Original subtitles

According to Pereira

From the homonymous novel by

Antonio Tabucchi

Pereira claims that it was a beautiful summer day, sunny and breezy.

Lisbon glowed.

And, like every morning, he had gotten up early.

Pereira claims he had found that day in a magazine

an essay that had impressed him:

Death, to understand the meaning of life.

The essay started from the cult of the dead in ancient Egypt, and ended

with the disinterest for the death of modern world.

Signing the essay, an unknown name,

who however seemed to really know the matter,

a certain Monteiro Rossi.

Pereira claims that since some time, he too was thinking about death.

Why?

Maybe because his poor father, when he was a child,

had a funeral parlor named 'Pereira the Sorrowful'.

Maybe because his wife, whom he remembered with poignant regret,

had died of tisi a few years earlier.

Maybe yet because he was overweight, had a heart condition,

and the doctor had said he had not long to live, if not treated properly.

In short, Pereira claims that, if death was an unavoidable event,

and as such it concerned everyone,

he, the manager of the cultural page of the "Lisboa",

had a duty to deal with not only his own, but also with that of others.

At least as long as he was alive, Pereira claims.

- Oh! What's happening? - I don't know.

Freedom! Freedom and Justice!

Go ahead!

I grant you two minutes.

What else, today?

It is that… all I do is think about death.

It seems the whole world is dead, or about to die.

And then…

I believe in the soul, and in its resurrection,

but not in that of the flesh!

This fat that's with me, my sweat, why should they too resurrect?

You don't expect me to stay here and listen to such heresies!

But padre Antonio…

the two minutes are not over yet!

Pereira claims that the curt ways of Father Antonio towards him

whenever he posed certain questions, disturbed him.

In what world I live, he wondered.

And he had the bizarre idea that perhaps he didn't live,

but it was as if he had already died.

That's why, he thought. It would do him good to talk to the unknown essayist.

Mr. Monteiro Rossi?

I'm Mr. Pereira, I'm in charge of the cultural editorial of the "Lisboa".

I just read your article. I find it very…

in…

No, no, no. I called you

because I'm looking for an assistant for the Saturday's cultural page,

and I was wondering if you…

You've just graduated?

Tonight?

Very well, yes!

A Neapolitan song?

I understand. Culture doesn't provide food!

Well. Thanks, I'll see you tonight.

Pereira claims that not even this call was for him of great consolation.

He would have imagined a more mature interlocutor, perhaps, given the topic.

However, he prepared to meet him.

Not suspecting the importance…

that this appointment would have later assumed for his life.

- Mr. Pereira, you're going already? - Yes, see you tomorrow.

You forgot your hat.

Why not give me a little smile? Can't you smile?

Here, this is for you.

Now make a little smile.

- Come on! - Smile, smile!

See that you know how to smile?

Lemonade.

- Everything all right, Mr. Pereira? - Fine. Fine, Manuel.

Come on, what's wrong today?

The police do what they do, and all that is on the front page in your newspaper

is the departure of a luxurious yacht.

What are you talking about?

In short, you don't know what happened this morning at the market?

No.

They slaughtered a canter, only because he dared to protest.

These are the news that newspapers should publish!

Teresa goes on vacation… I'll have to cook by myself!

♪ Lua que brilha branca na manhã

♪ Sobre o mercado dos melões de Ouro

♪ Curiosa espreita as casas cor de rosa

♪ À procura do nosso tesouro

♪ O segredo a descobrir está fechado em nós… ♪

I'll be a bit late tonight. I have a business appointment.

And now…

in honor of the Italian comrades fighting in Spain…

the young Monteiro Rossi…

will sing for us the most beautiful song…

of his wonderful homeland.

Thank you.

Did you like it?

- Forgive me! - Come with me!

Excuse me.

Mr. Pereira?

- Good evening! - Good evening.

- Sit down. - After you.

- Thank you. Good evening. - Good evening.

You belong to the nationalist youth?

Me? I'm a graduate in philosophy!

I'm asking because the "Lisboa" is a free and independent newspaper,

and we… we don't want to deal with politics.

But I'm not interested at all in politics.

They paid me to sing because I'm of Italian origin.

That's all.

Perfect!

So, tell me about your article about death.

Tell me…

but death, does it interest you?

Not a bit! I'm interested in life!

Sorry, but I'm tired of death!

Eight years ago my mother died,

last year was my father's turn.

But, how come this question?

You know, in a newspaper, every time that dies an important intellectual…

we have to write the eulogy.

But a good obituary cannot be improvised.

I'm looking for someone who can write a nice obituary, in advance!

As I said, I love life, it is true, but, if you want me to talk about death,

and you pay me, just as they've paid me to sing tonight, I'm ready.

Well… As a singer… uhm!

But perhaps, as a journalist, you'll be much better!

You said to be Italian, as origin.

Yes, exactly.

So, prepare me a nice obituary in memory of Rapagnetta.

Rapa…?

Come now, don't tell me you don't know who's the most…

the most important Italian poet!

Oh yes, sure! By tomorrow you'll have the obituary of… Rapa…

…gnetta.

Ah! Rapagnetta! Of course.

Marta!

I introduce you Marta. Mr. Pereira.

He directs the cultural page of the "Lisboa".

He just hired me. From tonight I'm a journalist!

- Yes. - As you see, I found a job.

That's wonderful!

Let's celebrate, then. Come, darling.

Excuse us, Mr. Pereira. Come.

Mr. Pereira, I'd like to dance this waltz with you.

- But I don't dance for years… - Come, come…

- I beg you… - Come.

Tell me, you too are interested in journalism?

A little.

Today your paper doesn't speak of the carter

that the police massacred at the market.

Don't you find it a bit strange?

Unfortunately the editor is on vacation, and I deal only with literature.

But from next Saturday,

our newspaper will have a whole page devoted to culture!

- Really interesting! - Oh, yes, yes.

Tell me, Mr. Pereira,

don't you think that the massacre of an innocent should worry a little you too?

