

It tortured me, and even today it tortures me.

One word that escaped her lips, in a moment of physical pleasure.

Want some?

Mar�a...

It�s impossible for people to realize you�re married. You don�t wear a ring.

No.

You don�t ever wear it?

I don�t know. Usually not.

Do you leave it at home? Where do you keep it?

Juan Pablo, why is that important?

The truth is important, Mar�a. - How important is this truth?

Are you crazy?

It�s importance because it�s the truth. It�s the truth about you and me.

Why don�t you wear your ring? Why don�t you want people to know you�re married?

If you don�t want people to know the truth, aren't you lying?

What isn't true might not be a lie.

Do you understand what I'm saying?

I think...

If I ever find out you've deceived me, I'll kill you.

Tell me, do you wear your ring at home?

Do you wear your ring at home? Answer me, yes or no?

Do you know what people think of a woman who does that?

That you want men to think you're available. That you're a whore.

Mar�a. Mar�a!

Mar�a!

I didn't say that you were a whore.

I didn't call you a whore. I only said people might think that.

But I'm not those people. I'm just...

I'm sorry. Forgive me. It's just that...

My God...

I don't know what came over me.

I didn't mean to say that.

I know that I've hurt and offended you.

I'm going crazy.

Just the thought of you leaving for ever drives me crazy.

You disappear from my life, and everything ends.

I don't know anything about you, or what you do outside.

Or the lies you're forced to tell when you leave.

No, no, no.

I don't mean to say that you're lying. That's not what I mean.

Forgive me. Forgive me, please.

I love you so much. I love you.

I love you.

What are you doing?

Can't you see? I'm shaving.

We can't keep hurting each other.

Don't torture yourself.

I've forgiven you. I know you didn't mean it.

Of course not.

If I had meant it, then of course any woman...

even a whore, would be offended.

and not smile right away, like you did.

Unless there were truth in the accusation. And so, you would have had to smile.

Where are you going?

What are you doing?

I'd like to be with you on one of those boats.

Go to New York.

Or Geneva. Or Venice.

That would be a dream come true.

You're the first man that I've truly loved.

Come with me. Let's go.

Right now. We can be on the first boat that leaves tonight.

We can't think only of ourselves.

The world is very complicated, Juan Pablo.

What are you trying to say?

That happiness is always surrounded by pain.

What are you thinking about?

About you.

And your husband.

Why did you marry Allende?

I loved him.

And you don't anymore?

I didn't say that.

You said 'I loved him,' not that 'I love him.'

You obsess over every word, and twist them however you want.

When I said I married him because I loved him, I didn't mean I don't love him now.

Then you still love him.

What do you mean by that?

You said I was the first man that you'd truly loved.

There are many ways to love. - Tell me them.

You don't think I kept loving him after we married?

I don't know. That's exactly what I want to know.

How do you love him? What do you call love?

Juan Pablo.

We've talked about that already. I've told you, and explained...

Yes, you've told me, but you've explained nothing.

My husband is a great companion.

I love him like a brother.

I attend to him.

I feel tenderly towards him.

I admire him very much.

I think he's a superior person to me.

At his side I feel... trivial. I don't know what else to say.

Do you sleep with him? Talk.

Do I have to answer that? - Yes.

You have no right to interrogate me. - Answer yes or no.

The answer isn't that simple. - It's very simple. Answer yes or no!

All right. Yes

Then you still desire him physically.

I said I sleep with him, not that I desire him.

You sleep with him without desiring him, but make him believe you do?

I didn't say that.

Why don't you say what you mean?

Don't you realize all this time you've been deceiving him?

Because if you show you don't feel anything for him,

much less desire,

if some day he discovers it was an enormous sacrifice

to honour his tenderness,

the poor unhappy man will never sleep with you again.

Mar�a, how can you continue that lie?

You lie to him about your feelings and also give him your body?

But why? You're able to perfectly imitate an orgasm!

You're very cruel.

