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Dedicated to the memory of
José María Carreño,

who taught me how to watch films
and to read the Lost Generation and Stendhal

And to Félix Tusell Gómez who,
offering his priceless friendship,

and a life shared together,
produced my first film.

- José Luis Cuerda -

Testing, testing...

One... Two.
Testing.

Unemployed of the world, unite!

Unite and come and live here.

Where could you be better?

Here, together,
you can lend each other a helping hand.

Here, together, you can talk
the plebeian language common to you all

Here, you can wear the rags

befitting your status without shame.

Here, together, you're in your element,
you buggers.

This story takes place over several days
in the year 9 1 77

a thousand years here or there...
It's always best to have some leeway.

In the whole world which, in this case,
amounts to just the Representative Building

and surrounding area.

Which explains some of the strange things
you might see or hear in what follows.

SOME TIME LATER

CIVIL GUARD HEADQUARTERS
ALL FOR KING AND COUNTRY

Come on then, let's get going.

That mayor does bugger all, does he?

Wow!

That's outrageous!

Good morning.

Good morning.

Good morning.

- Good morning, general.
- Good morning.

What I was saying, Justo,

is that if you daub a little goat's cheese

on your groin after taking a bath...

No plans on getting a shave today
by any chance?

No, son. You know...

I shave at home.
It's more economical.

So, you daub your groin.

With cheese.

Fresh cheese.

Morning, you lot!

Good morning, Morris.
How are you getting on?

Doing just fine.

I want a haircut like this guy here.

We'll see.

Come on, let's carry on...

Green, green, I love thee green.

Green the wind. Green the branches.

With the shadow on her waist
she dreams on her veranda.

Green her flesh, green her hair,

with eyes of finest silver.

My god, I'm pissing myself.

General, can I ask you something?

So long as it isn't inappropriate
for this time of day,

and doesn't offend
average sensibilities...

Oh, I don't think it does.

Good morning here, eh!

Go on then, ask the question.

Why, when you're a general,

are you patrolling with me,

a mere regular policeman?

Good question, Morris.
Very thorough.

Thank you, general.

I've been asking myself

for an incalculable amount of time

"Why does the general,
who is a general, patrol with me...?"

Allow me to interrupt.

I make no bones about it.

I'm from humble extraction.

My father was pure trash.
My mother was a saint.

I worked my way up, thanks to her, step
by step, from the lowest rank like you,

to general.

Add my great analytical capacities to that,

my relative sexual prowess,

my few possessions,

and that I set my sights high...

plus, policemen tend to patrol in pairs,

and we're the only two
left in the world...

Yes.

Hello.

- Hello.
- Hi, good morning.

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

Hi, good morning to you.

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

Morning.

Cock-a-doodle-doo!!!

Tch, tch, tch...

Hi.

- Where are you going?
- Upstairs.

- That surprises me. Which floor?
- The top floor.

The top floor first,
then I'll work my way down.

I'm going to sell my lemonade.

Like hell you are.
Go on then, clear off.

Don't touch me, or I'll kill you.
I'll slit your throat, you loser.

Sorry.

I'd ask you to take that
as a rhetorical threat.

Though not without a certain punch.

- "Kyrie eleison".
- "Christe eleison".

I'm all in a fluster, mayor.

There's a man
determined to sell his wares.

Obviously I told him he can't
because he'd completely lose his essence.

If he ceases to be unemployed, he'll suffer
an ontological weakening.

Well, that's a great line of argument.

What did he say to that?

That he was sick of his essence
and he wanted to sell.

Oh, that's terrible.

An answer like that...

Did he look you in the eye
when he said it?

Yes.

This part of the cornea here.

What a bad business, Eufemiano.
We have an enemy there.

What did he want to sell?

Lemonade.

Very tasty, he said.

Why do we have to deal
with an individual like that?

Well, Admiral, I was thinking,
seeing this man is an enemy...

Maybe, but he's a lightweight enemy.

Mayor, stop kidding!

And why the Navy exactly?

Because he wants to sell juice...

Juice...

Liquid...

- Get it?
- Do I get it?

I don't think the armed forces
should get involved.

Fundamentally speaking,
the man is unemployed.

Oh, say no more.

The unemployed are time-bombs!

You deal with political matters, Mayor,

that's why you're
the only elected person here.

Christ's sake.

You know...

And don't bother the army,
they've got enough on their plate.

Do you think it's easy
to always maintain discipline,

dress in uniform,

follow incomprehensible orders,

have an overall vision,

the capacity for summation,

drink, uphold the unity of the universe,

be the inspiration of every soldier,

do guard duty?

Snapping to attention
while holding in your stomach,

break rank, run, stop,

keep step,

hold in your urine while on parade,

eat your canteen...

I mean, really...

It's incredible!

Oh, Mendez,
the Mayor's chief of staff.

The mayor says your plan
has a snowball's chance in hell.

That the free market rules here.

Which is why there are three shops
for each business and trade.

And we're not budging an inch from there.

I have nothing to say against these lemons.

Not a word of complaint.

They're top class.

But we can't just go around

reducing unemployment.

It would turn the system upside down.

My mum has told me a hundred times...

Maintaining the number of unemployed
at a pre-established level

with mild fluctuations,
according to market needs,

is one of the premises

well-respected economists
believe axiomatic

to keeping labour cheap,
whether manual or intellectual,

it's all the same.

And consequently,
to bolster the status quo.

Right.

That said...

The guy downstairs seems...

pretty bland.

Let's both go and see him.

Right.

On a cold, dull, winter afternoon.

The pupils are studying.

The monotony of rain behind the windows.

I don't know if a Cerberus like me

should join in
with these ethereal expressions.

Then they introduced me
to the mayor's chief of staff,

a woman of rare intellectual subtlety
and the kind of classic beauty

I have always found moving.

And does she move you a lot?

A lot.

Do you remember the commotion

that took place that day
when all of the Left's traditional values

were thrown overboard due to
a sterilizing ideological disarmament

and an insultingly pragmatic
political praxis?

- Remember?
- Of course I remember.

- It was all anyone could talk about.
- Well, it was kind of like that.

An incredible thing...

Actually...

The chief of staff's feet
are slightly too big.

Just a little, eh?
Kind of big.

A trifling matter, if ever there was one.

A trifle?

The merest trifle.

With the shop door open.
I mean it's not like I'm asking for much.

It's impossible, Justo.
You know as well as I do.

What does the law say?
That the free market must be respected.

What else does it say?

That equal opportunities
have to be promoted.

Free competition...

That means three establishments
for each business.

Three barber shops, three egg stalls,
three churches...

Equal in opportunities.

All of them with the door closed

and a sign of the same size,
with the same kind of lettering.