Please, lower your voice, aren't you aware of the place where we are?

Exactly, this place is unnerving me.

You'll see that in a moment they'll intone military marches.

I'd better leave you with your recruit. I need some clean air.

Marta. Marta!

Guy de Maupassant inherits from his father a venereal disease

that will lead him first to madness, and then to an early death.

His works… Come in.

Good morning!

- Good morning, Mr. Pereira. - Good morning.

I brought you the article you required.

- I worked at it all night long. - Fine, good!

And Marta wanted…

I want to apologize for how I left last night.

Oh, nonsense!

And then, we wanted to celebrate his entrance in the world of journalism.

Sure.

Are there any glasses?

Well, no, here… just a moment.

Here they are! I found them.

This is true Italian wine.

Actually, I shouldn't drink or eat sweets.

But, given the occasion, I'll make an exception. Thank you.

I didn't know a newspaper office was like this.

But this is not the newspaper.

It's just a quiet place to work.

- Shall I read it? - Yes, sure.

Well, I let you work.

- Goodbye, Mr. Pereira. - Goodbye, miss. Goodbye.

Bye, love.

- Gabriele D'Annunzio. - Yes.

May I sit down?

- Use my desk. - Thank you.

Gabriele D'Annunzio.

His admirers know him by this name,

but in fact his real name is Rapagnetta, changed because not enough bombastic.

Was he really a great poet?

If we were to describe him bluntly, we would not hesitate to call him braggart.

In fact, D'Annunzio was a warmonger,

a character not to be taken as an example,

for the unbearable vulgarity of his ideas.

Overpraised by fascism,

he exalted the bloody colonial conquests.

With him disappears a shady character, capable of the worst…

Young man!

You're either irresponsible,

or a provocateur.

And journalism done today in our country needs neither the one nor the other.

Why?

But you know that D'Annunzio is the bard of Italian Fascism?

That the Italian soldiers are fighting with our volunteers in Spain,

at General Franco's side?

And you deem it right?

I don't know. And I don't want to know.

I simply commissioned an obituary from you, and you bring me…

I can rewrite it.

I can write a totally different article.

I beg you. I need to earn.

But how can you believe that a newspaper could pay a…

a thing like that? But really you must… Do you realize?

I know you demand professionality, I know I should work with my brains.

But if I must tell the truth…

Which one?

The truth is that I followed the reasons of the heart.

I don't understand you.

The article on D'Annunzio.

I swear that I could have written a good obituary with my head.

But my heart was stronger.

- And then… - And then?

I'm in love with Marta.

Well, I don't see the relation.

Sure there is a relation! It's a reason of the heart!

My mind is elsewhere.

Pereira claims that he wanted to tell him:

if you write with the reasons of the heart, my dear,

you will face serious problems, I can assure you this.

But he said nothing of this.

On the contrary…

Listen, young man.

Sit down.

The ten commandments do not say it, but I say it myself.

The reasons of the heart…

are the most important.

But you must find a balance. With the heart, yes…

but with eyes always wide open.

Sure, I know.

My next obituary will be up to your expectations.

I hope so.

Mr. Pereira…

you must know that I need money.

So what?

I'd like to ask you an advance.

- But, you didn't write anything! - I know, but…

- How much do you need? - Whatever you want.

Thank you.

♪ …está fechado em nós…

That boy, I should have fired him, I know.

If we had had a son, he would be his age.

Remember? I always had a lock that drooped.

Him too.

Yes. He reminds me of when I was young.

Pereira claims that, that day, he pondered for long.

If he'd had a son, now he'd be grown-up.

He would have liked to sit at the table with him, and let him talk.

Pereira claims that if he'd had a son, now he wouldn't need

to talk to a portrait.

Mr. Pereira, there is an express letter for you.

I took the responsibility to sign.

But I wouldn't want any nuisance,

as the name of the sender doesn't appear.

Strange, no?

Ms Celeste, you're paid to do your job.

Instead you always stick your nose in things that don't concern you, huh?

Next time don't sign it. And don't look if there's or not a sender.

Simply tell the postman to come again, and deliver it to me personally.

Mr. Pereira…

I'm just a porter…

but my husband, he's a policeman.

And has connections in high places.

I know it well.

And it is just what I don't like.

Oh, yes?

Yes, ma'am!

Today we commemorate Vladimir Mayakovsky,

who committed suicide in Moscow for a disappointment in love.

After having joined the Bolshevik party very young,

he was arrested three times and tortured by the infamous czarist police.

We celebrate him as the great revolutionary, the fervent… No, no…

Hello. This is Pereira.

Yes, I was reading your article.

Maybe you're a great novelist, only…

that my newspaper is not the right place to publish novels.

Mayakovsky was a subversive!

Do you think that the cultural page

has an interest in celebrating his demise?

The reasons of the heart?

But I never told you to write only with the heart.

I said rather to open your eyes!

No, I can't meet you. No, today I have to leave.

You want another advance?

But how can you think that

I'm willing to give you another advance, with what you wrote?

Well. I bid you farewell.

"Absent until Monday." And where the hell is he going?

- Do you mind if I smoke? - Not at all, please do.

Lunch! Dining car!

Lunch! Dining car!

Thank you.

May I, madam?

- Please. - My name is Pereira.

Manager of the cultural page of the "Lisboa".

- Pleased. Ingeborg Delgado. - Thank you.

I am German.

But of Portuguese origin.

And you live here in Portugal?

No.

I'm just looking for my roots, as they say.

A tea and a toast, please.

A very Portuguese choice!

A herb omelette and… a lemonade, yes.

Forgive me madam, but when I eat I always stain myself.

The cleaning lady says that I'm worse than children.

- Do you like Portugal? - Yes, and very.

But it's a country that's no longer fit for me.

I'm waiting the visa to the United States.

- You are Jewish. - Yes.

And today's Europe is not an ideal place, least of all Germany.

But here also…

there isn't much liking for us. I realize from the papers.

This is a catholic Country, we've had the Inquisition.

