All language subtitles for The.Metamorphosis.of.Birds.2020

Triz.

I always liked
this short and delicate name

by which you liked to be called.

I'm in an old people's home.
I'm fine, you don't need to worry.

It was my decision.

Yesterday our house was sold.

I need to set myself free,
so I can rise there, where you are.

My body doesn't do what I want anymore.

When I was young,

my body was quiet
and I wouldn't even notice it.

Now it exists more than I do.

Today our children began
taking our house apart.

They will find you there, I know.

These last few years I have tried
to keep the plants alive,

but they had more flowers
when you took care of them.

I have tried to keep things
where you left them,

but objects have
their own secret lives.

Nothing is like it was
when you were here.

I have tried, but could never keep
it the same.

Everything changed in 1984:

my body, our house and our family.

Our children had kids,
and their kids had kids themselves.

From home, I've asked them to bring me
Saint Lucy's eyes

so that my sight may stay healthy,

if only to see you in my memories.

I've also asked
for the Sorolla reproduction,

which was in the living room.

I've always thought it was you
lying there with one of our children.

I feel closer
and closer to you, Beatriz,

but I will miss seeing the sea.

A man and a woman meet.

A man,
a woman and the possibility of love.

He said:
"I would like to see you again."

She said, "If that is God's will,
it will happen."

The man, full of insecurities,
wrote to her:

"Maria Beatriz,

I believe that God's will
will have to come true through us.

I suggest we meet
so we can get to know each other,

in case He has destined us
to be together. Yours truly, Henrique."

The man and the woman met.

As predicted, God had decided

that these two souls
should never separate.

Henrique looked inside Beatriz

and saw in her the possibility of a house
that could keep six children,

and of becoming a sailor.

When she fell in love with Henrique,

Beatriz had to let go
of her fear of the sea

and become blindly devoted to Our Lady.

The sea made her genuinely anxious.

That might be why they had six children,

so that by looking at them
her longing and fear could subside.

73,

74…

75,

76…

77,

78…

When the first child was born

the hyacinths were already starting
to cover the back of the garden.

So it made sense that Beatriz
would bring nature into her first seed.

I'd like him to be called "Jacinto"
(hyacinth).

Henrique accepted his wife's wish.

To have a child rooted on land
would keep him close to Beatriz too.

Jacinto grew up believing that one day
he could live a little above the ground,

in that place inhabited by birds,

free from the gravity
of earthly things.

Oh St Lucy, who keeps our sight
in your heart,

preserve the light of my eyes

so that I may see
the beauties of creation,

the glow of the sun, the colour
of the forests and the smile of children.

Give me kind eyes, capable of seeing
the traces left by the flight of birds.

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF BIRDS

The lunarias that grew
in the house's garden

made Beatriz certain that mysteries
lay in the details.

A practical woman with deep roots,

Beatriz saw in the verticality of plants
an inspiration for the education

of Jacinto, Pedro, João, Nuno, Teresa,
and the newborn José.

When she dared to have time for herself

Beatriz's thoughts searched
for the beginning of time.

Here, she believed in God
as much as in the alphabet.

First came water, then the trees
and after that the birds.

But soon she remembered Zulmira

and realized that these theories
were a waste of time,

since it was Zulmira who, alongside her,
sustained the house's walls

and the children's roots, who prepared
breakfast and changed the sheets.

In the beginning of time
there was certainly Zulmira.

Beatriz couldn't remember
when Zulmira had started working there,

but the peacocks were already part
of the neighbourhood when she moved in.

Every new morning began
with Zulmira's cigarette.

Afterwards she opened the door
and let the seasons invade the house.

Triz, I have left a month ago,

but I could swear I have been
at sea for half a year at least.

I miss you and the kids.

I look at the sailors around me,

and I see in them the sadness
of those who long for land.

Often I notice that the sea
doesn't care about my problems.

It has so much to worry about, Beatriz!

Every day it has to create so many waves,
so many fish use it as their home,

so many souls have stayed here forever.

The sea doesn't have an easy task
and I feel compassion for it.

But I can't look at it for a long time,
because my body shrinks

and becomes so small
that I get dizzy.

I know that it was already
here before us

and when there is nothing
left for us to do but die,

it will still be here.

I'm always surprised to see something
so infinite get inside us.

Tonight, before going down to my cabin,
I passed by the barque's cook.

I asked him:
"What's for dinner, Tavares?"

"Heart rice, Lieutenant."

I instinctively put my hand over
my heart, just in case.

I then remembered that even if Tavares
had shamefully decided

to pull my heart out,
he wouldn't find anything,

because my heart stayed on land,
with you.

It hit an aircraft carrier.

G9.

G9… It hit water.

F7.

F7…

It hit water.

J1.

Water.

I caught you!

Call me Ishmael.