That's all there is to it.
That's just the way it is.

I'm having none of it.
I mean, for God's sake.

Nobody ever comes into my barber shop,

while Agustin is overbooked
and gets great reviews.

The third barber never even opened.

Because Anselmo, who got the license,
has no vocation for the trade.

If he doesn't have the vocation
to be a barber, screw him.

But he can't breed greyhounds here,
as he'd like to.

There's nowhere for them to run.

It's that simple.

The shop door open...

It's only so people can see how neat it is.
The level of hygiene...

No, no, and no again.

Well, that's it then.

I'm going to invite in
clowns and acrobats,

and an image of the Virgin Carmen.

- Wild animals too.
- Get out of here!

And I'm going to shout...

Long live Lenin!

Long live Saint Francis of Assisi!

Long live the Agrarian Reform, truly
carried out in benefit of the workers!

Come on then, it's closing time.

Hey, Morris.

Justo has just been shouting
at the top of his voice.

Is that so, snitch.

No, no...

He's right, Pastrana is right.
I went overboard.

I shouted, "Long live Lenin",
"Long Live Saint Francis of Assisi"

and "Long live the Agricultural Reform
carried out for the workers".

Great.

Justo here is a barber
of great culture and learning,

Pastrana, a real Figaro.

I don't know if we deserve him.

But nobody is getting me away from
"Long live the King, long live the King".

Sometimes, when I'm alone in my room,
I even shout out...

"Long live the Consumer Society
and all its implications!"

What the hell.

And now, everybody...

Taxidermy!

Taxidermy!

Taxidermy!

Taxidermy!

Wow, wow, so crazy!

Was there any urinating in Pastrana's bar?

No, more like illegal opinions.

Ah!

General...

Can I confess something, general?

What, right now?

I'd sleep easier, general.

So, the other day

I was sitting on the lavatory

and the idea came to me that,
while we're asleep,

everybody believes in God.

But when we wake up,

well, everything changes.

Because sometimes we believe

and...

sometimes we don't.

There's the Gordian knot.

Being and non being, Morris.

Non being, but with a presence.

To cease to be.
Do you follow?

Absolutely.

At your orders, general.

Whatever seems to be true,
may it be true,

whether true or not.

That's the way I like it, Morris.
I like a Civil Guard who is on the ball.

And who has a pair too, right?

Right.

Good morning, friends.
Yes, good morning.

It has to be boldly stated,
just like that.

And the morning is good because
it has broken, which is no small thing.

And also because you, my listeners are...

Late as ever, Galbarriato.

Let's go.

... burden of centuries old poverty you have
been honestly carrying around with you.

And it's a good morning too,
because God is watching over you

like the birds in the sky,

and just like He does with them,
He gives you some crumbs.

Hello.

Where are you going at this time of day?

My comrade wants to see
the mayor's chief of staff, Mendez.

She's not available yet.

She is still doing herself up.
You'll have to wait.

Can the three of us have a quick chat?

No, you can't. Because I slept very badly,
I'm still half asleep.

I can hardly think straight.

The doctor hooked up my occupit bone
to my scrotum

and I was thrashing around all night.

You're kidding.

Have you tried stretching, doing breathing
exercises and prayers, even faithless ones?

That's the first thing I did.

But last night's sleep has left
terrible after-effects,

which quite possibly might paralyze
my ability to take decisions,

even urgent ones contributing
to the well-being of my fellow humans

and whole sections of humanity.

So you mean, me and my mate
can't see the chief of staff?

If I say no, I mean no.

Can't you see I'm part
of the hierarchical order?

He's right about that, Jose Maria.

Hey!

Where are they going?

Isn't it forbidden to leave the building?

They have permission to go on a walk
for between twenty and forty five minutes.

They're rebellious youth.
One has to let them enjoy themselves.

Hey, guys!

Talking to us, man?

I wanted to ask you something.

Did you hear they won't let me inside
to sell lemonade?

I heard something, yeah.
And what's up, man?

I was thinking that, when you young people
found out, you'd cause a scene.

Demonstrations, Molotov cocktails...

Revolutionary songs.
Something eye-catching.

Well, you're wrong man.
No such luck.

We're chilled out, man,
we've been at some reflection days.

But if you remind us in a couple of days,

either we'll give you a hand
or we'll just completely ignore you.

Whatever we feel like.
OK, man?

I'd be really grateful
if you'd give us a hand,

I don't want to be the absolute protagonist
of this lemon rebellion.

I'd like everyone to play their part,
you see? More collective.

All that stuff about
"rise up the damned of the earth"

and "to the barricades", you know?

"Allons enfants de la patrie"...
Understand?

Keep it between ourselves. I don't
want anyone in there hearing about this.

I hear you, dude. We'll do
whatever we fancy when the time comes.

See you later, buddy.

Goodbye.

Saying those lines I just said,
gets me all emotional.

I remember running from the police,

and solidarity

and ideals even.

I remember dead friends,

and friends who sold out.

I remember a small car
my dad used to drive.

And my mum...

who used to sit on the cafe terrace

with her handbag over her knees to...

to cover her thighs.

And how, one fine day,

pubic hair began to sprout
implacably forth from my...

I remember so many things...

But I also know that, one day,

all of these memories

will be washed away by time,

like drops of urine in the rain.

Let's go, Galbarriato.

Come on then!

Come on then, lovely, come on.

Come on, Linda!

Come on, come on.
Come on lets go.

Let's go.

Come on!

Come on.

Sorry for the outburst but...

One of you hasn't fallen in love with me?

I have this nagging doubt.

Oh, love...

For anything less, I...

I understand, chief.
But falling in love...

Lots of people fall in love,
and they're none the worse for it.

Besides, if you want to sell lemonade...

I don't know what to say, son.

Better off falling in love.
Even just to try it.

Sure.

The problem is, I have conceptual
and methodological qualms

about falling in love.
One starts getting all metaphysical.

I'm more into the natural side of things.

Natural he says,
the empirical method.

We use that here too
and it's going just great.

What is the empirical method?

It consists of two lovers touching
each other's naked bodies all over

with great intimacy and mutual pleasure.

An intricate and thoroughgoing experience
being achieved.

Am I getting you in the mood?

What about this for natural?

How beautiful you are, my friend!

How beautiful!

Like a dove's, your eyes.

And teeth so straight and white,

like flocks of sheared sheep.

That's beautiful, it really is!

How pastoral, how brave!

- Are we in your way here?
- Not at all.

I just leave the animals to themselves.

What beautiful beasts you have.

I can't complain.

You girls are beautiful too.

Do you supply milk too?

No, not yet.

Yeah, well, the sheep are better at that.