Cruel or not, it doesn't matter now.

I want the truth. And the truth is that you've deceived your husband for years.

If you're capable of feigning pleasure with him, how do I know you're not with me?

How do I know you're not deceiving me, if you're capable of deceiving a blind man!

Mar�a.

Open the door.

Mar�a.

Oh no...

Don't go.

Let's talk.

Let's see if we can...

What happened is... sometimes...

I don't want you to go.

Don't go.

No...

Don't go, please.

I didn't mean to offend you.

I don't hold grudges.

I don't want you to go. I want you to stay with me.

This time, I felt that something had ruptured between us.

Gin, please. - Right away, sir.

Serve it there.

No, leave the bottle.

Can I use the phone? - Of course, sir.

Hello?

Excuse me, can you put on Miss Iribarne?

She's not in. She went out at 4 and hasn't returned.

Oh, okay. Thank you.

Hello? Yes, she's back.

But she's resting and gave strict orders not to disturb her.

I'm sorry, Mr. Castel.

She asked not to be disturbed by anyone.

The dirty water below me was a constant temptation.

Why go on suffering?

The seduction of suicide is in its easy annihilation.

In a second, this absurd universe collapses like a simulacrum.

Life seems like a long nightmare from which one can be freed through death.

What would be like a kind of awakening, but an awakening here.

The hesitation to throw myself into absolute and eternal nothingness

has put a stop to all my contemplations of suicide.

Hello?

Miss Iribarne, please. - She's not in. She went to the country house.

I wrote various letters without receiving a response.

Until finally I decided to tell her what happened the day we separated.

I didn't leave out confessing the temptation to suicide.

I was embarrassed to use this as a weapon, but I did.

While writing, I felt pity for myself.

I hoped Mar�a would feel something similar reading the letter

And that made me happy.

When I sent the certified letter, I felt downright optimistic.

I received a tender letter from Mar�a. She was waiting for me at the country house.

Mar�a wasn't waiting for me.

Are you Mr. Castel?

No, I'm not Castel.

Excuse me.

- What do you want? - When's the next train to Buenos Aires?

It just left, sir.

It's that one.

- It's returning to Buenos Aires? - The same train goes back and forth.

- When's the next one? - Tomorrow at 6, the same time.

Oh.

He said that it wasn't him.

Yes, I'm Castel.

I'm Hunter, Allende's cousin.

It's nice to meet you, Mr. Castel. - Likewise.

Mimi Allende, my cousin. - How do you do?

A pleasure.

Mar�a has been feeling unwell.

But I think she will be down soon.

Mr. Castel is a magnificent painter.

Ah, so you are that Castel?

Yes.

This was my grandfather's room. Now it's mine.

This is your room.

We'll wait for you downstairs to have tea. - Thank you.

I asked you a while ago what painters you liked, didn't I?

Tea, please.

Well, I don't know. Van Gogh, El Greco...

Two, thank you. Uh... Caravaggio.

Well, those great painters bore me.

Of course, you're on the side of humility.

No, ce n'est pas �a.

But painters like Michelangelo, El Greco...

put me on edge.

All that drama, et grandeur.

So aggressive. Don't you think it borders on bad taste?

Pardon me?

I'm glad you think like I do.

I think the artist should try not to call attention to himself.

Don't you think claiming to be so original only shows that others are not?

Don't you think?

Well, sure.

If I wrote or painted, they would be things that didn't draw attention.

I don't doubt it. For example...

I'm sure you wouldn't write The Brothers Karamazov.

Quelle horreur!

I confess that I've never been able to finish a Russian novel.

They're too complicated...

These people are frivolous, superficial.

Mar�a could only feel lonely in their company.

People like this couldn't be rivals. - Non, sans blague!

A chiromancer from Mar del Plata, an extraordinary seer.

She took her job very seriously. Her husband is a professor of engineering.

Are you interested in telepathy?

Hello, Mimi. No, don't get up.

Juan Pablo...