Some years ago, never mind how long,

having little money in my purse,
and nothing to interest me on shore

I thought I would sail again
and see the watery world.

This is how I fight boredom
and regulate the circulation.

When I start grimacing,

when it is a damp, drizzly November
in my soul,

when I start pausing
before coffin warehouses,

and following every funeral I meet

and especially when my hypos
takes over me

and only my good sense prevents me from
knocking people's hats off,

I realize it is time
to get to sea as soon as I can.

Like the children, Zulmira also listened
to the stories told by Beatriz.

And just like birds defy the laws
of gravity,

Zulmira defied
the rules of storytelling.

Among the horror stories
invented by Zulmira,

the one that fascinated and scared
the children the most

was about a ship that landed
on a faraway island.

At night, when the crew lighted a fire,
the island started moving

and scared the sailors,
who then realized that the land

was in fact a whale.

Due to its size, the whale easily
took the sailors and the ship

into the depths of the sea.

Maybe that's why during bathtime
everyone was afraid

of the bottom of the bathtub.

When night fell the peacocks
also took shelter

after spending the day wandering around.

Zulmira thought about that
as she smoked her last cigarette.

But before going to bed she listened
to Beatriz's prayers.

Even though she wasn't a believer,
she liked to hear these prayers.

When I see them running
through the streets

I have to close the windows and doors

to keep my scared heart
from rushing off in their direction.

When they climb up trees I know
that I can only see a possible fall,

but in their eyes there is only
the promise of flying.

Mother, who have seen
so many mothers before me,

give me a heart as big as a whale,
which calmly dives during storms.

Or a heart as tall as treetops,

so that, from afar, I can always follow
the flight of my children,

who are not afraid of the wind.

- Do plants think too?
- What?

Plants. Do they think too?

I think so.

What about trees?
Did they already exist before us?

There are trees that saw mom
and dad being born

and there are trees that saw our parents'
parents being born,

and there are trees that saw our parents'
parents' parents being born.

- And do we live as long as the trees?
- I don't think so.

Many of the sequoias
that exist in California

were already old when Columbus
arrived in the Americas.

These sequoias are mere sprouts

if you compare them
with some of the pines

that germinated when humans
invented writing.

There are trees that were
already ancient when Abraham was born

and others that saw entire civilizations
be born and disappear.

Beatriz knew all of this.

And she knew how to have the patience
and wisdom of trees.

Her relationship with Henrique
was similar to the one she had with God.

Even though they didn't see each other,
she felt him around the house.

Darling, thank you for the photos
you sent me.

I have been dreaming of Jacinto, Pedro,
Nuno, Teresa, João and Zé,

who are growing up without me
being able to see or hear them.

I have asked God to let me keep
the memory of your body

and I have read your letters so many times
that some words can't be read anymore.

I miss putting my nose
in between the waves of your hair.

Henrique saw the family grow from afar.

He was only present
for Jacinto's birth

and only met Teresa
when she was already four.

His children were growing up

and Henrique held on to the details
and stories told by Beatriz.

He looked inside the photos,

convinced that in them
his children were little forever.

But this is a parent's selfish wish:

that children won't grow up too much.

He knew that children only belong
to their parents when they are small.

When they grow up the parents must share
them with the entire world.

Since he chose the sea,
Henrique missed the moments

when everything happened
for the first time. Forever.

Tortured by the way nature worked,
he knew that his children's bodies

could no longer be trapped
inside narrow picture frames.

Their arms now had a new strength

and their eyes could see
beyond the house's walls.

No picture frame could hold them now.

I want some too, please.

- Who wants a piece of cake?
- Me!

I just want some candy.

The cake is coming!

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday dear Jacinto

Happy birthday to you

I turned 12 and I learned in school
that humans can live to 100,

but mayflies only live 24 hours,
flies live 4 weeks,

dragonflies 4 months,
mice a year at the most,

moles 3 years, rabbits 10, bats 15,
dogs 20 at the most, and cats 25,

ostriches can reach 50
and they have found a 210-year-old whale

and a 250-year-old turtle.

From his ship, does dad see
the same moon that I can see?

Holy bird, which are in heaven,
Hallowed be your wings

May your flight come to us
Watch over our houses' roofs

Before they realized that it was dead,

they couldn't believe
that the bird wouldn't fly anymore.

Jacinto asked
if they could have a funeral

and João even invented a prayer.

We all went to the garden and it was
moving to see them so worried

about the bird's well-being in eternity.

Then something strange happened,
Henrique.

Serious, Nuno looked at me and asked:

"Mom, dad died, didn't he?"

I was so shocked that I have must
have made a dramatic pause

and then Teresa started crying
and said: "Dad died!"

Jacinto hugged Pedro,

and poor João, who grew up too fast,
fell over.

I finally managed to say:
"Don't be silly! Isn't dad at sea?"

