Original subtitles

ON THE BORDER

Hans always takes it for granted that I'll be able to solve any problem.

My husband couldn't know it yet,

but although I only got here a few days ago,

I've discovered the existence of a safe path to cross the border.

First of all, I went to the port and spoke to some of the workers.

One of them took me to a man trusted by the union who,

without asking too many questions,

showed he understood what I was looking for.

He advised me to visit Azéma,

the mayor of Banyuls-sur-Mer.

I'd already been told in Marseille

that he was the one who'd be able to help me find

a safe way for friends and relatives wanting to cross the border.

Mayor Azéma is an amazing person.

He spent hours and hours explaining every detail to me.

Please excuse the disturbance, ma'am.

I hope I'm not coming at an inconvenient time.

Your husband told me where I could find you.

He said that you could help me cross the border.

Wait for me on the road to the lighthouse.

Thank you.

Unfortunately, the path along the Cerbére cemetery has become too dangerous.

It has been used by refugees in recent months

but it is now closely monitored by the "gardes mobiles"

by orders of the Kundt Commission.

The only path that remains truly safe is the Lister route.

But this means crossing the Pyrenees to the west,

where the climb is more tiring.

This is not important. I just need to know that the path is safe.

I suffer with heart problems and will have to walk slowly anyway.

By the way, there are other two people who would like to cross the border.

Mrs. Gurland and her son. We left Marseilles together.

Would you be willing to accompany them too?

Of course.

But do you realize I'm not very familiar with this area?

And I've never walked this path?

All I have is a map.

Are you willing to run this risk?

Yes, sure!

The real risk would be to not leave.

Good.

Then we should visit mayor Azéma once again.

I need you to memorize all the details.

From here we can go to the other side.

You are right.

We have to get a move on. It's getting late.

Look.

The French are looking for us.

We have to get out of here.

Careful! Our provisions are getting low.

Sir! Sir! We need to go.

Are you coming?

Yes, let's go. Thank you.

There is nevertheless a great defect: there is no progress.

Alas! These are vulgar re-editions, repetitions.

As it is with editions of past worlds,

so it is with those of future worlds.

Them and us, as well as all the guests on our planet,

are born over again as prisoners of the moment and place

that destiny assigns us in its series of avatars.

Our perennity is an appendix of its perennity.

We are but partial phenomena of its resurrections.

And in any event, up till now, the past

represented barbarism to us, and the future signified progress,

science, happiness. Illusion.

On all our double-worlds,

this past has seen brilliant civilizations disappear

without leaving a trace,

and they will disappear without leaving anymore of them.

On millions of earths the future will see the ignorance,

the stupidity, and cruelty of our former ages.

At the present time the entire life of our planet,

from birth until death, with all its crimes and misfortunes,

is being detailed day by day on a myriad of brother-stars.

What we call progress

is imprisoned on every earth, and fades away with it.

Always and everywhere, in the terrestrial field

the same drama, the same décor,

on the same limited stage, a boisterous humanity,

infatuated with its greatness,

believing itself to be the universe, and living in its prison

as if it were immense spaces, only to soon fall

along with the globe that carried

the burden of its pride with the greatest disdain.

The same monotony, the same immobility on foreign stars.

The universe repeats itself endlessly, and fidgets in place.

Eternity infinitely and imperturbably acts out the same performance.

You're here too?

Please take a seat.

So? Have you decided?

Remember? The path starts here and branches off in this direction.

Here there is a plateau with seven pines.

You absolutely have to keep it on your right,

or you'll end up too far north.

Further along, you'll see some vines

which lead directly to the summit.

From there you'll see the plain with the pines.

The ridge you'll have to go over is at a higher point.

Spain is down there. On the other side of the mountains.

I suggest you go for a walk in the afternoon to try out

the first part of the route

and see if you can find the path.

On the map it looks like an easy walk!

But looking at the mountains, you can tell it's hard.

Go up to this clearing.

When you return, we'll go over everything again.

Stay at the inn and leave tomorrow at dawn,

at around four, while it's still dark,

so you can mingle in with the farmers heading to the vineyards.

The path will lead you straight to the Spanish border.

Is the clearing far?

An hour's walk, two at most.

A nice walk.

Thank you so much, Mr Mayor.

You're welcome. Good luck to you both.

Go on.

Can I give you a hand?

No.

So why did you want to bring your satchel with you?

We are just exploring the area.

My dear lady, this satchel

is the most precious thing I own.

I can't lose it.

It's more important than I am.

Mr Benjamin

The books you ordered have arrived.

I've heard that they're performing raids

and are taking the prisoners to the Roland Garros stadium.

Try to leave the country and get to England.

As soon as possible!

Will you admit as certain that we are at a turning point?