Did you bring your sketches?

What sketches?

The ones you mentioned in your letter.

The drawings of the port.

Yes, they're in my room.

May I see them?

I'll go get them. - I'll come with you. We'll be right back.

The big window in the middle is Hunter's room.

The second from the left is mine. Yours is between them?

Juan Pablo, don't look back. Let's go to my window, to our window.

If you knew how often I dreamed of leaving with you.

The sea, that day.

Sometimes I think we've always lived in this scene...

together forever.

When I saw that woman alone by the window in your painting...

I felt that you were like me.

And that you'd also search blindly for someone.

A kind of mute interlocutor.

Since that day, I've thought constantly of you.

I dreamed about you many times in this place,

where I've spent so much of my life.

One day, I even felt like finding you and confessing it.

Why didn't you?

I was afraid of making a mistake.

I've been mistaken once before.

Mistaken? When? With whom?

Richard? Allende?

I hoped you were looking for me.

You knew who I was and how to find me.

I was looking for you desperately. But I didn't know where to find you.

I really wanted to help you.

I wanted you. I called out to you every night.

I became so sure I'd find you...

that when it happened, absurdly at the metro entrance,

I was paralyzed by fear.

and made a fool of myself.

So when you went off,

hurt that you thought you were mistaken,

I ran from you like mad.

I felt that this magical moment would never happen again.

Never again.

Make this memory last together. Die together.

I felt dizzy and thought how easy it'd be to drag her into the abyss with me.

Suddenly, I realized she was talking about her childhood, or cousin, or something.

Cruel, agonizing incidents.

I'm capable of despicable things, but her... Despicable... how?

In my life, as in yours, there are shameful things.

Horrible, cruel acts.

Then I realized that Mar�a had confessed everything in her life

and I, stupidly, hadn't heard any of it.

Whisky? - Yes, of course.

Did the veterinarian come?

No.

He'll come tomorrow.

My horse is limping. I haven't been able to ride him.

Did you like the sketches?

What sketches? - The ones of the port.

Oh, yes. I liked them a lot.

I really believe what I said to Mimi. You're a great painter.

What's the word critics use to describe your paintings?

Architectural.

That's it, architectural.

Maybe that's why I'm interested in your paintings.

I'm an architect. Did you know that?

Yes, I know.

That's why I appreciate your opinion.

You don't spend much time at your art.

I think you should paint more. A lot of us expect great things from you.

Tomorrow you'll paint, right? - You weren't painting today?

No, we went to the cliff.

I'm... a little tired.

Forgive my not staying for dinner.

If you need anything during the night, ring the service bell.

Thank you.

Good night.

What are you doing?

I came to be with you. I want to be with you.

I'll wait for you upstairs. In my room.

You're not coming.

Why did you leave me alone, Mar�a?

Why did you make me come here?

Come to me, Mar�a. Come.

Isn't it reasonable to conclude there is something between Mar�a and Hunter?

On the clifftop, when she told me her weaknesses, what did she mean?

It's obvious.

In her life, there are dark and shameful things, like in mine.

She's Hunter's lover.

She's Hunter's lover.

Tell Miss Iribarne I had to return to Buenos Aires.

- Yes, sir. I'll wake up the chauffer. - No, I'll take the train.

- But the train doesn't leave until 6 p.m. - I know, I'll wait at the station.

Tell her I've been obligated to leave.

It's best to have the chauffeur take you to the station.

No, I'll walk. Tell Mar�a I had to go.

- Yes, sir. - Thank you.

No problem, sir.

For hours, I didn't stop hoping Mar�a would come.

But Mar�a didn't come.

Thank you. - No problem.

Sir, you're going to miss your train.

Let go of me.

Get off me.

Hey, what are you thinking? Are you crazy?

- Leave me alone. - Get out!

You have to pay for what you broke.

Get out of here.

It was a very cruel letter, accusing her of sleeping with Hunter.

As I left the post office, I realized two things.