Jacinto said: "But maybe he died there
and that's why he hasn't returned yet."

And Teresa continued: "Poor dad!"
And Pedro: "He didn't even say goodbye."

With all of this going on,
Zé ran away

and when I found him
he was happily eating ants.

At least when they are this young
they forget things fast

and after the crying
and the shock passed

I watched them be the children
that they are.

At home Zulmira and our children
have been playing these weird games.

Teresa said that Zulmira
is teaching them the language of birds.

Sometimes it seems that the garden birds
live in our bedrooms.

The seasons pass and we, as always,
remember you with a longing

that cannot be contained
within our house's walls.

Today we left the island of Fogo
towards Angola.

Minutes before setting sail we received
the letters we craved.

We had been without mail for two weeks
and you cannot imagine

how that can drive a man
to unspeakable madness.

Alves, a leading seaman,
was so disturbed

that he wanted to jump ship at high sea,

saying that
he couldn't take it any longer.

Without noticing it, Sargent Silva Ramos
spent the last few days looking at his legs

so he wouldn't forget
his parents' faces.

Since I haven't been sleeping,
I have started seeing things.

M

MY

MY L

MY LO

MY LOV

MY LOVE,

MY LOVE, M

MY LOVE, MY

MY LOVE, MY H

MY LOVE, MY HO

MY LOVE, MY HOM

MY LOVE, MY HOME

MY LOVE, MY HOME A

MY LOVE, MY HOME AT

MY LOVE, MY HOME AT S

MY LOVE, MY HOME AT SE

MY LOVE, MY HOME AT SEA.

On the days when we get letters
a deadly silence falls on the ship.

But when the wind changes direction
I can sense

the moving words written by families
that, like ours,

have learned to deal with longing.

"My dear, your words have filled me
with joy

and I keep your letter close to my heart,
where I keep you too.

Our children are doing well, thank God.

Armando, here everything is fine.

Our José Carlos is doing well, thank God,
and he sends you many kisses.

Poor Carminda had to have
another surgery because of her leg,

but we had already warned her
that she was getting old.

Now she has put it into her head
to help the poor!

My dear son, I prayed to St Barbara
that I may receive your letter

and to Our Lady of Seafarers
to keep you safe.

Daniel, you know I can't swim.

Thinking of you in the middle of the ocean
frightens me tremendously.

Waves give me tremors and for me the sea
is beautiful if seen from a distance.

It makes me anxious to think of you
in those faraway seas,

but I'm very proud of you.

I just wish Cape Verde was closer.

I don't even understand where you are.

She says that she can't send letters
because she starts crying immediately.

She apologizes and asks you
to be patient with her.

Kisses from your mother and Mimi,
who sends her love.

Give me the ability to have things
that are just mine,

no matter how lonely that might be
sometimes.

Give me the time and courage to wait
even if I don't know what for.

Give me the courage to know that
sometimes everything won't be all right,

because sometimes
things aren't all right.

Give me also the ability
to be my opposite.

And, in the end, when you have already
closed all the stores,

when you have already turned off
the music in all the cafes,

when there is no one left in the offices

and when the streets become full
of their own solitude

let me die standing up,
like the trees.

The pain in his knees
didn't appear suddenly,

but it gradually settled in

until Jacinto grew three centimetres
overnight.

His body was growing to adapt
to bigger wishes and desires,

which surpassed the borders
defined by his bones.

Nonetheless, while he negotiated
the end of childhood with himself,

all the exceptional things
that make up the universe

of those who do not fear gravity
still lived inside him.

Jacinto had always thought
it was bizarre

that a seed smaller
than the palm of his hand

could contain a tree that reached
100 meters in height.

Jacinto would eventually forget
this disturbing thought.

Likewise, he forgot the pain
in his knees, ankles and shoulders.

He also forgot the pain caused
by his ribcage as it expanded,

creating space for a bigger heart,

which could now accommodate other things

besides his home,
his siblings and himself.

A heart that was beginning
to have its own reasons.

I know my hands better
than I know my face.

Every day these trusted friends
initiate my mornings:

they bathe me, dry me and slowly
apply themselves to my wavy hair.

With a skill I didn't know they had,

they braid Teresa's hair

and sneakily pinch the bottoms and legs
of all the children.

They rigorously knit sweaters,

iron, fold the laundry and the days.

Those who think that hands belong to us
have it wrong.

It is we who belong to them.

They are the ones that know
when to prune the trees in our garden,

when to pick loquats,
when to pull out weeds.

They are also the ones that,
after a long day,

hold my head
as I watch our birds smiling.

When everyone in the house
is already sleeping

and when I'm too tired
to go against them

the hands start gathering
our children's childhoods.

They keep them in secrecy
as if they were relics.

And they are,

since they prove that they used
to be children.