Which doesn't do us honor.

I too am catholic.

Although, my own way.

I don't believe in the resurrection of the flesh. No!

Thank you.

I noticed you were reading Thomas Mann.

He too applied for a visa to leave.

Perhaps not even I, not even I am happy for what happens here.

Then do something!

But what you want me to do?

You who can write on a newspaper…

tell what happens. Let it be known that you disagree.

Madam, I'm not Thomas Mann.

I translate stories from French.

I wouldn't know to do more.

You really believe so?

Perhaps everything can be done. Just having the will.

Hey, Mister! Looking for a ride?

What luxury!

Wow!

- Put the suitcase behind. - Yes.

But… is it yours?

Why? What's so strange?

What do you want, at our age, if one has a bit of brain,

he'd better to enjoy life.

- Of what happens, what do you think? - What happens where?

In Europe. In Germany, in Italy…

Of these fanatics, who want to put the world to fire and sword.

They're far away countries.

Yeah! And Spain?

It was a democratically elected republic.

General Franco overturned it,

and not a day goes by without a massacre!

Also Spain is far away!

Even here things start to go wrong.

- Public opinion no longer counts! - Public opinion?

You're a journalist and you believe in public opinion?

The suitcase!

I'll have it brought to you. See you at the restaurant.

Okay.

It isn't much fun, here.

Later, I'll take you to a place more… lively!

Look, your editor is here.

Don't tell me! Tonight he's alone.

- Good evening, Mr. Director. - Ah, Mr. Pereira!

I did not expect to see you here.

You left the office?

The cultural page came out today. I took the liberty to bring it to you.

Here it is.

There is a story by Maupassant, and a column that I called "Recurrences".

Mr. Pereira, one of my assistants.

Miss Maria do Vale Santares.

Please forgive me, lady.

You see, director…

I wanted to communicate my decision to hire a trainee

just to prepare obituaries in advance

of the great writers who may die at any moment.

You know, with death, it's best to be prepared.

Mr. Pereira, I'm here for dinner, with the agreeable company

of a lady by the sensible soul,

and you can only talk of… moribund people!

Forgive me, director.

Do you recall Pirandello? When he disappeared,

there wasn't a single newspaper ready to celebrate his death!

I'd like to know what will cost me this trainee.

Oh no, he's young, he'll adapt! No! Furthermore, I'll tell you,

he graduated with a thesis on death, indeed!

Please…

don't speak more of… of… Do as you wish. Alright, huh? Okay?

Yes, yes, alright! So, I leave you the paper, I wish you a pleasant stay, and…

take good care of yourself, please, director!

I pay my respects, Miss!

Pereira claims that, that night, a strange anxiety had taken him.

It could be his fault,

but he really didn't like staying at the spa with his friend Silva.

He felt he should return as soon as possible,

although knowing that nothing or no one, in Lisbon, was expecting him.

Welcome back, Mr. Pereira.

I gave your instructions to the postman, but he says he cannot pass twice.

I had to sign again myself.

Missing sender's name again, and I don't like that at all.

Give, give it here. Thanks.

Distinguished Mr. Pereira,

I urgently need to see you, as soon as you're back.

With devotion. Francesco Monteiro Rossi.

Monteiro Rossi.

Not there?

He's no longer at this number?

But I called him just a few days ago, and…

Please forgive me.

Good morning!

Good morning, Manuel. So, what's the news?

You work in a newspaper and you ask me the news?

Precisely for this!

I understood that the best way to know the truth, is to listen to people.

Really?

Did you hear about the Jewish butchery?

No, what happened?

Stormed! Flooded with obscenities! No newspaper has written a line.

I hope the police intervened immediately!

The police?

The police always have other things to do, Mr. Pereira.

Pereira claims that the news made him flow a trickle of sweat down the spine.

He thought of the Jewish lady he had met on the train,

and hoped she had reached safety.

Maybe it was true that 'odd things' were happening, as Manuel said.

Maybe he didn't see them.

But maybe that anxiety, that sweat, made him foresee them.

♪ No brilho azul do ar uma gaivota ♪

♪ No mar branco de espuma sonoro ♪

♪ Curiosa espreita as velas cor de rosa ♪

♪ A procurado nosso tesouro ♪

♪ O segredo a descobrir ♪

♪ está fechado… ♪

Oh, it's you!

Mr. Pereira, I'm in trouble. I need your help.

Well, calm down. What do you mean, in trouble?

- My cousin arrived. - So what?

He comes from Spain. He fights on the side of Republicans.

He's here to recruit volunteers willing to follow him.

Okay but, what have I to do with all this?

The problem is…

is that he needs to hide, for some time.

- I don't have a house anymore. - Yes, I know! I tried to call you.

- Marta thought that you might… - I might what?

For sure, you're a person that no one suspects.

- One moment. Sit down and explain. - Thanks.

You must find him a safe place.

I'm amazed at your impudence!

When we first met…

you told me you were not involved in politics at all!

- You lied to me! - But…

But it's for my cousin, to help my cousin!

- I can count on you only. - On me?

You can't abandon us this way.

- Anyway, he's here already. - Here where?

- My cousin, Bruno Rossi. - Mr. Pereira, I… I wanted…

Yes, yes. Come with me. Come.

Mr. Pereira, I promise you it's only for a few days.

You're both irresponsible!

Soldiers everywhere!

We're besieged!

No, no, stay calm!

We're not in Spain here, there is no civil war!

Let's go.

Now listen to me well.

I side with neither the monarchic cause, nor the republican cause.

I don't know if I can find an accommodation,

but in any case, be very careful not to seek me again,

because I don't want anything to do with such matters.

- But I was expecting a comrade! - Shut up.

- What? - Don't get mad, Mr. Pereira, please.

Listen…

Wait here, I'll be right.

I feel sorry for that boy.

Can you explain why?

In my opinion it's Marta that puts him into trouble.

- What's he doing? - What?

Don't you think I should warn him?

He's speaking to someone!

Impossible. He lives alone.