Life deals out such hard blows...

I don't know!

Blows like God's hatred

As if in the face of them
the hangover of everything suffered

lay stagnated in the soul...

Oh, I just don't know

They are few,

but enough.

They open dark furrows
in the toughest of backs.

Maybe they're the foals
of barbarous Attilas

or the black heralds sent by death.

Poet!

Poet!

Poet!

Poet!

Poet!

Poet!

Me and my idiosyncracies.

I'm going to kill Agustin.

Don't even think about it!

There will be hell to pay for.

You've been warned, Don Alfonso.
I'm going to bump off Agustin.

People will do anything to get attention,
won't they, general?

Folk these days, I don't know.

I don't know.

One thing is clear, and it's that
if we follow our natural tendency

and our own ideology,
that loser can ask his old man to help him.

Can't he?

And besides, if we devote a little time

to the theoretical discussion
we've been having over the last few days,

the chances of helping him
get even slimmer.

So, let's pick up where we left off...

- Ortega y Gasset rocks, doesn't he?
- He is the dog's bollocks, man.

Ortega y Gasset is anything but
the dog's bollocks. Why pretend otherwise?

Ortega y Gasset is ace, man.
Stop fooling around.

Forget it.
For him, anything that isn't Hegel...

I don't give a shit for Hegel.

A total loser.
I can't be arsed with Hegel.

So what exactly are you contributing
to the discussion then?

The logical demolition
of all neat and tidy doctrines.

To seek the truth today obliges us to make
an asymmetrical theoretical deconstruction,

the rigour lying in the inflexibility
with which that is carried out

and the infinite field
of that deconstruction.

And how does thought erect itself there?

Thought?

Thought erects itself quite the thing,
mate.

- You're having me on.
- And what about consciousness?

Who mentioned consciousness?

Look at him, he's a one.

My dad talks about consciousness
every day.

At dinner,

either you talk about consciousness
or you're in trouble.

Skip consciousness.
Don't give in to it.

Well...

Hegel really turns me on.

- Hegel turns you on?
- Yes.

He gets me really horny.

Shush, be quiet.

Something tells me that Justo, the barber,
has just killed the other barber,

and the guy with the lemons
is going to take the rap.

Fuck me, man.
How do you know all of that?

I don't, man.

But it's as if it were sculpted
in the air... In 3-D.

See the scene you've caused, you idiot?

Don't say I didn't warn you.

I told you not to kill him, didn't I?

What's done is done.
I did him in and there's an end to it,

You're a murderer.

- And you're an idiot.
- An idiot. Who is an idiot?

No fighting here, okay?
That's all we need.

Your name might be Justo,
but you're anything but just.

It's disgraceful behaviour.

Murderer! Villain!

Man,
I think you're in for a lot of trouble.

Of course I am. Working class, unaffiliated
to any union, what can I expect?

Shit, man, you're Justice itself.

And proud of it.

Come in, come in.

I slit his throat with a barber's razor.

- One clean cut.
- What an animal!

I did it with Don Alfonso's permission.

Oh, no you didn't, sonny boy.

The general didn't give you
any such permission.

What a cheek you've got.

Look here now, Justo.

Nobody is going to believe that the general
gave you permission to kill your colleague,

so stop busting our balls.

Anything to say in your defence?

First of all,
that the general gave me permission.

Secondly, if you hang me,
you're going to have to find a barber,

because there's only me and Anselmo,

and Anselmo has no vocation.

He hasn't even opened his shop
since he got the license.

Because my thing is breeding greyhounds.

But there's no space for them to run here.
So you're screwed.

Count me out as a barber.

Just what I was saying...

Sorry everybody, I slept in.

Living the life of Riley!

But I've been informed of everything.

I really don't like what Justo has done.

Not one bit.

So, Justo didn't do it.

Well, actually your majesty, he did.

All of the customers of the barber shop

were there at the time.

Why don't we just say he didn't do it?

Understood?

It's bad PR for us to have barbers
in our midst

who kill their competitors
because business is bad.

Agustin was whacked
by the unemployed guy.

The guy with the lemons.

You've got to keep your wits about you
in this job.

Let's give thanks for the rains last Spring
in mid-March,

which have filled our gardens
with vegetables.

Give thanks to the capitalist revolution

which has finally put everything
in its place.

Where are you going to be happier than
with people from your same social class?

Give thanks, because this way unwanted
and unnatural interbreeding is avoided.

Who are you going to get along with better

than people with the same habits?

Let's be thankful, because each person
has received his just deserts.

Let's be thankful
to God whose will be done,

and who is about to close for the night.

So cool!
So happening!

The idea for today is...

"Every infinity has its moment".

This is Hortensio Zumalacarregui here...

Your lyrical, phoney host.
The same guy as always.

Get some rest.

Shut up, why don't you, asshole!

What a pain in the ass,
day and night, with no end!

I'm all flustered, Mendez.

Sorry if I go a little overboard,

but frankly,
I feel the inclination to offer you

a malachite palace.

Just think.

Not to mention one hundred
or one hundred and fifty doubloons,

and the finest silks,

taffetas and oranges from China.

Carriages, tractors,

cart-loads of diamonds,

five good emeralds,

and gold...

And silver too, Mendez.

There, I said it.

And I heard it.

Justo...

Justo!

Wake up, man.

Justo.

Just...
Hello.

What do you want, Agustin?

A cigarette.
I'm so bored.

You're bored?

Can you imagine what nothingness is like?

So, there's no heaven, right?

Nothing, nothing at all.

I mean,
maybe there is for believers,

but I'm all on my lonesome.

Well, that's a blow.

All of eternity and nothing to do except
walk around with your hands in your pockets?

Take any books or music along?

Not even one.
I've lost my sparkle, my interest in things.

Do you have a spare cigarette?

Yes, just there on the bedside table.
Help yourself.

Just as well I can appear like this...

It adds a little colour to my life...

Would you mind if I popped in
now and again?

Of course, feel free.

Come whenever you like.

It's the least I can do, you might say.

I also wanted to say how grateful I am
for the way you bumped me off.

A really great cut it was.
Clean, precise, quick, decisive.

Well that's true.

- I did always have it in mind.
- Did you really?

"If I kill this guy, it has to be quick
and clean.

One incisive cut.
Clean, precise, quick, decisive."

Sure. Just imagine your nerves got
the better of you,

what with killing a person,

and you'd started slashing everywhere...

- What a bloodbath!
- Can you imagine?

A barber slashing about all over
the place... and you in a right mess.

I'd rather not think about it.

It turned out just fine in the end.
Congratulations.

The good thing is I no longer
have to learn poetry off by heart.

Which was complicated, believe me.

Nobody sleeps for the sky.