Sometimes I wonder what might prompt
a mother's hands

to preserve her children's childhoods.

Is it our fear of no longer recognizing
them when they can think for themselves?

When they are big we shall go down
to the basement, Henrique.

And without anyone knowing,

we will visit our children,
when they were little.

There was a time when Jacinto
looked at his father's stamp collection

and only noticed the illustrations.

At the time his questions could fit
in an atlas

and only concerned the animals
that lived in faraway places,

but that were supposedly
also called Portugal.

Later, the questions started growing
and no longer fit in the house's books.

He observed each face
and imagined their terror

when foreign men arrived from the sea

and told them that place now
belonged to them.

Pulling their whips and quills out,

the Portuguese immediately started
writing over them.

Jacinto couldn't stop thinking
that you can't discover a continent

already inhabited by millions of people.

By then he was already in college

and had started having
breathing problems.

Beatriz was convinced
that her son had asthma.

But Jacinto's problem was the lack
of oxygen in that house, country,

and imaginary fatherlands,

where everything
had the name of that man

who choked everything that he touched.

They often argued.

Beatriz couldn't understand
her son's anger.

In mass no one had problems.

Everyone arrived at 11:50 a.m.,

in time to kiss
and give money to the poor.

At noon the priest started the mass.

But Jacinto was angry at the dust
on the photo frames,

which had been there for so long
that everyone said:

"But it isn't dust!
That's the frame's colour!"

Jacinto knew that aged patina
wasn't the frame's colour.

So whenever he looked in the mirror

instead of himself he saw the dust.

Beatriz quoted Ecclesiastes:
"There is a time for everything."

Jacinto knew that until then
time had never been on his side.

And maybe because he was almost
becoming resigned

he went back to the stamp collection,
to order the last years of the world.

In the stamps he saw that the dust
might soon be gone.

Sometimes Teresa's eyes lingered over
the bedroom's socket.

Sockets, which were female,
were stuck to a house's walls,

unable to move.

But without sockets there would be
no light, heating,

driers or shaving machines.

As for the plugs, they could freely move
around the house

and enter any socket they wished.

Unlike her brothers,

Teresa knew that some tasks
were for men and others for women.

Women knitted, cooked, got pregnant,
cared for the children, aborted

and took care of the houses
that belonged to men.

Men made encyclopaedias,
discoveries, wars…

You take your passport

Inside the prayer book

To cheat death

You take the lucky sweater

That belongs to my brother José

Who doesn't know where Guinea is

Joaquim, my love, now I know

that when you get out of there

I'll already have cellulite over here

You cut through the wilderness

I cut through the days

You cut the longing

I cut you out… from photos

And this song is just to pretend

That when I'm alone

I don't mind having the Africas

Between us

SALAZAR DIED

What we have longed for has finally
happened, Henrique: they grew up.

Zé's heart can be felt around the house.
He's in love.

It started in the winter and now
that it's spring he's never at home.

The other children are like rivers
and I remember this sentence:

Everyone speaks
of the violence of rivers,

but no one ever talks of the violence
of the banks that contain them.

One day, Teresa came
into the house furious

saying that she would
never live like us.

She said it was a fantasy to believe
that everything worked out the first time:

the first job, the first marriage,
the first house.

The following day,
between crying and anger,

Jacinto told me that he'll never accept

that duty comes before pleasure.

When I tried to hug him, he said:

"Mom, every day
the earth's orbit changes,

as if it were telling us
that we must change too."

Pedro was arrested by the PIDE.

I couldn't sleep for 10 days and I spent
every night in his bedroom.

I feel that they are all growing up
and want to fly higher.

I know that we have raised them
to be better than us

but now I don't know how to deal
with what they are and feel.

I suffer because I believe
that the world must change too,

but I don't know how.

I had never seen one before,
but they are common here in Lobito.

It's the closest I have ever been
to a prodigious being.

A horse with a fish tail, which is not
a sea monster, but a sea miracle.

A hippocampus like the one
inside our brains,

which allows me to keep the memories
of you and our children, Triz.

When I found it, it was lying dead
on the sand,

but I could see beyond that.

And I saw its eyes and heart beating
through its body.

They have told me that it's the males
that have children.

That small being resembles you more:

it carries the children
and the memories.

Holding it, I thought

that seahorses
must have been here since the beginning.

How else would we remember who we are?

This one I'm sending you, so fragile
and yet so beautiful,

will cross the vast sea
that separates us.

It is full of the memories
that we will still create together.

Every day the routine is the same,

but I can already feel it in my bones
when the weather is changing.

I'm still moved by the trumpet
that starts the day,

pulling the sun from under the sea.

After all of these years onboard
it still surprises me

that we hold on to the little things
that we do on land,

as if by doing them the sea
became more human.

The sea dominates the world
so completely

that our planet Earth should
have been called "Ocean".

