Original subtitles

Director, producer, writer and screenplayer

If I had my own way, I would add nothing to it.

Not even bacon.

It's fat as it is.

I would put it into the oven right away, serve it almost plain.

A pinch of salt, I won't say no,

a trickle of the best olive oil,

a spring of parsley...

And that's all, Amelia.

Too seasoning will spoil its sea taste.

As to the rest, the fire is the master.

Have no illusions. This one's not meant for you.

Go find yourself a she-cat.

New York Herald Tribune.

Come in.

- I brought you the newspapers. - Leave them on the chair.

Wouldn't a bit of fresh air do you good?

I don't see the good it would do but you can open the window.

Blasted light!

I thought I'd find my happiness in you.

How's the world?

It might be a good idea to ask senhora Amelia to tidy it up.

The bird who fouls his own nest can't be a good one.

Besides, senhora Amelia has other things to do.

Baked snook for dinner.

A good snook does deserve a tidy room.

My God: when You created the world You knew very well where to start...

- I'll help you. - I still can do what's to be done.

Bring me some flowers, if you remember.

No. Don't.

If I'll pluck up some courage, I'll go for a walk through the fields.

Carlos invited us for a trip on his boat.

- Would you like to come along? - Just like that...

- Can I give an answer after dinner? - You can.

- Turn your head a little bit. - What for?

You've got an oil spot on it, little sister.

It must have been the bycicle chain.

I'm so sweaty! I'm going to take a bath.

I've still got salt on my body.

Silvestre, my fool, my cat:

have you never seen a naked girl washing herself?

And if you were a charmed prince?

I would blush with shame, hide from you.

Do you think I'm beautiful?

Is it because the sun tinted my skin with gold?

Because my mouth is like a fruit that seems to be always offering itself?

I made myself beautiful for your sake

and, in the reflexes in your cat's eyes, I fell happy.

Do you know what this is?

It's a black fig that isn't black but blue

and pink inside and from it trickles a honey tear.

Did you call aunt Sara?

Yes, we did.

It makes one's mouth water.

It looks magnificent. I congratulate you for it.

When the fish is good it gives you almost no trouble.

Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner, senhora Amelia?

I'll taste a bit tomorrow.

I'd rather go home now to cook dinner for my son, who's waiting,

if you don't need me anymore. - No, you can go.

Is Sara coming down?

I thing so, but one never knows.

I think we'd better start.

Could it be the fuses?

It seems one of Sara's jokes to me.

It's not Sara: it's Callas.

I bet aunt Sara will appear in a disguise.

In what disguise? Disguised as Norma?

What about that famous snook? I'm starving.

What's the idea of going around barefooted?

Shouldn't you be in bed?

Maria asks if aunt Sara is really coming on the boat trip tomorrow.

Aunt Sara has already said yes.

Mama said yes, Maria said yes, senhora Amelia already said yes.

Everybody said yes.

Does Maria need carrier-pigeons now?

Maria is a girl and mother knows quite well that a girl is a girl.

Now that the message is delivered, you can go back to bed.

And I don't want to see you here barefooted again.

They go past us,

untouched by what we project upon them.

It is new life affirming itself regardless of our own life.

We get frightened by the smallest trifle, we loose countless nights,

we consume ourselves so that they grow.

You're the only serene mother I know.

Last night I had a dream:

a big coloured tropical bird

peeped in a heartbreaking way

while it discribed crazy circles around the house.

Suddenly, it changed its course and began to flutter,

the enormous wings wide-spread, in front of the window of my room.

The peeping grew more horrible and piercing every minute.

All of a sudden, it vanished.

It seemed to have gone away and then there it was,

charging against the windowpane.

And at each charge,

the blood sprinkles spread over the glass panes

and the light gradually went out inside the room

till complete darkness.

At last, the thousand-coloured feathers

exploded in the sky like fireworks.

It reminds one of a virgin's dream.

It reminds what it reminds.

You look stunning!

Fat, girlish moon...

- Are you going to some party? - I'm going for a ride with Carlos.

- Ah! The sailor... - Not a sailor, he's just rich.

I must go now.

Don't go to bed late.

I haven't talked much with Rosa.

To be honest, I haven't talked much with anyone,

except with Antoine, but that's another thing.

Damned kid:

Rosa, Rosarum.

Yesterday I was changing her diapers and soon she'll come up pregnant.

Rest in peace, little mother.

Your Rosa has more sense than both of us together.

I don't believe she's in love.

It's comforting but not enough to appease one's consciense,

a true burgeoise conscience.

I do hope not.

What's so funny?

Nothing.

Do you remember the first time you met Virgílio?

It was in Florence.

Those things can't be forgotten.

You waited until I had finished giving a lesson

and you came to ask me I don't know what.

"His was an eagerness to live; no more the eargerness to love".

It's a passage from "Amor de Perdição"

that still fascinates and troubles me.

You can't strike a match twice.

I believe Simão only wanted soup and rest by then.

We left college together, remember?

I'm doing my best to forget it.