Nobody.
Nobody.

Nobody sleeps.

The creatures of the moon sniff
and prowl around their cabins.

The live iguanas will come to eat away
at those men who do not dream the world.

Nobody.

Nobody.

What do you think?

Sounds easy, doesn't it?

I'm not surprised your barber shop
was always packed.

You're a bag of laughs, you bugger.

Asshole!

Go and fuck yourself!

Well said, Morris.

Good morning, general.

Good morning.

How is it going?

How is it going?

I know I'm late.

But I'm exultant today.

I've even gone so far
as to make a decision.

Sorry, Majesty...

I know it's your Majesty who speaks first,

but me and my colleague still haven't said
anything about this story...

I mean meta-story...

And, well,
we'd like to do something about it...

I mean, if there is a culprit,
we'd like to arrest him

and, to the extent possible,
slap him around a little,

if that's all right with your majesty.

You cops are real sticklers!

Moving on to something else.

If you're good,
I'll tell you the big news.

I'm going to make an heir with Mendez!

Crap, complete crap!

Look, Mendez,
there are other ways of putting it.

"Crap", understand what that means?

And "chief"?

. I'm your chief of staff,
and don't forget it.

And as long as I am chief of staff

of the only democratic institution
in this building,

nobody is turning me into the queen.

Oh, come off it, Arriondas.
It's not big.

It is big.

- Eufemiano...
- What?

Is number 75 big or small?

Big, isn't it?

- It's small.
- Man, there it is there, eh? Let's see.

It's big.

Well that's that,
you get the big dog.

Good morning, officers.

Anybody fancy some juice?

You can't do that.
You'll lose your essence.

And that is a problem for us.

I'm not going to lose my essence.

I'm not charging.
It's on the house.

Well, if that's the way it is...

Come on, hand yourself in.

Obviously, you're serving lemon juice.
Two charges.

Murder and illegal juice.

With just one offence,
you'll be banged away for years.

Arriondas, calm down now.

You know as well as I do.

The king framed me to break my balls.

Isn't that enough?

If the King were to say
that I was to be arrested,

I'd arrest myself, get the picture?

- Don't cause a scene.
- Not a word about the King's balls.

The man has to make an heir with Mendez...

Who says so?

I'd take the lemon guy

by surprise,

and before he can do anything,

I'd smash him over the skull
with the large bone of a donkey

in such a way, and to such effect,

that he suffer an irreversible
and totally amazing fractured skull.

If necessary...
And fucking amazing.

What a speech!

See why I like to drink from the well
of common folk wisdom?

If they say something outrageous,

then you just ignore them,
and no big deal.

If they give you some good advice,

you carry it out,
mission accomplished,

and you do something with the added benefit
of the masses' approval.

One other thing...

I like the lemon guy.

He's got plenty of juice to him.

No class consciousness,
no more lemonade.

How many people applied
for the concierge's job?

Millions.

Of every race.

There were loads of Indians.

And plenty of Bostonians.

They make great concierges.
They're famous for it.

Oh, I get it.

Guzzling lemon juice and the murderer
just sitting there, quite the thing.

Have you no sense of shame?

At your orders, general. Yours too, Admiral.
We haven't tasted the lemonade.

He won't let us try it,
cause of class consciousness.

Anyway, he knows that his arrest
is the King's brainchild,

but he didn't kill the barber

and he knows it...

He knows what?

Cretin!

He might know he is innocent,

but that doesn't mean we don't know
he is guilty.

Well...

I have no intention of handing myself in.

You're not arresting me
on a whim of the King.

The King doesn't have whims.
He has a royal will.

Do you prefer me here, or on the throne?

Oh, it's the King himself.

I was wanting a word with your Majesty
about a couple of things.

You be quiet, murderer.

And get down on your knees,
with your arms out in the air.

Your Majesty...

Would you like me to slap him around a bit?

Oh, no. What I would like to see
is a favourable atmosphere develop

for myself in relation
to the mayor's chief of staff.

Say that passion has called.

That I am horny.

Begging and dying for it.

Avid.

Appealing.

Of the four which are coming,
which is yours?

Of the four which are coming,
which is yours?

The one with the green neckerchief
and the blond hair, the blond hair.

The one with the green neckerchief
and the blond hair, the blond hair.

- Jose Maria?
- What is it?

I don't half miss Mendez, don't you?

More than the King, that's for sure.

He's all whims
and we're full of conviction.

Remember that, Galbarriato.

He has bright ideas,

we have noble ideals.

Our companions really have taken us going
to war to defend our interests very well.

Yours and mine, I mean.

Just wait till they find out

we can get rid of neo-liberal capitalism
into the bargain,

which has us shackled in chains.

And that's another thing.

We've had centuries and centuries
of unemployment and humiliation,

and it's drummed into our heads every day,
so we lose our class consciousness

which, as can be seen, we need so much.

My dad was wondering

if we can fight against
neo-liberal capitalism too,

so that it no longer shackles us in chains.

Tell your dad that's fine with us.

Oh, that's great news!

"Turris eburnea"...

"Domus aurea"...

It's all over for you.
Get out of here.

What's all this then?
I'm not going anywhere.

Can't you see the people in power
put me here?

You can't just kick me out.
What's the idea, to leave me jobless?

We want you to bugger off and stop
driving us mad with all this racket.

Racket he says.
It's a litany.

Don't you like "domus aurea", "salus
infirmorum, refugium peccatorum" then?

You buggering off and never coming back
is what we like.

Go on then.

Bloody hell.

Cock-a-doodle-do!

What a lovely afternoon it is!

It's anything but lovely.

We've come to declare war on the King,
it's that simple.

So that he learns not go
shooting his mouth off

with the first thing that comes
into his head. What a fucking King!

And tell Mendez
to doll herself up if she likes,

she can come with us if she wants.

Right, man.
You're taking Mendez away.

What about the King?
Heirless forever?

The dynasty just peters out?
Are you off your rocker?

Just tell the King about the war.

And Mendez too, that if she so wishes,
we're waiting for her outside.

All I need to do is tell the Mayor,
my boss,

that two cheeky bastard
are saying outrageous things.

Oh, is that so?

Well, they've really screwed up this time.

Tell them I'm really furious.

And that this is going to have
unforeseen consequences.

And if they don't understand
what I mean by "unforeseen",

then sing them a Spanish folk song.
With the most ferocious tone you can.

Make sure they get the message.

Calm down, Fidel, calm down.

"Spiritus Sanctus descendat
super vos et maneat semper".

Dear brothers...

You are about to embark on a Crusade.

You're going to carry

the Cross of Christ like a flag again,

and the sacred host like a weapon
to sow once more meekness

in the hearts of the poor,

who are the Lord's chosen ones.