We haven't seen land for two weeks

and I can feel my eyes getting sharper
as they stare at the horizon.

And I'm not the only one.
There are 150 men staring at it,

thinking that the line
that separates the sea from the sky

contains all of those we love.

We perform this task so well that
sometimes we see the contours of trees,

cities and houses emerge from that line.

And when we finally glimpse land
we rub our eyes hard,

in case it's one of those illusions
fabricated by our desires.

When the six children already
had deep roots

and bodies capable of climbing
to the highest dreams

Beatriz's heart started having room
for the horizon.

Beatriz's untiring love for her children

was now reflected on her love
for a land, where she dreamed of a house

with room for her children,
grandchildren and fruit trees.

The orange trees were the first
inhabitants of that unruly land,

which Beatriz loved as if it were
an extension of her family.

With the verticality
that she had inherited from plants,

she dreamed up every tree.

She even dreamed that the house
would face the water,

so that Henrique's floating roots
could always find a place to rest.

Beatriz had never been as happy
as she was then.

When I laid eyes on her,

my bird-like body found the happiness
and calm that only mothers can give.

In German "mutter", in Armenian "mai",

in Bulgarian "miada", in Catalan "mare",

in Chinese "mutchi", in Danish "mor",

in French "mère", in Greek "mitéra",

in Hebrew "ima", in Hindu "mat",

in English "mother", in Latin "mater",

in Thai "mai", in Portuguese "mãe".

The day that Triz died I said
for the last time

the first word I have ever said.

I took a deep breath
and said quietly to myself:

"Mother".

Even though it was the middle of spring,
when we lost my mother

an autumn similar to the sadness
we felt descended on us.

Every day the sun rose,

every day there was morning, afternoon
and night as usual,

and every day the rivers
threw themselves into the sea,

without fearing that it would overflow.

And, for us, it was all too sad.
We were a still life.

We observed the world as if we were
inside a painting,

while outside life insisted
on carrying on.

Our father's stays in the sea
became longer.

I believe that he found it hard
to look at us,

the same way we avoided looking him
in the eye as much as possible.

We cut down our vocabulary
to the essentials

and I found refuge
in the house's garden.

I would put on rubber boots and gloves
and grab the rake and shovel.

I pruned every shrub,

I watered every tree, plant
and being that moved.

And, like I was five again,

I tried to put some of the dead leaves
back on their branches,

as if their fall had been a mistake
or an error that I could fix.

A few days later my brother Nuno
interrupted the silence

that had become common between us
and said: "We are ghosts."

And that's what we were.

The dead don't know they are dead.

Death is an issue for the living.

I still can't remember
that day very well,

because the days when something
that big happens, like a mother dying,

never become memories.

They stay stuck to us forever,
like skin moles that never leave.

They are too painful to reach the brain.

That's why we keep them on our skins.

My mother wasn't just a mother:
she was a tree.

Trees love the ground and let us
climb up their branches

as if it were easy.

When my mother died we could no longer
swing from her branches

and fell down, all of us.

I never forgot

what it was like to see
the world perched on her arms.

In German "tochter",
in Armenian "dustry",

in Bulgarian "dushterya",
in Chinese "niar",

in Danish "datter", in French "fille",

in Greek "kóri", in Hindu "bitit",

in English "daughter",
in Latin "filiae",

in Romanian "fiica", in Thai "Luksaw",

in Portuguese "filha".

The day you were born I said
for the first time the word "daughter".

Afterwards, without anyone seeing,

I took a deep breath and said quietly:

"It's a miracle."

This is my first photo.

My father Jacinto took it and,

to this day,
he doesn't know how it is in focus,

since his hands were shaking.

About me, my mother only knew
what she had imagined for 9 months.

This is the moment we met and promised
to bake chocolate cake on Sundays,

rent melodramas
that would make us cry a lot

and know the name of many trees.

That day my mother said: "Catarina,
it will be beautiful to see you fly."

17 years after this photo was taken
we walked into the hospital.

We entered her room and I asked why
my mother didn't have an oxygen mask.

You told the nurse that the metastases
had already reached her lungs,

so your mother needed oxygen
in order to breathe.

I just stared at you

and said nothing
because I didn't know how to.

And because, in time, your brain
accepted reality.

Your eyes opened wide, which is what
you do when you are about to cry,

and you touched Ana's face.

You didn't say anything.

You left the room and walked out
of the hospital.

I followed you.

You walked a few meters and collapsed
on the ground,

holding on to your belly.

It was a rainy night
and you were crying alone.

I froze up.

My sister Teresa, who was beside me,
moved forward.

She didn't say anything, but she took
off her coat and put it over you.

You didn't move.
I didn't move.

I stared at you,
knowing that I couldn't protect you

from that inevitable tragedy.

I felt very guilty, lost for words
that would comfort you.