If it is a certainty, it is not a turning point.

The fact of belonging to a moment

in which a change of epoch takes place, assuming it exists,

also influences the certain knowledge that wishes to determine it

making both certainty and uncertainty inappropriate.

Never are we less able to get around ourselves than at such a moment,

and the discrete force of the turning point lies first in this.

You affirm this but within your words

I hear Nietzsche's own reflection

when he said we are all within history, but when it is contemporary

we do not experience it, it passes us by.

Life is different...

but frequent citation has exhausted this reflection,

which instead says the movement of history

is silent,

it comes slowly,

but with the arrival of the storm the brave also emerge

Yes, but for Nietzsche the storm is speech,

the speech of thought.

Of course, as when the Revolution occurs...

for example... the king of France Louis XVI

did not know the Revolution was underway,

whereas everyone else knew.

It is the same for the people of today,

there are many such revolts...

and the most disparate... and we're at the limit of history...

but we don't really know that we have reached this breaking point,

when actually we're already there,

but we cannot affirm we know it.

Yet you yourself affirm it.

I speak because I don't know anything.

Mine is only an episodic, provisional voice.

But it is an anonymous voice we must try to hear.

That is where the true lies.

And it says we have arrived at the moment of a break that separates times?

Aida at the Berlin Opera is over.

In our hearts, there remains only a trace

of the pure, intense beauty of the work.

This beauty urges us

on to the hard life that awaits us.

For our military, the cheering of the crowd

will give way to the soldiers

waiting for the train to the front.

In 1915, due to a Russian grenade, I lost my sight.

I've always shared the suffering of Germany, my beloved homeland.

We the disabled have not yielded to our personal destiny.

An unshakable will has always pushed us

to be at the service of our country.

Today there is hope for a better future.

The day of Germany's surrender

will be the best fulfilment of our sacrifice.

In Germany, honesty and modesty will reign once more.

This spring day brings the hope

of the return of spring to Germany...

But I will stop here,

not to criticize this approach

but to see better what is at stake in such a movement.

The force of the concept does not reside in refusing the negation

that is proper to death,

but on the contrary in having introduced it into thought

so that, through negation,

every fixed form of thought should disappear

and always become other than itself.

Language is of a divine nature,

not because it renders eternal by naming,

but because it immediately overturns

what it names in order to transform it into something else,

saying of course only what is not, but speaking precisely in the name of

this nothingness that dissolves all things,

it being the becoming speech of death itself

and yet interiorizing this death,

purifying it, perhaps, in order to reduce it to the unyielding work of the negative

through which, in an unceasing combat,

meaning comes toward us, and we toward it.

How are you getting on here?

Is someone giving you a hand?

Many of your acquaintances are locked up here...

I've decided to quit smoking.

You couldn't have chosen a worse time.

I can only bear the living conditions of the camp

if I'm forced to concentrate all

of my thoughts and energy in one huge effort.

Quitting smoking requires exactly this effort

and it will therefore be my salvation.

The French are upon us.

If they catch us, they'll take our weapons.

I feel like the tortoise followed by Achilles.

I hope my vineyards haven't been taken.

What to do otherwise?

All that wine. My land,

my vineyard La Pascole

and its smell of spring.

The thyme, the flowers. I'm a farmer,

I have to touch the land.

Don't move!

Everything OK?

Fine, thank you.

We'll stop here... Nobody will see us.

The fork Azéma told us about is just up ahead.

According to Azéma, this first section

corresponds to a third of the route.

It took us around three hours.

My dear lady, may I?

Raphi.

Come here!

We have to go up.

Will it be here?

Maybe, yes...

Thank you.

Mum, is the man tired?

Let's wait for him for a while.

Are you still tired?

I'm fine, you three go on.

And you?

I'll stay here.

See you tomorrow morning!

Let me point out that we're not

in a hospitable mountain area,

there could be dangerous animals.

I've heard there are wild bulls.

Smugglers also attack,

who could fend off such an attack?

And you have nothing to eat.

It's the end of September.

It's an irrevocable decision.

As it is based on a simple logical deduction.

Going back to the town

and doing the whole route again tomorrow

means putting strain on my heart that

it would probably be unable to sustain.

That's why I'm not moving from here.

Then I'm staying too.

My dear lady, do you intend

to protect me from wild bulls?

It would not be reasonable for you to stay.

You have to go over the whole route with Azéma

You also need to sleep.

Then you'll have the strength

to bring Gurland back to the clearing

and continue the ascent to the border.

Where are you Lisbon?

From which part...

New world?

Blanqui, Blanqui!

Talk to me!

I'm listening. I'm listening!

Subtitles Diego Moraes(oakislandtk) www.opensubtitles.org