We strolled for hours on end along the Arno...

It's a muddy river in spring time.

It was hot,

the kids bathed in the river,

the Easter holidays were at the door,

and I talked and talked...

You listened, your eyes wide open...

I sometimes opened my eyes wide...

Suddenly, I felt you gripping my arm with all your strength.

You turned pale and started trembling.

It was Virgílio,

the one over there crossing the bridge to meet us.

You had spoken so much about him that I felt like knowing him already.

I was immediately aware there you were in love.

Some years have past since...

How will it be with Rosa?

It's strange her not beeing in love. At her age...

It will be different. Let's wait and see.

I'm going to bed.

Are you coming tomorrow with us?

No, but I'll drop you at Tavira. I might go for a ride afterwards.

Without destination.

There were several shots,

fired upon a leader of PLO,

here for the Socialist Congress.

Sartawi lies dead on the ground, we think he died instantaneously.

His assistant was also shot

and is now on his way to the hospital in Albufeira.

He was first attended here, at the hotel

and then was taken by ambulance to the hospital.

The sniper managed to escape

and the hotel is packed with police agents.

We don't understand

how he managed to escape, with so much police around.

Issam Sartawi was shot at the main lobby,

down by the entrance of the hotel at Montechoro.

The man came from the hotel

and shot several times.

Issam Sartawi fell immediatly to the ground...

They started work very early,

the untiring crime workers.

It's horrible to die on an empty stomach.

Those who are sentenced to death know it well:

a coffee and a cigarette.

Human life, after all,

conforming to small vices...

I must take you to a hospital.

The wound looks bad and ought to be disinfected.

I'm coming, I'm coming...

Just a second.

I drew the bolt because I'm afraid of being here alone.

If you want, you may leave earlier, senhora Amelia. I don't need you.

Do you now when the ladies and the children will come back from the sea?

I suppose tomorrow or the day after... I don't know for sure.

The house is as clean as can be

and if you really can do without my help,

I might use the occasion for going to the doctor.

Not that I need it, thank God I never did.

It's my son who's drinking heavily

and they told me to take him to a doctor for the brain.

I'm sorry to know that.

If I can help you in some way, please don't hesitate to ask.

God bless you, my lady.

Oh! It's you. You scared me...

I called time and again and nobody answered.

Hello, Antoine. Sara is not here.

She isn't?

On second thoughts,

I'm really almost relieved

not to have found her.

With Sara

I always get the feeling I'm one too many.

Or not too short.

Sometimes I fell like I never calling on her again...

Do you remember the time she sent me a telegram

asking me to join her in Florence?

"I love you. Come."

No, no...

"Come. I love you."

At first, I thought it was a joke.

It couldn't be.

After all, Sara is not in the habit of joking with that sort of things...

I didn't even have the time to change.

When I arrived in Florence

it was bitter cold and it rained cats and dogs.

I rang the bell at her place,

drenched to the bones and shivering.

She looked at me from head to foot.

I was immediately aware that she was furious.

She looked lovely thus.

I only wished the earth would swallow me on the spot

but the only thing I did

was to take the telegram out of the pocket

and show it to her.

She smiled

and said: "Ah!"

"I can offer you a grappa and a towel."

"I'm sorry but I worked late and I'm going to resume sleeping."

"We'll meet for lunch at the Piazza della Signoria,"

"if you want."

She gave the name of a cafe, the Rivoire,

and turned her back on me.

She was willing to marry you.

But what made her change her mind?

What makes people change their minds if they ever do change them?

Who knows?

If there had been another man...

There have been other man...

All right,

but I don't believe she loved them.

I don't believe she loved me.

Sara loved only one man:

Virgílio, her brother.

It's not by chance

he was the only guy I was truly jealous of.

Also of you, in a way.

Of me?

It was dreadful when we went to Arezzo

to look at Piero della Francesca, the Leggenda della Uera Croce.

Which cross? I constantly asked myself.

Mine or Piero della Francesca's?

For both of you it was as if I didn't even exist.

After a while I couldn't see clearly any longer.

Virgílio irrupted from every recess of the frescoes

as a more and more intense and bright volume.

I could never stand that...

...Piero della Francesca.

You're being unfair.

I was very much in love with Virgílio

and everything spun around us...

I'm jealous of everything, that's the truth.

I don't know.

After all...

a guy tries to find,

by fair means or foul,

is excuses for his mistakes.

It might be a mistake to think one failed

because things don't happen as one has desired.

Maybe the blame we insist on laying upon ourselves

should simply be laid on the rain.

On the rain?

Maybe your story would have had another outcome

if, on that very day, it hadn't rained in Florence.

Do you believe such nonsense?

What has the rain got to do with our story?

Probably nothing but let me believe that kind of nonsense.

It's undeniable

that Sara grew up worshipping her heroe,

Virgílio.

It took me some time to grasp that.

Strangely enough,

the jealousy only came up later.

More or less about the time Maria was born,

but mothers are very powerful.

But that's another story.