Come. Trust him.

Listen well, young man.

I think you're getting into trouble…

because of Marta.

No, Marta would never put me into trouble.

Yes, she's a smart girl, determined, and I can even understand you.

But remember what I told you:

Eyes always wide open!

- Yes. - Did you understand?

- Yes, I understand perfectly. - Very well.

That's the address of a small guesthouse.

Give the porter this note on my part.

- Thanks. - Thank you.

We would also need some money.

Let's say it's an advance on next article.

More money?

You have yet to write anything publishable!

I swear I have a multitude of ideas.

Tomorrow I leave for certain treatments.

My cardiologist insisted so much that,

if not satisfied, dies of a broken heart.

I count to return in a week. In the meantime…

try and not get into trouble, huh?

And write some good obituary, okay?

- Thanks. - Come on, go now.

I'll take you with me.

So you can see if these famous treatments really help.

Hi, little darling.

How are you?

Mr. Pereira.

I know you're leaving. I want to thank you for what you did for us.

But I've done nothing. I…

Sure! You were of great help! Without you, Monteiro's cousin…

Hush!

Don't make names! You want us to be arrested maybe?

Mr. Pereira, I meant to tell you something else.

I know you take me for a fanatic, but you're wrong.

There's a great difference between fanaticism and faith.

We may have ideals, believe that people should be free, equal and even brothers.

- You're quoting the French Revolution. - And Marx, and Engels, and…

Yes, I understood, they're great personalities, famous, there's no doubt!

But as far as I'm concerned, they're not among my favorite readings.

I'm not speaking of literature, but of freedom.

It's for this reason that you should be on our side.

Miss, I'm neither on your side, nor on theirs.

Moreover, I don't know who is your side, and I don't want to know.

Once, I dealt with the news. Now, fortunately for me, not anymore.

You're mistaken again.

It's not the news that we make today, it's the history.

The history!

It is a big word!

I have to leave now.

Don't follow me. And please, don't seek me anymore.

Yes, yes, I know that the doctor would forbid it!

But don't you agree that it would be nice?

Do you remember the swims I used to do at the Granja?

Stop! Stop here!

I go to the beach.

You bring my luggage to the clinic. Tell them I'll be there shortly.

Good morning!

Good morning. I'd like to rent a bathing suit. Is it possible?

I don't know if we have a suit your size.

Anyway, here's the key. You can look by yourself in the locker room.

Thanks.

Thank you.

One, two, one, two…

Come on! Don't slacken!

The suit fits you like a glove!

But, wouldn't you rather need a lifesaver too?

I can swim very well.

Maybe better than you. Don't worry.

Water invigorates! Get to work!

- Energy! More energy! - Pass the ball!

- Pass the ball! - Okay!

Bravo!

Take it!

Bravo!

Launch!

Have you seen that… there was no need for a lifesaver?

Thanks.

This way.

- The doctor is awaiting you. Follow me. - Thank you.

Ah! Mr. Pereira. Thank you, Miss.

- I was expecting you. I'm Dr. Cardoso. - Pleased.

I just read your doctor's notes.

You have a coronary insufficiency, but this…

you know already, and there's no need for alarm.

I heard you're an expert in French literature.

- I studied in France. - Really?

If you don't mind, I'd be pleased to have a chat.

Shall we take a walk?

- Sure, with pleasure. - Well!

Let's go.

Well then, let's start from your eating habits. What do you usually eat?

Practically, only herb omelettes.

- Well, don't you want to answer? - Yes, yes!

I eat fish, meat…

I eat in a rational manner!

And your fatness, when it began to manifest itself?

Some years ago, after my wife's death.

- You eat many sweets? - No, I only drink lemonades.

- How many a day? - A dozen.

It seems madness! And tell me, with sugar?

- Yes, I fill them with sugar. - Well, but…

Half lemonade, half sugar.

From today, non-carbonated mineral water.

But, if you prefer it carbonated, we can make an exception.

It's really a beautiful place here. Always so quiet?

I'm glad you like it.

Mr. Pereira, now I want to ask you a private question.

Your sexual activity…

What did you say?

Women… you do have a sexual activity?

Listen doctor, I'm a widower, no longer young.

I have no time, nor will, to find women.

But, not even some… some loose woman?

- An affair, now and then. - No, no, either.

- May I smoke? - Well, if you can't do without,

- I'll do a second exception. - Thank you, doctor.

I must confess that your questions embarrass me.

But no! Why?

No… it's normal, it's normal… Mr. Pereira…

- Yes? - You have…

You have nocturnal pollutions?

- Excuse me? - Yes…

if you have erotic dreams that take you to ejaculation, or,

if you don't have erotic dreams, what do you dream?

But, what have they to do, my dreams with therapy?

Well, you see, your psyche is in relation with your body,

and I must know what you dream of.

I often dream of the Granja.

Oh, good! There's a woman, huh? And you wouldn't tell me!

The Granja is a beach near Oporto.

That's where I met my wife.

It was the best period of my life.

Good. I'd say that's all for today.

We can dine together, if you like.

Ah, yes, with pleasure.

- Want a cigar? - No, no. Thank you.

A glass of mineral water before eating is always a good hygienic rule.

I would prefer a nice lemonade, ice cold.

As I said, I'm fond of French literature.

What holds for us your newspaper this week?

Honorine, a novel by Balzac, about repentance.

I read it in an autobiographical key.

I mean that I recognized myself in it.

- In the repentance? - Yes.

Since you usually eat fish, and meat, tonight I propose a change.

Our cook makes excellent herb omelettes. Would you like one?

Excellent choice!

- Well then, two herb omelettes. - Well.

Thank you.

The repentance! Can you be more explicit?

Yes.

On one side, I'm happy with my life.

I worked 30 years in the news…

and now I deal with literature, which is my passion!

On the other hand, it's like I need to repent, and I can't understand why.

In recent months, there has been in your life a special event?

An event?

Yes. In psychoanalysis it indicates a fact that can upset our balance.