Why are the poor God's chosen ones?

Because those who suffer most
in this valley of tears

will be those who end up

closest to the Throne of God
in Heaven.

That's why at times of war,

which at times is necessary,

it is always, always, always,

the poor who are called
to the Lord's side first.

So they can feel His embrace.

And in the name of God,

may the King perpetuate his dynasty.

He's been larking around long enough.

- Go in peace.
- Amen.

With your spirit.
Praise be to God.

You're right, Morris,
your observation is correct.

This morning at church, my attitude was
one of fervour and absorption.

And you were wondering,

why is it that the other night the general
harboured so many theological doubts

only to behave, just a few days later,
like the devout?

That's exactly my question, general.

For two reasons, Morris.

Because the other night, it was night,

you know.

You must have heard

of the famous mystical handicap
of the dark night of the soul.

Yeah.

And because this morning it was early,

and I was fresh as a daisy,

very open,
very absorbent,

and when we began to ask the Holy Ghost

to come into our minds,

the Holy Ghost came

into my body.

These things happen, Morris.

It's that simple.

And is He still there?

What do you think?
Look.

Oh, yes!

Oh, absolutely, that's it!

Oh, that's it!

Can you believe it?

They're going to go to town
with the unemployed assholes.

The trouble is, if we use Comparative Law,
it's not going to be easy to stop them.

What, after they have formally declared
war on the King?

With the rulebook in their hand?
They're the aggressors.

Sure, dude.

I don't know,
we could distract the Navy, right?

Seeing as they have nowhere to fight.

What about our ideological coherence,
dudes?

Oh, yeah. That.

Our ideological coherence would lead us

not to give a shit about those losers,
wouldn't it?

But the guy came to ask us for help, man.

Me, sincerely, from the intellectual
perspective which marks our time,

I don't give a flying fuck about that guy.

Father Miñarro was spouting
nothing but complete rubbish today, Sister.

Not half, Friar Vincent.

That man is a dangerous fascist.

I think so too, Friar.

Because you are a Sister of the poor
and I am a Franciscan monk.

We're both obliged by our respective orders

to help the disadvantaged.

But isn't any follower of Christ?

Of course, Friar, of course.

And shouldn't it be the Church
which is first to set an example,

defending the poor against the rich?

Well said, Friar Vicente!

Isn't it true, Friar, that where there is
a poor man who is good...

Even...

even the King must make way,
and may God forgive me.

The subject of the poor
really gets my goat, Sister.

Mine too, Friar Vicente.

It's so cute...

It makes you glow inside...

One should take up arms
to fight for them if necessary!

What humane and religious values
the Friar has!

Careful, Sister.

We're on the verge of consenting,
I'm telling you.

Aren't we just, Friar Vicente?

We are, we are indeed.

THIS IS YOUR WAR
ENLIST IN BAR PASTRANA

Gargoles, Victoriano.

Do you want to go or not?

It depends.

What exactly are we going to do
in this war?

Try and win it of course,
just like all the others.

I get it, but,
but, let me try to explain.

I was a widower for fifteen years.

And I just got shacked up with a girl
a few months ago. And now...

Off to war...
I don't know if...

That's the thing about war,

it's such an upheaval...

All right then. Next. Goodbye.
Spare me your life story.

Thanks, mayor.

I'll send you some of the beans
I planted in my room.

They're the tastiest beans in...

Okay then, goodbye.

Guan Pu...

Li.

You.
Do you fancy going to war?

It is very inconvenient for me right now.

Oh, come on!
You get out and go to see the world...

No, really inconvenient.
Couldn't be a worse time.

Inconvenient.

Okay, off with you.

They're a funny bunch, the Chinese.

Let's see.

But do you really want to go to war?

The girl got the idea into her head.

Well, you'll know what's best
for you both.

Christ, the German girl.

Gutenberg, Sara.

I'm not going to any war.

May I ask why?

I'll only go to war
if I get to organize it.

You're a bit capricious, aren't you?

Hey...

Hey you, come here.

- Who, me?
- Yes, you, come here.

So, then. Tomorrow, drop by here
between seven and seven thirty,

you're going to war for a spell.

What's your name?

Genaro Julian.

Here, this is for you.

Rubbing rancid bacon fat on your groin
is no bad thing either.

For young people that is.
Given your age,

I wouldn't recommend it.

So, you planning on showing up by day too?

I didn't really want to. It's a little
shameless to turn up, in broad daylight.

But just for today, if you don't mind...

Of course I don't mind.

Look at everything that's happened.
Mendez dating, my murder...

Why did the King make up the lie

that the lemon guy whacked me?

Oh, you know.

That's the royal family for you.

Royalty always looks after itself.

Just another way of earning his salary.

From what I can see,
business isn't exactly booming here.

Nothing doing.
I killed you for nothing.

You can see what use it has been.

- Well, I'm sorry.
- I can imagine.

Out there, in the middle of nothingness,
bored, with your hands in your pockets.

While I'm stuck in the same old routine.

It makes you despair.

Shall we have a think
and see if we can get this place working?

I don't know what to say.
It's systemic I think.

A vulgar case of fake news.

We've come to help you, brothers.

Shit, that's great.

And to tell you what them on their way
are planning on doing.

I'm here with Friar Vicente.

We're here to tell you,
we're really sorry,

but we can't help you.

We just can't do it.
We've made other plans.

And doesn't that make you
blush with shame?

- No.
- Okay, fair enough.

All right, man.

Twelve o'clock and all is well!

Quiet and off home with you!

Here one feels
like a poppy in a field of wheat.

They are the harvest,
we are the beautiful flowers, if you like.

Though of little use.

Nothing of the Creator's work is useless,
Sister.

They are the harvest,

we are those red poppies.

Red like the blood of the martyrs

and like the flags of oppressed people,
Sister.

Nothing that exists is gratuitous.

The Creator has made everything
for a purpose, though on many occasions...

- Only He knows His designs.
- That's just what I think, Friar Vicente.

And when doubts besiege me,
I put my trust in Him.

For example...

Why did the Creator give Friar Vicente
and myself sexual organs?

Is it just an adornment?

Is it so that one day
they meet in a deadly duel,

perishing, if so required,
in a holocaust to God?

And I always say to myself...
Oh, He knows, only He knows.

He knows why Friar Vicente has a powerful
and flaming masculine member,

and why I have this humble cranny,

soft and padded outside,
sweet and succulent inside.

Isn't that so, Friar Vicente?

The Creator will know why He gave us
sex organs,

when it is our duty
to be chaste poppies, hmm?

Yes, Sister, yes.

He must know.

They're coming, they're coming!