I hadn't said in the letter why I thought she was Hunter's lover.

and what purpose it would serve to hurt her so ruthlessly.

At the bottom of my soul, I only wanted Maria to come back to me.

Why hadn't I said that directly?

Explaining I'd left the country house because I was jealous of Hunter.

In reality, my conclusion that she was Hunter's lover,

besides cruel, was completely unwarranted.

What had I done?

I'd destroyed what remained of our love and would remain alone.

Why had I been so cruel when I wanted to be the exact opposite?

Excuse me, do you remember me?

A moment ago I gave you a certified letter to the Omb�es Estate.

And what do you want to do? - Well... I've lost the receipt.

I need the letter back, but I've lost the receipt.

You want the letter back and you don't have the receipt?

Yes, that's right.

I lost the piece of paper. - I can't. It's not possible.

But I can show you my papers.

There's nothing I can do. Those are the rules.

Hold on. That makes no sense.

I just gave you a letter. If I give you a letter,

and afterwards decide not to send it, the post office can't seize it.

As if to say, "It's ours now, and we won't give it back."

It might make sense if it'd been a few days, but I just gave it to you.

How hard is it to say okay, and give it back.

Do you know the rules? - Yes, I know the rules, ma'am!

Maybe there's a special regulation that forces you to send mistaken letters?

You can't make me send a letter I don't want to send!

You wanted to send it. - But now I don't, understand?

That's why I'm here! Because I changed my mind!

Don't shout at me. I don't have to put up with that.

Besides, it's too late. - It's not, it's in that pile. I can see it.

Excuse me, how long can this go on?

Give him back the letter.

Please, I have my I.D. card and can prove I'm the one who posted the letter.

I can't do that.

It's not possible.

Call your boss then.

I can't. Don't you see them waiting? - I'm waiting too!

I'm waiting! I'm in line with them!

What do you think I'm doing? You should attend to me!

It's your job!

Don't shout at me! I'm not deaf!

I'll tell her I love her. I'll call her...

and tell her I love her.

And we'll forget everything that's driving us crazy.

She'll forgive me. Nothing matters to me but you.

Hello, operator? I want to place a call to the Omb�es Estate.

Please, it's very urgent.

Yes, the Allende Estate.

Yes, please hurry.

Very well, I'll wait. Thank you.

Hello? - Your call, sir,

- What call? - To the Omb�es Estate. Hold on.

Mar�a? - Who's calling?

Juan Pablo Castel. - I'll see if she's in.

Hello?

Mar�a? It's me, Juan Pablo.

Mar�a, are you there?

Mar�a, listen...

I wrote you a letter explaining why I left the country house so suddenly,

without saying goodbye.

I wanted to ask you... - A letter? I haven't received it.

Please don't interrupt. You haven't received it because I just sent it, understand?

- No, not at all. - Hold on.

Hold on a moment. It's very simple.

I just sent it and that's why you haven't received it. Understand now?

Yes, I'll read it when I receive it. - No, wait.

Mar�a, I'm calling to tell you not to read that letter.

Don't read it. Burn it, but don't read it.

Do you hear me? - Yes, Juan Pablo.

Please, don't say "Yes, Juan Pablo."

Say something. Don't you care what it says?

Didn't you wonder why I left the country house? Why I found it so unbearable?

Yes.

Yes, what?

Don't tell me yes like I'm a child! What I want you to tell me,

is whether you wondered or not! - Yes, Juan Pablo.

What was your conclusion? What questions do you have?

Why you abandoned me, for example. - I didn't abandon you. That was you.

Me?

Listen, how was it me? It wasn't me, it was you!

You, with your falsehoods, your clever theatrics,

your lies, your unconcern for my pain and solitude.

How do you respond to that, Mar�a?

I don't know what to say to you.

Tell me...

Tell me...

that you love me.

That you need me.

Like I need you.

I want you to come here.

Now. I have to see you.

Please. Come to Buenos Aires.