I couldn't understand the world either.

Grandmother, when I was born
your absence already took up space,

but I couldn't feel it.

When my mother died,

my father and I came together
in the absence of the word "mother".

At that time my father's eyes
stopped being green

and I know the memories of you
opened the doors he had locked.

I then realized there was a part
of my father that I had never known:

the part he was with you,

the part that disappears with the birds
when they migrate.

A while ago I found out that
for hundreds of years

bird migration was a mystery to man.

Where did the birds go when winter came?

Where did the ones
that arrived come from?

Linnets left at the same time
as thrushes

seemed to arise from winter trees.

Cuckoos appeared in spring

and never crossed paths with hawks.

Therefore, the ancient thought
they were one and the same.

With a different appearance
and characteristics,

but the same animal.

They had simply gone through
a metamorphosis.

What human beings can't explain,
they invent.

Catarina, don't tell anyone,

bring a flashlight and the house keys,

leave a note that doesn't say too much
or too little,

say: "I went with the birds.
Please water the plants."

Leave the house tidy,
the fridge full of food

as if you were coming back tomorrow.

Don't cry and don't say too many words.

Take my memories.
Take me with you.

Take time with you.

Don't disappear all at once.
First blend into the chairs and sofas.

Stop answering the phone
and dissolve into the corridor's carpet.

Don't be afraid of ghosts.

Be the size of what you see
and not the size of what you feel.

I opened the front door.

I closed it gently so that not even
the silence could hear it.

Everyone was sleeping.

I caught the first bus to the place
closest to the sky.

There were many things
I couldn't understand,

but I knew
that the sky was where humankind

had thrown everything
that it couldn't grasp.

God, the dead, infinity and UFOs:
they all lived in that unknown place,

sharing it in a civilized manner
so they could all fit.

If the sky was the place
where the unknown started,

then the landscape was the bridge
between the known and the unknown,

between the visible and the invisible.

And I really wanted to be invisible.

The landscape doesn't belong to anyone,
they say,

but when I saw it, I gave it my eyes.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5…

6, 7, 8, 9, 10…

11, 12, 13, 14, 15…

16, 17, 18, 19, 20…

21, 22, 23, 24, 25…

26, 27, 28, 29, 30.

Jacinto!

Catarina!

Catarina never imagined

that one day she would feel jealous
of the clouds and mountain peaks,

which rose to great heights
and thus bonded with the sky.

But she was stuck in her body,
now too small for what she felt.

Between her and what she saw
fit all the world's mothers.

When she stared at the crest lines

it upset her to think how easy it was
for the colossal mountains

to enter through her narrow eyes,
as if they could see her inside out.

The truth is that Jacinto felt like
he was getting smaller.

His body was too large,
as if he had too much skin.

At first he felt like he couldn't reach
the tips of his fingers, later his hands

and finally he found it hard
to reach his shoulders.

He was shrinking so much
that the cells of his body

were becoming as massive as mountains.

Even though he tried hard
to be the size of what he saw,

Jacinto was the size of what he felt.

Nonetheless, this brought
a certain innocence to his eyes.

He now paid so much attention
to the world

that questions appeared with ease.

He wanted to know in which part
of his body she still lived,

which part of his body
remembered her best

and which part resembled her most.

Sometimes he melancholically counted
the days

since he had last said "mother",
and fell into overwhelming sadness.

He would then think of all the mothers
that had ever existed and died.

And all the mothers' mothers,
and all the mothers' mothers' mothers,

and all the mothers' mothers' mothers'
mothers,

and all the mothers' mothers' mothers'
mothers' mothers,

and all the mothers' mothers' mothers'
mothers' mothers' mothers.

And he realized that what he felt
was nothing new.

It was actually pretty ordinary.

But he believed that only his mother
had been a tree.

It was precisely that
and his floating child's eyes

that allowed him to see
the obvious similarities

between his body and the things
that surrounded him.

From inside his small size,
he paid great attention to details.

It is said that, after being away
for two months,

Bach returned home to find out
that his wife Maria Barbara had died.

Alone in the house
and drowning in sadness,

he sat at the kitchen table

and stared at the walls
and the empty house around him.

Afterwards he grabbed a piece of paper
and wrote the "Chaconne" for violin.

The "Chaconne" was made not
only to invoke the dead,

but also to awaken them.

For a moment he couldn't feel
his body anymore.

And Jacinto swore that the language
of men no longer made sense.

He felt himself levitate
and, like Zulmira had once said,

the language of birds only reveals itself
to those who no longer have a body.

Jacinto felt that he belonged there,

in that place located in the intervals
of existence,

between the earth and the sky.

Weightless, Jacinto could now clearly
hear the language of birds.

Jacinto, the scars in one's heart
can't be seen,

just like our flight, which leaves
no trace in the air.