What's with the flag?
Sister...

Our fight is for the present.

Those flags and symbols
only serve to create divisions.

I appreciate the intention,
but if you need that rag...

No, I just wanted to add a little colour.

For the press and the television...

There aren't many of them.

There are twelve of them.
Twelve.

Twelve.

Either they are a bunch of silly buggers

or else really clever bastards
who have come up with a plan to ruin us.

Good morning!

Good morning, lads.
Is nobody going to answer me?

Good morning.

We're not here to cause any trouble.

There are just a few of us,
as you can see.

I don't trust you, general.
How am I supposed to?

Why have you brought a pregnant woman?

She insisted.
She wanted to see things for herself.

She is a woman with great curiosity.
There she is, pregnant, no husband.

She wanted to see if lust
was as enjoyable as they say.

An epicurean.

What about the black lads?

The Mayor sent them.

A quirk of his.
He likes ordering people.

So what is it you want then?

You to stop busting our balls.

What foul language!

Pay no heed.
What we want to do is convince you.

We'd rather convince than conquer.

Let him try.
Let's hear what he has to say.

Go on then.

Actually, all we want

is for you to stay here,
and carry on like before.

That's it.

The King has pardoned
the barber's murderer...

Wait a minute!

You know as well as I do the barber
was killed by the other barber.

Sure.
It makes no difference.

Well, it makes a difference to me.

Come on, son.
If we start splitting hairs...

Tell the King to stop lying
and show some respect.

- Don't get lippy, son.
- Calm down.

Nobody get angry now.
We all have to give a little ground.

What do we have to give ground on?

We could always throw ourselves
in the sea.

Tell us exactly what else
we can give ground on.

We live in poverty, with no education...

That's why we want you to stay here.

The world is very competitive,
ferocious, brutal.

You need a top class education
to survive out there these days.

They'd eat you for breakfast.

Maybe not.
Maybe I'd make a fortune selling lemonade.

It's the world out there
that has to change, not this one.

Anything you say,
it's like asking sharks to eat peanuts.

I don't know if you catch my drift

Loud and clear, general.

But the Friar is right.

You and that Friar
are a pair of loose living idiots!

- And Reds!
- Well said, Admiral.

Do you mind leaving this to me?
You're going to ruin everything.

Well, look here.

We'll overlook

the sailor's insults
of these two religious souls

who have so kindly put
liberation theory into practice.

And we'll think about your proposals,
general.

But, let me be clear...
I'm not giving up on selling my lemonade.

You're going nowhere, son.

What an asshole you are!

I wish somebody would explain to me
why I can't sell lemon juice?

No matter how much competition there is,

you don't need a degree in trigonometry
to do it.

It's not about that.
We've told you a hundred times...

You'll lose your essence.

You'd stop being one of the unemployed.

Ontological deterioration it's called.

I don't give a shit
about no longer being unemployed.

Talk properly. Can't you see
they're going to get aggressive otherwise?

- Besides, you're a murderer.
- Shut up, Morris.

Like hell I'm a murderer.
You bastard.

Yankees, go home!

Yankees, go home!

Yankees, go home!

Morris here is right.
He's a dirty, stinking killer.

You're going to spoil everything,
you really are.

What's your problem?
Are you going to contradict the King?

Me, contradict the King?

Well that's the way it looks.

It almost make me suspect...

Please be quiet, come on.
Stop behaving like children.

Yankees, go home!

Come on, let's get going then.

Mendez, you come with us

and you lot can keep
the embittered Friar and the Sister.

Even if they deserve ex-communication
and a spell in the dungeons.

And just to make it clear, we're only
doing this to demonstrate our goodwill.

The Sister and myself are staying here.

But we're staying
because we want to.

To raise the political awareness of this
flock and to subvert the established order.

What a one you are!

What kind of talk is that
from a man of the cloth?

Are you stupid or what?
Enough demagoguery.

The fact of the matter is that God,
in his generosity,

created the world with a place for us all.

The poor and the rich......

- Greedy guts!
- Fascist!

- Pharisee!
- False prophet!

- Country bumpkin!
- Tight-arsed git!

As for Mendez,
I don't think I heard you properly.

Oh!
There's no other way.

It's the only thing the King requested.

Bring back Mendez.

He says she is the prop holding up
the dynasty.

Well, I'm Mendez and I'm going to do
what the hell I like.

Mendez, let me tell you,
is sick to the back teeth...

Mendez is secular and she is here
in order to demonstrate,

for the first time in my life,

the absolute autonomy with which
my will and my character

embrace the general spirit of solidarity,

made concrete in the timely change
in the lives of two men...

Jose Maria and Galbarriato.

- Long live Jose Maria!
- Long life to him!

- Long live Galbarriato!
- Long life to him!

Hang on.
Especially Jose Maria!

Long life to him!

- Long live the Sacred Heart of Jesus!
- Long may it live!

- Long live Lenin!
- Long live Lenin!

- Long live Frank Sinatra, old Blue Eyes!
- Long may he live!

- Long live the proletarian cause!
- Long live!

- Down with the militia!
- Down with them, down!

Open up!

That's enough!
Everybody stay where you are!

Can't you see
there's a pregnant woman here?

- War, fucking great.
- Yes.

- You didn't think it would happen, did you?
- True. How did I do?

Great, hardy, steely.
Right, Father?

- Yes, just great.
- I found it tough to get into.

Then just when I did, we had to go.

Bloody shame!

You're one hell of an Admiral!

See that I was right about how the tactic

could work really well, eh?

Morris, you've got talent.

Yeah.

- Thanks very much, Pepita.
- You're welcome, general.

You know already what I want
is a shop next to the church room...

And a bicycle.

Provoke them into coming.

But your Majesty, until now,
everything we have done

is to prevent them entering our world.

Times change, Alfonso.

We have to let them in.

What's more, we have to make them think
they forced their way in.

They have forced their way in, Majesty.

If we lower ourselves
like you're saying...

No, they beat you this morning by force.

No, your Majesty,
you see that was a tactic...

I know your tactic.

But it was a tactic to escape.

Not to conquer or convince.

The Admiral didn't let me do
any convincing.

Yeah, sure.
I'm the villain.

If I hadn't thrown that stone, they'd have
stood there laughing in our faces,

they'd have kept Mendez,
which they did anyway,

and the general here

with his trite and vile speech.

That's not reality, Admiral.
Don't start.

Reality is, by definition,
whatever I say.

Provoke them!

They're making a mockery of us.

- It was all a big lie.
- It always is.

You said it.

The pregnant woman
wasn't pregnant after all.

It was a ruse.

They're laughing at us right now.

Give it to them.

- Am I allowed to?
- Of course you are.