Oh, yes! Sure! Recently, yes, there was an event.

I met a person, rather, two persons.

Two poor youngsters, romantic, with no future.

With no future?

Thank you.

Tell me about them.

Well…

I hired a young apprentice, who seemed gifted to write the obituaries.

I paid him out of my own pocket, not to weigh on the newspaper.

But he hasn't written anything publishable yet.

Why don't you seek another trainee?

It's the same question I asked my wife.

But how! You told me you're a widower.

Yes, but…

But you speak with your wife.

With her picture, yes.

This is a detail that we'll have to study in depth.

But, let's get back to your trainee.

Yes. Well…

That boy writes the obituaries, but always…

from a political standpoint!

I think it is Marta, to put in his mind those ideas.

Who is Marta?

His girlfriend.

Apart from the fact of losing your money,

it doesn't seem to be very serious.

But it is… it's me who's beginning to have some doubts.

And if those two were right?

What do you think would happen?

If they were right, my life… would no longer make sense.

I've always believed that it was literature, the most important thing.

Nothing would make sense anymore.

Maybe that's why I feel the need to repent.

Two fruit salads.

And with no sugar!

Allow me a question.

You're obligated to adapt to the menu of your patients?

What you told me is very interesting.

I propose, when finished, to continue our chat elsewhere. OK?

Yes, sure!

Do you know the philosophers doctors?

- No. - No?

They're French doctors and psychologists, but also philosophers,

who sustain the theory of the souls confederation.

- The confederation of souls? - Yes.

While in the Christian tradition one believes in one soul, in our theory,

human personality is viewed rather as… as a confederation of more souls,

that are put under control of a dominating ego.

A dominating ego?

Yes, uh, you have one of your fine cigars?

Yes, gladly.

Thank you.

Ah, no no! You should not, Mr. Pereira!

But this is your first night, so I'll do another exception.

Thanks! And…

the dominating ego… go on.

Exactly!

Our balance depends upon the control of a dominating ego,

which rules the confederation of souls.

In case it emerges a stronger ego,

this one overthrows the weaker ego, taking its place.

But in my case, you think it has supervened… a new dominant ego?

Well, from what you told me, I think that the conquest by a new ego…

has not yet occurred.

But soon… soon it may occur.

In this case, what should I do?

Wait.

After so many years spent believing that literature was the most important thing,

maybe a new dominant ego is taking the lead of your souls,

to prove that there are other things even more important.

Don't look so distressed.

Let your new dominant ego come afloat.

Help him win his battle.

But, those two youngsters, what have they got to do with all this?

Well, if you think those two are right,

step forward, and don't try to compensate

your torment by drinking ten lemonades a day.

Maybe it's true.

Even some weeks ago, in the train…

a lady that I didn't know at all, told me that I could do a lot more.

By the way, at what time shall I wake up tomorrow morning?

Here the wake-up is at six.

But since tomorrow is your first morning, we can do another exception.

The last one, eh?

Dr. Cardoso, I'll tell you the truth: this clinic is not bad at all!

Pereira claims that he lay awake a long time thinking that night.

He didn't believe in the resurrection of the flesh, but in that of the soul, yes.

But now he was embarrassed by the idea of resurrection of

an entire confederation of souls!

At the first opportunity he'd speak with Father Antonio, definitely!

- Good morning, doctor. - Dear friend!

- Good morning. - Good morning.

How are you today? Slept well?

Yes, I'd say so, thank you.

I only have a small problem.

Could you find me one… of those bathing suits mat…

cover the belly up to the shoulders? No, no…

You need to overcome your modesty, since the effect of algae and sea water

is exerted precisely in contact with skin.

So, you'll have to wear shorts. Come on.

Come on, breathe.

Deeply, thoroughly deep.

Move your arms.

Again. Again… that way.

That's it, keep it up. Again, breathe deeply,

move your arms, then massage belly and chest with algae.

Right, that's how.

Keep it up. On the belly, on the chest… Yes, on the chest!

Keep it up. Harder. Harder, harder.

Meanwhile, tell me about your next translation.

It's a short novel: "The Last Class".

Do you know it?

Alphonse Daudet.

Bravo.

I know it, I know it! It's a very touching story.

But…

if I remember correctly, it ends with an ode to France against Germany!

And I'm not quite sure that today, here, this story will be appreciated.

Why?

Germany is once again against France, and our country has sided with it, so…

But my newspaper is free and independent.

- Are you really sure? - Yes.

I hope you're not the only one to believe it. Your editor is always

in the forefront in all regime events, and how…

he tends his arm, all the time…

Well, I'm not at all sure that he won't censor you someday.

- Until today, it never happened. - It may happen, though.

It also depends on the dominant ego that prevails in your confederation of souls!

May I get out?

No. No, wait still… ten more minutes.

Because remember that, besides literature, we have another common goal.

Lose weight. Lose at least ten kilos.

Ten kilos?

Good morning, Celeste. I'm back.

Is there anything for me?

There is also a letter addressed to a certain Monteiro Rossi,

C, dot, dot, Mr. Pereira. Strange! It's the first time I see such a thing.

There's nothing strange! C dot dot means "at" the newspaper.

- Oh, yes? - Yes!

- Mr. Pereira… - Huh?

- But you've lost weight! - Yes, I know!

I just wanted to point it out to you.

Hello?

Editor of the cultural page of Lisboa.

Yes, it's me.

Has something happened?

At the cafe Orchidea, tonight? Yes, but… listen…

Here I am…

No, no! Starting today, only mineral water, and not carbonated!

Seriously?

I see you in great shape, and slimmed too! Am I wrong?

You aware of the incredible scandal erupted in the Vatican?

What scandal?

Apparently a great catholic French writer

has denounced the francoist repression.

And what's his name?

Ber… Bernand… Bernadette!

- Bernanos, is his name Bernanos? - Yes, that's it! I think it's him, yes.

So! You sure, non-carbonated water?

- Eh, yes! - Right away.