To my house. I want to be with you.

Mar�a.

Say something.

I can't now.

Why?

Why not?

Ah, I know why.

Of course.

Yes, I understand.

People are listening. - There's no one. You're making me nervous.

I'm fine. Don't worry about me.

If I'm nervous, it's simply because you understand nothing.

You don't respect anything. You don't give anything.

Only lies and egoism.

Do me a favour and read the letter.

Read it. Don't burn it.

Because it's the truth.

And you deserve it.

Read it, and pay attention.

Mar�a, are you there?

Yes.

Mar�a.

If... if you don't come to Buenos Aires,

I think I'm going to kill myself.

I swear, I'm going to kill myself.

Do you hear me?

All right, I'll go.

When? - As soon as I can.

When will that be? What do you have to do there?

Come tomorrow. - Tomorrow.

Promise? Do you promise?

Yes, even though I don't know why.

We'll just end up hurting ourselves.

Listen.

Mar�a, I want... you to know something.

If you don't come to Buenos Aires tomorrow,

I'll call your house, and if you're not in,

I swear I'll kill myself.

So, think on it...

before...

making a decision.

I'll kill myself.

You'll see.

What is this strange painting?

What's that? Hey!

What do you think you're doing? Do you think I'm going to believe it?

She is the whore.

She's a whore.

Puts on the same face.

She pretends like a whore.

Ah! Enough!

Out!

Get out of here! Out!

It's Juan Pablo Castel. Could I speak with Mrs. Allende?

One moment, please. Don't hang up.

Yes? - Mar�a, it's Juan Pablo.

I have to see you right away, in Recoleta. At 5.

Very well.

Though I don't know what we'll get out of it.

Many things.

Do you really believe that? - I'm sure of it.

We'll only destroy more the weak bridges that connects us.

We'll continue hurting each other.

I came because you begged, but I should've stayed at the country house. Hunter is sick.

Ah, of course. Hunter is sick.

I see that this country house is dangerous for one's health.

You all get sick very conveniently.

In any case,

thank you for coming and the sacrifice you made. We'll meet at 5.

Okay.

Hello?

She went to the country house.

But she was supposed to meet me in Recoleta at 5!

Pardon me?

Don't you understand? She was supposed to meet me at 5!

I don't know anything, sir.

Please.

I know she's there. Let me talk to her. Please, I need to talk to her.

I told you she left.

Hello?

It's... Juan Pablo Castel again.

Sorry for the confusion. Maybe you could help me?

Did Miss Iribarne receive a call from the country house before leaving?

Uh, yes. - Ah, okay.

From her cousin Hunter. - Yes.

Hunter, sick...

She said she mustn't leave Hunter because he is sick.

Lies, all lies.

Even though she knew I needed her. That I had expected her that afternoon.

That I'd suffered horribly every minute of hopeless waiting.

How ruthless, how cold. How filthy the heart of a woman can be.

That's Hunter's room.

Now turn on the light in the other room. Yours, Mar�a.

Turn it on, I beg you.

Don't stay in Hunter's room.

What are you going to do, Juan Pablo?

I have to kill you, Mar�a.

You left me alone.

Allende!

Allende!

Allende!

Allende!

Allende!

Allende...

Out!

I've come from the country house, Allende.

Mar�a is Hunter's lover.

Did you know that? - Imbecile!

What?

You're going to learn something, old man.

Your wife...

was also my lover. Yes! And the lover of many others.

You're the imbecile here! I betrayed you!

And she betrayed us both! She deceived everyone!

But now she'll never deceive anyone. Never again! Never again!

Fool! Fool!

Damn fool!

Fool.

In these months of confinement, I've often tried to understand the blind man's last word.

The word 'fool.'

A great weariness, or maybe an obscure instinct, always prevents me.

Some day maybe I'll be able to. Then I'll also analyze Allende's motives for committing suicide.

I feel like a black cavern is expanding inside my body.

And so every day the walls of this hell will be tighter.