Considering coldly

and impartially,

that man is sad,
that he coughs

and, yet, takes pleasure
in his own red bosom;

and that all he really does
is made up of days;

that he is a gloomy mammal
who combs his hair...

Drink!

Drink and blaspheme,

you who go on the prow
of the whaling ship of death!

Death to Moby Dick!

Death to Moby Dick!

I don't know,
maybe I went over the top.

No.

I had nowhere to sit,

so I sat on a stone.

I had nowhere to sit,

and the stone, seeing me so poor,

Broke because it could take me no more.

Oh, poor man who is poor,
poor man who is poor!

Bravo!
Bravo!

One, two... One, two...

Halt!

At ease!

That's it.

Now, let's see if you hit it now.

Good.
On you go.

Excellent, a bullseye.

Eagle mode!

Hummingbird mode!

I miss Mendez.

She really kept things in order.

It's normal.
She was a great chief of staff.

And, like it or not, even though
you have me, it's logical you miss her.

She really is something else.

She doesn't have a bad temper like you...

I'm really sorry to hear it.

I don't like seeing you like this.

What about the soup?

Very tasty.

I'm grateful you used an old,
rancid ham bone.

I did it for you.

I know.
You prefer it milder.

That's why I say I'm grateful.

I really like that pungent tickle

at the back of my throat.

Well, slurp it down, you naughty boy!

Mind if I go out for a stroll after dinner?

Not at all.

In the meantime,
I'll clear the table....

The cutlery, crockery, crumbs,
tablecloth and napkins.

I'll put on the dish-washer,
add detergent.

Make the bed, undress...

Take off my dress,
slip and bra and panties.

Put on my night dress.

Remove my make-up
and untie my hair.

I'll sit on the sofa, watch TV for a while,
changing channels.

Then, I'll switch it off.

go to the bathroom and have a pee,

dry myself with toilet paper.

Then I'll be off to bed and,
after thinking for a few minutes,

when you return,

I'll be fast asleep.

Sweetheart.

Sweet-talker.

Think about it Eufemiano.

Children should be conceived
in a different way.

By means of a long conversation,
for example.

Because the catholic method is a trap.

How many come to this world unwanted?

Do you think it's normal

that you need a driving license,
but not to have children?

Where is the guarantee the parents
are even minimally responsible?

I'm not a father, just the concierge.

But it's a point of general interest.

- Eufemiano.
- Yes, mayor.

Will you grab hold of my tool?

Mayor! I mean...

Sorry, son, I couldn't avoid it.

I have many worries.

- Pastrana...
- Yes, Mayor.

You wash it for him.

What I'm trying to say,
Pastrana,

is that after Eufemiano has grabbed it,

you, Pastrana, give it a good clean.

Mayor, I mean...

Sorry, son, but I couldn't help it.

The night before going to war,
I go through hell.

- Everything spins around.
- Mayor...

- Yes.
- Would you lick my gland for me?

- Eufemiano, please. Show a little respect.
- Sorry.

Sorry, mayor, I went too far.

But I'm really worried.

Tomorrow, when those savages get here,
I'll be on the door.

They might shove me around,
or say stuff a man can't stand for...

Besides, it wasn't me who started
with the salacious comments.

No, let me finish.

I would have preferred
not to have been asked

to have the slightest contact
with your manly member.

I swear it on my mother's grave.

Fancy a drink?

Scotch on the rocks.

Galbarriato, I would be loath

to go into battle tomorrow
and maybe even die,

without first reciting Don Quixote.

Of course, Jose Maria...

I wasn't planning on spending this night
without a recital of Don Quixote either.

You remembered too, didn't you?

Yes.

I was just thinking that a minute ago.

Me too.

You as well?

Does it surprise you?

No, I'm pleased.

Come on then.
Shall we go for it?

Somewhere in La Mancha,

whose name I do not wish to call to mind,

not long ago there lived a gentleman...

Sorry...

- ... the kind with a...
- Sorry.

When we get to the second part,
can I begin on my own? Do you mind?

A homage.
It's my favourite part.

Bloody right!

The second part of Don Quixote is...

the Gospel of our literature, Jose Maria.

So moving!

So sad...

Shall we start again?

Somewhere in La Mancha,

whose name I do not wish to call to mind,

not long ago there lived a gentleman,

the kind with a lance in the rack,

an old leather shield,

a skinny nag,
and a greyhound for racing...

Come on, Felix.

Let's go!

Christ sake!
Still waving that flag, Sister?

- I feel naked without it.
- Come on, get going.

- Where are you going with that thing?
- It will come in handy.

If it's all right with you,

I'm going to take the sheep
up to the roof to graze,

because the poor animals
know nothing about war.

By all means. Take them up,
and let them graze all they like.

Let's go!

What's this about there being no defence?

- Whoever said such a thing?
- Everybody.

Everybody says they're going to pretend
to defend this place,

but the orders are to let them in.

The orders are orders, and you shouldn't
go around shouting about them.

I better not find out people are going
around shouting their mouths off.

Understand?

But is there going to be a defence or not?

Whatever reality dictates,
do you understand?

Re-ality.
Is it clear or not?

Re-ality.
More than that, I can't say.

Okay then.
So do I arm the people or not?

What nonsense is this?
Have you become a Bolshevik?

I told you,
the type who stands for election,

eventually it goes to their heads

and they become Reds...

Stop talking nonsense.
I said give arms to the people...

That's a very unfortunate choice of words.

I don't like the verb or the object
of the sentence.

Who is to be armed?
The people, indirect object.

There's the nub of it.
You said it. In-direct.

In-direct object.

In English,
we have the useful genitive case...

We use it a lot.

It shortens sentences.

You swallow your words.

What's this man talking about?

Morris...

I'm sick to death of you.

When the clergy revolted,
I got scared,

I even boarded up the shop.

Because it began in the pulpit...

But they soon came to blows,
like wild things. Do you remember?

No, I mean yes.
Just as well the King stepped in.

And said that religion, like any business,
should have three places.

What a pain in the ass.
Are you ever going to start?

The war is about to start.

In the end, the time for corners has come.

It's not hard to work it out.

The chameleon hits the noun

and a woman closes a window.

They stop flying,

they no longer admire themselves,
the impertinent amphibian glass windows...

The rain is going to fall sharp.

Hey, let me through.

Right...

One...

Two...

Three.

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

Let's go and get them!

What's all this then?

That's no way to behave.
No way at all.

Sorry, but I'm surrendering.

My background doesn't allow for heroics.

Cock-a-doodle-doo!!!

Storm the building if you want,
but with manners...

With some manners, please.

Tell me...

Tell me it's not true, Jose Maria.

Tell me it can't be, Mendez.