When they ask you, say:

"I went with the birds. They have wings
and I need a new heart."

We will both start again.
We will replace our feathers

and you will find new words.

Words will take you to new meanings.

And when you can't remember…

invent.

One day Jacinto asked Triz
how much she loved him.

Triz answered:

"Try to count
a bird's feathers, the grains of sand,

the stars in the sky, the sea waves.

Try to enumerate the scales of all fish,
the hairs of all animals,

the weeds in the fields around you,
the trees and their fruits

and count the incalculable number
of so many other incalculable things.

"That's impossible," said Jacinto.

"Impossible? No, but it's a lot."

When he finally reached the peak
of the highest mountain

Jacinto felt like he was the size
of what he saw

and in all infinite things he saw
his mother's eyes.

On top of the highest mountain, Jacinto
no longer had eyes for the landscape

but only for Beatriz.

Sometimes Catarina got discouraged
and missed her mother's clarity.

Her only remaining conviction
was that mothers

were the only gods
without non-believers.

Wanting to unlearn who she was,

she climbed
to the top of the highest mountain.

But when she got there,

Catarina didn't find
the vastness of the landscape,

the innumerable waves or the excessive
dimensions of the trees and mountains.

She looked hard, but only found herself.

I dreamed that you were coming
to visit me.

It was very awkward
because I didn't know what to do.

My body was no longer used to yours

and my heart, full of happiness,
could hardly believe it.

But you came and I told you:
"Mom, you can't be here. You died."

And you said: "Don't be silly, Catarina.
I didn't die. Can't you see I'm here?"

"I had to take care of some business
and it took me longer than I expected."

"It took you longer than you expected?
Mom, 15 years have passed."

"Like I said, I didn't think it would
take me this long."

"I'll explain later. Now tell me
about yourself. That's what matters."

"How are you? What have you been doing?"

And in that moment I'm petrified,

because I don't know
how to summarize 15 years.

I don't even know
how to talk to you anymore

or what it's like to have a mother.

I immediately ask you:

"When have you arrived?
Where are you staying?"

And you, always resourceful, say:
"I rented a room. It wasn't easy though."

"Have you seen how expensive
the houses are in Lisbon?"

"What do you mean you rented a room?"

"I didn't want to
bother you or your father."

So that was really happening.

You were next to me
and I had so much to tell you.

But I was in a hurry
to get to a meeting,

so I grabbed my phone
to look at the time.

And you said: "What is that?"
"What? This? This is a cell phone."

"But where are the buttons?"

And I told you about smartphones
and that you can even go on the internet.

You seemed surprised and then, suddenly,
you became very sad.

"How could I have missed so much?

Look how different you look!
So much older."

And since I saw you were about
to cry, I quickly said:

"No, mom, things haven't changed
that much,

but I'll explain everything
you want to know."

"We have time, don't we?"

I decided that I wouldn't tell anyone
that you were alive after all,

because I was afraid that by telling
that stopped being true.

And I really wanted you to be alive.

Every day I woke up really early,

went to work and then left in a rush,

always with the excuse that I had things
to do, but I went to meet you instead.

You wanted to see everything.

You were amazed at Lisbon
and wanted to eat sushi,

since you had never done it
and now it was a common thing.

Every day brought new discoveries.

You were especially excited
about Wikipedia.

Every day you told me about
a new discovery you had made.

You never talked about yourself,
we always talked about me.

And there was so much I wanted
to ask you.

I have so many doubts
about so many things.

Mom, you were the one who went
with the birds,

but it's always you I remember
when spring comes.

Who fixes their children's hair?

Who straightens the tablecloths
and creates a home?

Who guides their children's eyes?

Mothers.

Mothers' hands, full of past shipwrecks,

but where every day
new flowers are born.

In a mother's hands there's always sleep
and there's always time.

My mother is in discussions
about the existence of God and UFOs.

She's in autumn, in the yellow leaves
that gently fall on the sidewalk.

My mother is
in the tidying up of chests,

in the tidying up
of our childhoods by age.

Who else besides her would have kept
the toys that João made when he was 6?

My mother is
in afternoon treats, in tea,

in the brown couch
that doesn't exist anymore

and in the bookmark collection.

My mother is in Montargil, in the orange
trees that bear fruit all year round,

in the unconditional love for flowers
and in her short nickname, Triz.

My mother is in red mullets
from Setúbal, in foolish decisions,

in the humility and violence of nature.

My mother is in the love letters
that are locked in a chest,

she's in the Christmas dinners
prepared by my sister.

My mother is in my sister's eyes,
in João's nose, in Nuno's shoulders,

in Zé's gentleness, in Pedro's empathy.

My mother is in my laughter,

in my freckles
and in the inability to make plans.

My mother is in the Land Reform.

My mother lives in the crimson cloths,
in the green felt curtains,

and in the vinyl record we made

so our father
could hear our voices out at sea.