Manuel. If they seek me, say that I waited for over an hour and I went home.

No doubt, Mr. Pereira.

- Good evening, see you tomorrow. - See you tomorrow.

Mr. Pereira…

Don't you recognize me?

But it's you, Marta!

I waited at the cafe.

I was there. But I'm no longer Marta.

I'm Lise Delaunay, paintress on travel in Portugal. I've a French passport.

You're unrecognizable! What happened to you?

In certain circumstances, you must become another person.

And Monteiro Rossi?

This arrived for him at the newspaper.

It's something extremely wrong!

I wrote this letter. I was hoping he would get in touch with you.

- But he, where is he? - I don't know.

He left with his cousin to recruit some volunteers.

I would like to be wrong, but I smell trouble.

It's true. We're really in trouble, and we need money.

- What kind of trouble? - Trouble that I sought myself.

After all, ifs the life I chose.

For him, it's different.

Without me, he would have never dealt with these things.

Follow me. I must show you something.

This is not a fictional story. This is a true story.

Antonio is the leader of a subversive group.

He has just escaped from the police.

The subversives are arming themselves to overthrow our government.

They claim that all goes wrong in the country,

and are developing a secret plan to assassinate our president.

They are now discussing when to trigger hour X of the secret plan.

Antonio's mother, learned that her son is a dangerous subversive,

dies of heartbreak, and the village women reproach to the evil son

the responsibility for this unfair and premature death.

Antonio goes to the tomb of the poor mother.

Is he harboring repentance in his heart?

Teresa, his sweet fiancee, has her heart distraught.

But she doesn't lose courage, and starts with him a work of redemption,

opening his eyes on the country's reality.

Here's how babies are raised in our country.

With care and love that are unmatched in the world!

Here's how our kids grow up.

With care and love that are unmatched in the world!

What about our elderly?

They feel cared for and protected like in no other country in the world!

What about our houses?

They are built in their thousands to give a home to all citizens!

And what about our young people?

Everyone can find a job because, in our country, there is work for everyone!

Teresa's work pays off.

Antonio understood his tragic mistakes and now wants to remedy.

Here he is in front of our flag, a flag that we all need to love and to respect.

And here is the crowd of the many brave patriots

who huddle around our President.

Antonio now knows what to do. Let us repeat it, us too:

Everything for the Nation, nothing against the Nation!

Everything you saw is fake, but people don't know. They must know it.

We need people like you to let everyone know the truth.

But what can I do, myself?

I deal with literature, as you well know!

And what did you do?

I told her again that I don't want to meddle with their stories!

And the money? Did you give her any?

You know what?

You did well.

Well!

Let's get to this story of the congregation of souls.

The soul is indivisible. It's God who gave it to us. Period!

- But, the French philosopher doctors… - Another heresy! Enough now!

Bring out the other thing you want to talk about. I'll give you 3 minutes!

- Three minutes? - Three minutes.

I think I am a good Catholic.

I heard of the controversy between the Vatican and Bernanos.

I want to know how I should behave!

Now, you just want me to have a fit!

Yes!

You know that I must obey my hierarchies.

I must obey…

not you!

- I don't…? - No.

Well…

listen… After the bombing of Guernica…

the Basque clergy, since ever the most Christian people in Spain,

took sides with the Republicans.

Come, I'll explain everything better.

A French writer, François Mauriac, has taken the defense of the Basque.

Mauriac. What a great man!

I must tell Monteiro Rossi to prepare his obituary.

But, why must you do an obituary?

Let him live! We need him!

I don't want to make him die.

But, in a newspaper, you must foresee.

- Let him live in peace! - Sure!

Everything got complicated when the Vatican openly supported General Franco.

And declared that the Basques are "Red Christians",

that must be excommunicated.

Another writer, Paul Claudel…

took sides with the Vatican, publishing a fascist pamphlet,

worthy of a hangman!

But how's it possible?

How would you define someone who does such an action?

- Well… - Son of a bitch!

Here is, how I define him: A son of a bitch!

- And, Bernanos? - Bernanos revealed to the world that

in Spain, Franco, has done a real military coup!

He denounced the francoist massacres.

Franco is a criminal!

And the Vatican is wrong! The Vatican…

Oh my God! What do you make me say?

I should publish some passages of "Diary of a Country Priest" by Bernanos.

- What do you think? - A splendid idea!

Your three minutes are up.

Come back soon to see me. But next time…

commit some sins first.

Otherwise I can't even confess you!

A sin?

Good morning, Mr. Pereira. How are you?

I'm fine! Thank you, Celeste.

No mail this morning. And no phone calls either.

But… But what do you know, please?

It's come a commissioner,

and made connect your phone with the porter's house.

So there! So, from now on…

here there's… a switchboard.

But…

If I have to call?

You have to pass by the switchboard, that is, by me.

I wouldn't have wanted the switchboard.

I already have to fix dinner for my husband, and he's so demanding!

Yes, yes! You can tell by the stink of fried food wafting up the stairs!

Hello?

Yes, one moment.

Hello?

Mr. Pereira, there's a call for you. Do I pass it, or do I say you're not in?

Why should you say I'm not in, if I'm in?

What do I know of what you want? I'm a porter, not an operator!

However, the call is from the thalasso-pyric clinic.

Thalasso-therapeutic!

Thalasso what? Yes, something like that.

By the way! It's in this thalasso-thing that you went to lose weight?

Will you pass this call, or not?

Dr. Cardoso, what a pleasure!

This afternoon? Excellent!

We can meet at cafe Orchidea.

Alright.

The Prussians had invaded the country.

The whole populace had gathered in the school.

The teacher got up, went to the chalkboard, in the silence

that reigned among boys and parents, and wrote in big block letters:

LONG LIVE FRANCE!

Then he left, tears in his eyes, leaving a great emotion in the classroom.

- My compliments! - Thanks!

Congratulations, you made it!

I toast to your new dominating ego…

that emerges in the congregation of souls.

As you can see, there was no censorship.

It's true!

Manuel!