If it even crosses your mind
to sing me a funeral dirge,

I'll have your soul for garters, priest.

He's a Friar, son.
It was the priest who killed you.

Nobody killed me, you stinking nun.

The things that poor wretch
comes out with.

Try and understand, Sister.
Put yourself in his shoes.

Murdering priest!
Fascist!

You'll get what's coming!

Shut up, and go to hell!

Now we're both in the same fix.

Say what you like,

but this is dying.

Sister...

Why not look to yourself, you've got
enough on your plate, and leave us be?

Seriously, die in your own good time
and stop pestering us.

Sorry for the outburst.

Galbarriato, don't worry.

The bullet she took
was a much better shot.

Your one wasn't deadly.

Serious, but stable I'd say.

Fifteen days rest,
and you'll be back to re-join the fight.

Doesn't feel that way.

Oh, God!

I think I am going to cause a scene.

Oh, I really am feeling bad.

How are you faring, Sister?

I'm at death's door.

Have your legs gone numb?

I can't feel them at all.

What about your breathing?

There's not much puff left in me.

Panting like a dog?

Panting...

and close to drawing my last breath.

So, just like me then.

Hey, wait a minute.

If you die...
Excuse me.

If you die, talk to the barber
whose throat was cut.

He comes back whenever he wants.
Find out how he does it.

Oh, no, no.

I...

I'm very clumsy when...

when it comes to manual things
and I have a poor sense of direction.

I...

If I go, there's no coming back.

At least try, Galbarriato.

Do it for me.
Try.

How passionate this body was in life.

And the Sister too.
She was horny all day.

Shit.

Let's go for them!

Come on, come on...
Calm down.

Calm down, calm down.

Do you want that crazy priest to kill
another fifteen or twenty of you?

Eh?

What?

Come on, now,
throw those weapons down.

Ms. Mendez, your friend,
is going to sit

next to Eufemiano,
who is fond of you all,

and you're going to give your name.

We have to do a census.
You've won.

The world is yours.
Aren't you pleased?

- Hooray!
- Hooray!

I am Justice.

- Good afternoon.
- Good afternoon.

People have been killed here
left, right and centre.

There has to be some criteria.

Champions!

Champions, hooray!!!

It wasn't this.

It wasn't this.

Estanislao Rodriguez.

First corridor on the right
as you come out of the lift, sixth floor.

God bless you.

Magdaleno Rodriguez.

You're next to the Ladies room.

On the fourth floor.
Just in front of the hairdresser.

Talk about pulling strings.

Paloma Rodriguez.

Listen up, it's your King here!

With my approval, you're now all selling
the much coveted lemonade, eh?

You must be happy, eh?

Oh yes!

And I don't want any complaints,
you idlers.

I like talking over the mike...

I really do, loud and clear!

Lemonade, tasty lemonade!

Lemonade for sale!

All of you selling lemonade
is fucking stupid, man.

I didn't do anything.

They set it up for me.
And I don't serve shit-stirrers.

Might have been better if you'd tied

a weight around your necks
and thrown yourselves into the sea?

You're trouble son, aren't you?

- Just tell me if it tugs on you.
- No, no.

What's up with him?

Same as usual.
He killed the guy on the other corner.

- How many does that make?
- An innumerable and indiscriminate number.

How sad, killing to sell lemonade!

- See you later.
- Goodbye.

Goodbye.
Come on then.

Lemonade, lemonade for sale!

Tasty lemonade!

Refreshing lemonade for sale!

Mine is superior lemonade!

The best on the market!

I'm leaving.

Oh, that's right.

That's right, tomorrow

you're going to have to get up early
to sell that tasty lemonade you make.

I'm not going to sell any more lemonade

I'm going to live
in the shanty town again.

What nonsense is this?

What about the struggle?

All our fallen comrades?
All of that, for this?

No, Mendez.
They've tricked us, can't you see?

Like they always do.

It's all the same, with or without lemonade.
It's all the same.

Life is just
a slow subtraction of days till death.

We die every day, drop by drop.

Just think, Mendez, what a life.

I just gave you my virginity,
just when I'm never going to see you again.

I'm going to visit underdeveloped countries,
in alphabetical order.

You've chosen the tormented heroes
of the Greeks as your model...

What do you expect?

Bards,
story-tellers,

playwrights
and folk-singers

of the future will gloss your name.

But this life here is passing you by
in one long "oh, no".

You have shouldered on your mighty back
the world's morality.

You have stored in your lymph glands

all the shame distilled by the centuries.

Maybe it's not such a big deal.

Let's hope not, my little lamb.

Let's hope not.

Come on.

I hope you come back now and again
and pay us a visit.

I don't think I'll be able to. Once I walk
through the door, we're enemies again.

Don't talk nonsense, you're no enemy.

We're going to miss you around here.

The only really good lemonade was yours.

When exactly did I get the lemonade idea!

They've taken advantage of me.
The whole bloody world is selling lemonade.

This place is like a huge machine
which consumes whatever comes its way.

I don't know how you didn't notice before.

Anything you might invent
ends up vacuum packed here

and sold at a competitive price.

- What, even ideas?
- Ideas most of all.

Most of all.

Mother of God.

I'm coming with you, Jose Maria.

Oh, no, you're not. I don't want friars
by my side, you get all mystical.

You need me.
You need ideologically rearming.

Ideological rearmament
is vacuum packed here too.

- What a pain in the ass.
- Goodbye, Eufemiano.

Come back whenever you like.

Have you read Marx?

- Vacuum pack him, Father.
- What about Lenin?

- Him too.
- How are they going to vacuum pack Lenin?

Do you know who Durruti was?

What about Ramon Gomez de la Serna?
Or Valle Inclan?

Heard of Pio Baroja?
And Josep Pla and Julio Camba...

Have you read any of them?

Well, each of them wrote most pleasingly,
in their own way.

- Poetry?
- Only Durruti was a poet.

All of them were blessed by God.

Did somebody send you?

We're here of our own free will.

Volunteers.
Maybe a little big for our boots but...

But, as you must know
from your own experience...

One never knows, good man,
one just never knows.

We might just be... the rearmament.

Some time later,
though I can't say for sure,

it seems that the Representative Building
collapsed due to natural causes.

Small populations of survivors
then emerged,

Among them Spain and Albacete,
where people lived very well.

Which is to say, their inhabitants ate four
square meals a day, including afternoon tea,

and lived in shelter

so as not to endure the cold in winter
or the heat in summer.

They also liked to take a "siesta",

talked among themselves
about all kinds of things,

and had frequent and pleasing
sexual relations.

They loved each other.
And it seems that death was unknown to them.

And everything was free.
Except for the electricity...