My mother lives in the sunset

and every day
she dives to the bottom of the sea.

621, 622, 623, 624…

625, 626, 627, 628.

Without him noticing it,
time had finally passed by Jacinto,

who had gained grey hair, new memories,
a family that grew, and 69 years.

When he turned 57, Jacinto realized
that he was the same age

his mother would be for all eternity.

He looked at himself in the mirror
and reflected on everything he had done

and on all he had yet to be.

He came to the conclusion
that if he died in that moment

he would be extremely sad.

Father, when you read the script
for this movie, you said:

"Some things didn't happen
exactly like this."

I answered: "If they didn't happen
like this, then what's the problem?"

"But they could have!
My name isn't even Jacinto!"

"But it could be. It's much more
original than Henrique."

"Yeah, but my mother
called me Henrique."

"Sorry, dad, but it would be confusing
if we had two Henriques in the film."

"Catarina, it's not children who decide
their parents' names."

"Time doesn't move backwards."

"I understand that might not be
very reassuring, but that's how it is."

"Dad, let me tell you about an encounter
I had at the flea market."

"I was looking for clothes
to use in the film

when I found a nice saleswoman."

"Take that, miss, it's cheap.
And take this skirt.

It goes well with the shirt."

"Thank you, but it's not for me.
It's for a movie."

"Oh, you make movies?"
"I'm making this one."

She looked at me and said:
"I used to do theatre. I loved it."

I smiled. "When was that?"

"Ages ago. I believe it was before
I worked in Amadora's city council."

"You worked there?"
"Yes, I did. From 1981 to 2001."

"Then maybe you knew my mother,
who also worked there."

"And what's her name?"
"Ana Maria Pinto."

"Of course I know her! Ask her
if she remembers…"

I didn't let her finish her sentence.
"I can't anymore. She died."

"That's terrible! She was so young.
I can see her now."

"Such a beautiful woman,
with freckles and a big smile."

"She was such a nice person."
"Yes, she was."

"She really was. I'm not just saying
that because she was your mother."

"It makes me sad to hear the news."

The saleswoman looked moved and I said:

"What a lovely coincidence!
After all of these years we meet here."

"You're right."
And she put the shirt in a bag.

"I'm offering the skirt."
"Thank you, that's really nice."

"It was a pleasure to meet you,
but I forgot to ask you your name."

She smiled and said: "Esperança" (Hope).

Before he died, my grandfather
asked his children

to help him burn the letters
between Triz and him.

Henrique, who was now very ill,
couldn't do it

and found it too painful
to burn the proof of his love.

His children reacted badly,
because they found it unbearable

to burn those words that had come out
of their mother's hands.

Those words contained the gestures
of the hands that had raised them

and shaped their worlds.

Nonetheless, deep down,

they knew that those letters
belonged to the private lives

of a man and a woman
who happened to be their parents.

They each imagined the words
that were in those bundles of letters.

If they couldn't have them, they had
the right to invent them,

and thus imagine their mother again.

The following day, while everyone
was sleeping,

Jacinto left the house
and went down to the dam,

where they had burned the letters.

Moved, he realized that some things
are stronger than fire.

The day they took the remaining
furniture from the house

where the family had grown,
my grandfather passed away in his sleep.

He didn't suffer. And he knew
that he could leave.

Everything had been impeccably prepared

and his children's hands had multiplied
to take out the childhoods

that were perfectly sealed in the chests,
the endless collections,

the many decades,
and their mother's memories.

But nobody remembered to take the seeds

that, throughout the years,
Beatriz had scattered around the house.

They say that plants grow faster when
they are away from sly looks.

For a month the house was left alone.

And during that month
every seed sprouted,

and nature, which in the past lived
through their mother's hands,

took over the house.

Because Beatriz
would not let herself die.

Her love for the earth was too great
and by invading the house

she reminded her children
that they were destined to be birds.

My dear, I have with me our four eldest,

who, though shy and awkward,
also want to leave their message.

They must be moved, in their own way,
since they know that you will hear them,

without them hearing or seeing you.

Anyway, my dear,
here we are, close to you,

wrapping you in tender kisses.

Daddy, I'm Henrique Manuel.

I want to send you many kisses

and say that we never forget
to ask Jesus to keep you safe

and also that we miss you a lot.

Now it's Pedro's turn. Pedro!
What?

Come talk to daddy.
I already did!

What did we agree on?

What do you want daddy…?
Love and kisses.

Many kisses?
Right.

What about Nuno?
Come talk to daddy!

What was it?

But you have to say it louder
or your father won't hear you!

Many kisses to daddy.

Lots! And little Teresa?
She's also here and wants to send…

Isn't that right? Lots of kisses!

You would like daddy
to come home soon, right?

Are you sure?

Send kisses to daddy!