Oh, Mr. Pereira!

- My physician and friend, Dr. Cardoso. - Good morning, doctor.

What news?

Contrasting news.

The nationalists took the north. But the republicans win in the center.

The trouble is that Mussolini sent to Franco

a lot of submarines filled with arms.

And that is all.

I didn't tell you the news.

I'm moving to France, at the clinic in Saint-Malo.

I leave in 15 days.

No, don't leave me… leave us, doctor. This country needs people like you!

No. No, on the contrary, this country doesn't need me anymore, no.

No, I can do nothing more here.

- I leave before the catastrophe. - Which catastrophe?

I expect a general catastrophe.

But I'm not here to discourage you.

On the contrary, I'm here to stimulate you!

By the way, tell me of your guys. How are they doing?

I'm worried for them.

I've seen Marta the other day, but no news about the boy.

I wish I could… do something for him!

But you already did much for him!

But I wish I could do more!

If the new dominant ego will surface entirely then you can do something more.

But if this new ego comes out, and I change in whole, completely,

of me, me, of my past, what will it be?

But… But it's this, just this that you need!

You need to break up with the past. You need to… to forget it!

To borrow an expression dear to Freud,

you must mourn your past life, and think about your life in the present.

For example…

by allowing yourself half a cigar, and giving the other half to me.

Yeah!

And furthermore, Mr. Pereira, speak no more with the picture of your wife.

If you have any problem to solve, do it with the living.

Alright?

He says I must stop to deal with the past. Alright.

Okay, for the congregation of souls…

Okay for the new dominant ego, but…

but with you, I will continue to talk.

♪ O tesouro brilha aqui…

♪ embala o coração mas…

♪ …está escondido…

Hello?

Good evening, Mr editor.

You want to see me?

May I know…? No.

Tomorrow morning? Sure, alright. Good evening Mr. editor.

Pereira claims that now the police were on every corner.

At least, so it seemed to him.

Passing by, he heard an officer say:

"Eyes wide open! The subversives can be anywhere."

And he didn't like this thing at all, Pereira claims.

So, listen well, Pereira.

I'll address you familiarly, so we'll be quicker.

You know you didn't show up for over a month?

No, we met at the hotel of the spa. Maybe you don't remember.

Please don't start to contradict me.

Sit down!

And, how was your vacation at the spa?

I see you still tanned.

Me… 10 kilos.

Never mind the vacation!

Let's speak rather of the cultural page. You always do as you want!

But sir, when you entrusted me the editorial, you said:

"Pereira, I don't give a damn about culture!

Do as you wish, it's your business."

- Did I say so? - Yes, literally!

I changed my mind.

Let's get to the point. I must say that this, from you, I didn't expect it.

Here you go.

But, what, you didn't expect from me?

This panegyric of France. It aroused a lot of discontent, in high places.

But what panegyric?

Oh, come on, Pereira, come on!

The story that ends with the phrase "Long live France"!

Yes but, censorship didn't say anything.

Censorship, censorship… they're illiterate idiots!

The head censor, Major Lourengo,

is a friend of mine, but certainly he can't read everything journalists write.

It's to us that it pertains to be vigilant.

It's us who must keep watch over ourselves,

us, who must censor ourselves, when necessary.

But I had told you it was a patriotic novel.

Yes, but I thought it was Portuguese patriotism,

not French patriotism, come on!

You must talk about our country, about our race!

But it exists no Portuguese race!

No, no. I… I meant to say that the Portuguese are not a race, but

a mixture of different peoples!

There are Celts, Romans, Arabs, Jews!

Listen well, Pereira. From this moment on,

whatever you want to publish, you must consult me first. Clear?

At your orders, sir. Sure.

I think our conversation is over.

I wish that our relationship were marked…

by mutual trust and esteem…

and by faith. By faith in the same ideals!

- You agree, don't you? - Yes, yes, I…

- You agree? - Yes, yes.

- Agreed! - Yes!

What are you doing here? Where are you coming from?

Then I'll explain everything.

Water. I would like some water, please.

Come.

Drink slowly. This way you'll choke!

I didn't drink for two days.

- Here. - Thanks.

Come on, sit down.

So… tell me.

My cousin was arrested while we were recruiting volunteers, down south.

- And I… - And you?

I escaped by a miracle. I arrived on foot.

- Someone knows you're here? - No one, not even Marta.

You won't send me away, will you, Mr. Pereira?

No, no, here you're safe.

The porter and the tenants upstairs are on vacation.

I need to sleep.

I can't stand upright.

Let's go.

- Here you go! - I'll never forget what you've done.

Here are the passports for the volunteers.

Hide them.

One last thing…

I must get in touch with Manta.

This is her number.

Tell her I'm safe.

Okay. Come on,

sleep now.

Good morning, Manuel.

Good morning.

It's the first time I see you at this hour. Everything fine?

I need to make a phone call. I can't call from home.

- Come with me. - Thanks.

- Here no one can hear you. - Thank you.

I leave you.

Hello. Please, I would like Marta. Is she there?

Monteiro Rossi…

Monteiro Rossi, it's time to get up!

- How long did I sleep? - A lot.

I called Marta.

They hung up.

It was an imprudence.

Someone now knows we're seeking her.

Marta knows her business. Do not worry.

- May I wash up? - Sure, come.

I'll give you a clean shirt.

If you stop being a journalist, you have another career assured.

- The chef! - Ah! Thanks.

I brought you another article.

Good! Let's hear it.

The great Spanish poet Garcia Lorca, left us under obscure circumstances.

He donated to the people his passion for the theater, culture, freedom.

We know who murdered him: the henchmen of General Franco.

We loved Garcia Lorca for his poetry.

We weep him today for his courage.

His sacrifice…

I know, this too isn't good.

I must confess something.

I didn't write all of these obituaries.

Largely, Marta suggested them.

I wrote only this one entirely by myself.

I had guessed it.

And I don't think it's proper.

Yes. But in short,

you know what the Spanish nationalists cry? "Viva la muerte"!

And I like life!

I told you the first time.

Remember?

Alone, I would have never been able to… to speak of death.

After all, you're right. Even I can't take anymore.

It's a beautiful article. Written with the heart.

Come with me.

Coming!

Who is it?

- Open up. Police! - One moment.

- Open up. Police! - One moment!

Open up, or we'll break down the door!

Political police.

- We must proceed to search the house. - But, show me your documents!

Did you hear him?

- You want what documents? - Eh, yes.

The commander's word isn't good for you?

You prefer this as a document?

Listen, Pereira,

we know you're a good person.

You simply didn't understand who you were dealing with, did you?

But you can't do a search without a warrant!

He says that we can't search without a warrant.

Fonseca? What shall we do to convince him?

What are you doing?

That's not the way to treat an intellectual!

Otherwise he'll piss in his pants.

Right, Mr. Pereira?

Try and understand.

We're not against you,

we just came to give a lesson to a young man

who studied much but lost the sense of homeland.

We're here to make him regain it, and to know where is a girlfriend of his.

Oh! Very interesting!

An intimate dinner.

How romantic!

We know you're widowed, you don't hang out with women. But…

if you like young boys, we won't be shocked.

You are ignoble! All this is ignoble!

Enough! Enough, you understand?

Pull him out, or I'll break everything!

I'll break your hoe, got it?

I'm here!

Lima! He's yours.

Let go of me!

Hold still. Sit down!

Don't touch me. Don't touch me!

We won't harm him.

He tells on his girlfriend and we let him go.

I want to call the police.

But the police is me!

Here, what're you waiting for? Call me. Where's the phone?

Hello, police?

Yes, this is the police. It's the police, yes, yes.

How good!

One of these evenings I'll come here, and you cook them like that, eh?

What are you doing to him? I want to go see.

Stop, you piece of shit!

- Well? - He didn't speak.

We'd better scram.

Listen to me well.

You never saw us.

Don't try and be smart, because next time we might come for you.

Let's go.

Monteiro Rossi!

They went away!

They went away!

It's over.

They went…

Monteiro…

Manuel…

- What happened to you? - Nothing. I need your help.

Please forward this message to my friend Dr. Cardoso.

- Please, it's urgent. - Sure. Trust me.

His name was Francesco Monteiro Rossi.

He was of Italian origin.

He collaborated with our newspaper.

He has written texts on the great writers of our time,

from Garcia Lorca to Mayakovsky.

They haven't been published yet, but maybe someday they will be.

He was a nice guy…

who loved life.

He was beaten to a pulp, his skull…

smashed with the butt of a gun!

His corpse is lying at the 2nd floor of Rua da Saudade, number 22.

He was murdered by three vile individuals.

The first one, skinny, calling himself 'commander'.

The other two, big as cupboards,

respond to the names of Fonseca and Lima.

We invite all citizens to be vigilant

and to report these incidents of brutal violence

being perpetrated in our country, with the complicity of someone.

Monteiro Rossi was in love with a girl, young and brave, lover of freedom.

To this girl, if she reads our article, we offer our…

most sincere condolences…

and our most loving greetings.

Monteiro Rossi, this newspaper remembers you, and bids farewell.

Signed Pereira.

Monteiro Rossi, this newspaper remembers you, and bids farewell.

Signed Pereira.

But…

you really want to sign this?

It's a very serious matter. You bring such an article without censorship visa!

We've known for over 30 years. Have I ever created a problem?

- 'limes were different! - No! This article must come out today!

I spoke with the head of the censure and got his verbal consent.

- The head of the censure? - Yes, Major Lourengo.

He was my schoolmate. It was I who introduced him to our editor.

You're a friend of Major Lourengo?

Listen,

I'll call him up, and you speak to him yourself, directly.

You do it, ask for the Major.

Hello? Here the typography of the "Lisboa".

Yes. Major Lourengo, please.

Hold on, please.

Major Lourengo is in a meeting.

Hold on. The operator says he's in a meeting.

Give me.

- I'm Pereira. - It's you, Mr. Pereira!

Tell the Major that I absolutely need to talk to him.

Yes, yes, the Major is here. I'll put him on right away.

Hello, Pereira, what's up?

I'm in the typography. It's for the article

that I read you a while ago, yes. The visa! The printer's worried.

I said the country must know!

I know, that the country must know.

Yes, I'll put him on.

Major Lourengo?

Yes, Major!

What's your name, my friend?

Listen well, Pedro, you must be proud to publish Pereira's exclusive article!

I'm amazed that as a citizen,

before than typographer, you make some resistance.

I apologize, Major.

By the way, on which page you think of putting it?

On the cultural page? No, my friend, no dice! On the front page!

Thank you, Mr. Major.

It will be done. Yessir.

The front page! He ordered me to put it on the front page!

If the Major so ordered…

Gosh, Pereira!

You've come a long way!

Yes.

What I'm doing?

I'll explain later.

♪ O segredo a descobrir está fechado em nós… ♪

Silly one! You thought I'd leave you alone, eh?

Shortly the paper will be out, and we can't waste a minute.

♪ …embala o coração mas ♪

♪ Está escondido nas… ♪

Journalist brutally assassinated!

Young journalist brutally assassinated!

Give me one.

Pereira claims that, as he walked away through the crowd,

he felt as if his age no longer weighed on him.

As if he were a boy again, agile, swift, with a great will to live.

And then he thought of the Granja beach,

and a fragile girl, who had given him the best years of his life.

And, to remember all this, he had the wish to make a dream,

a beautiful dream with open eyes.

But of this dream he doesn't want to talk, Pereira,

because he would tell it personally

to the one who has narrated you this story.

♪ O segredo a descobrir…

♪ está fechado em nós

♪ O tesouro brilha aqui

♪ embala o coração mas

♪ Está escondido nas palavras

♪ e nas mãos ardentes

♪ Na doçura de chorar

♪ nas carícias quentes ♪

English subs by edam17@KG March 2015