What one must keep in mind

is that Sara's love for Virgílio,

let's call it so,

was fully returned.

She knew herself loved by God.

That fervour filled her heart

and the men who approached her got scared,

trembled with fear.

Instead of offering her their human love they turned into rivals of God.

It's stupid to be jealous of God.

When you left Florence, Sara cried her eyes out.

Maybe a drinking bout helped her get over it,

or maybe not.

There's nothing we can do now, is there?

No. There's nothing one can do now.

Okay.

Tell her...

I came by

and will do so again one of these days,

as usual.

Do you want me to drop you somewhere?

We aren't going the same way.

Be careful. I hope you won't come across Sartawi's killer.

If I'll come across him

I'll tell him that I've got a friend who was an anti-fascist

and has severely criticized

the security system set up

by the Portuguese authorities;

or I'll simply say

that he commited a disgustingly coward crime,

certainly in the pay of the Sionists. Did I say it right?

You're not far from the truth

but one can add a more personal touch

to ready-made sentences.

Anyway, you probably won't come across him.

I suppose he has already been caught.

How silly of me. I always forget to switch off the headlights.

Good evening.

Documents, please...

Please, show me that bag.

Open it.

This one here?

Take it out.

The keys to the trunk, please.

Here you go.

Your documents.

Thank you.

You may go on. Good night.

The trousers are somewhat short.

No, I'm italian.

From Alta Valle del Tevere.

Borgo Sansepolcro,

provincia di Arezzo,

Toscania.

Excuse me...

Do you know where I can find the Divine Comedy at this late hour?

Arriving at Portimão you'll see a bridge.

You don't cross it. You turn immediately to the right.

You drive some hundred yards and you'll come upon a confectionery.

The Dom Rodrigos are good,

specially if you've ordered them.

Right beside it,

is a bookshop

where you'll be able to find the Divine Comedy.

Up to now, we weren't instructed to put translators into jail

and it's a pity.

I've got a son called Dante.

Mine is called Roberto

but he's still too young to read Dante.

- Have a nice trip. - Thank you. Good night.

- Enjoy your reading. - Thank you.

Does it hurt?

Maria is the eldest.

Roberto, the youngest, wails like a cat!

There!

It's done.

Let me see...

It looks great!

But very seldom, once every century.

Excuse me.

But you're dead!

Exuberant sudden explosions of pure colored matter.

This one is the king of fishes that Carlos caught.

It's not the king of fishes. The king of fishes is the shark.

This is the king of fishes.

This is aunt Rosa on the bottom of the sea.

She holds a fish in her hand and is feeding it to Silvestre.

This is aunt Sara vomiting into the sea.

She got sick with the rocking of the boat.

This is Maria making a face.

This is sailor Robert Rossellini peering through a spyglass.

And what does the sailor Roberto Rossellini see?

He sees mother.

What a liar!

Yesterday it was the treasure island, today it's mother!

It's mother. Mother is the treasure island.

Maria wrote a logbook.

She doesn't let anyone read it. It's secret.

Is it true, Maria?

I'm ashamed, mother.

If you don't want us to read it, no one will.

And won't aunt Sara be angry with me?

Ask her.

Sara, will you be angry if you don't read her logbook?

No, my dear.

I like to read what you write but nobody will be angry at you.

And aunt Rosa?

Aunt Rosa never gets angry. She has a good nature.

No, love, I won't get angry.

I know why Maria doesn't want to show it.

It's not because of that! Don't be stupid!

Yes, it is. You're the stupid one.

Children... Is my son a sissy now?

I'm not a sissy but I also saw the man under the bedshet.

She wasn't the only one.

Aunt Rosa didn't let you look at him.

I saw the ambulance with the siren wailing and the people around.

And I saw the man's feet.

What are you talking about?

- It was the black pirate. - It wasn't the black pirate.

It was the black pirate and he was dead.

It was daddy. My daddy!

Get out at once and apologize to your sister.

And you won't repeat that kind of nonsense again.

They got too much sunshine.

What's that story about?

From what we gathered, and it wasn't much,

it looks like an ordinary smuggling story with some shooting in between.

The navy seems to have intercepted, somewhere, a mysterious ship.

Not exactly the phantom ship but there wasn't a living soul on board;

the deck was scattered all over with bullet-riden corpses.

When did that happen?

Yesterday or the day before. I don't know for sure.

So the boat was towed to Tavira's dock

to the tourists and other on-lookers delight

and handed over to the coast authorities

who immediately sealed the cargo,

feeling at a loss as for what to do with the corpses.

At last the police arrived

and is now proceeding with enquiries.

They say that in the meanwhile

the corpses roasted for hours on end under the sun.

Their removal took place, unfortunately,

at the precise moment of our arrival.

And that's all.

As you know, I don't believe much is won

from hiding from children the biological fact called death.

But after Sartawi's murder, which they scrupulously listened on the radio,

I suppose it was an overdose of murder...

I'm worried about Maria.

She's a half-orphan and will have to live with it.

It's not serious. There are plenty of fathers around.

Are there?

No. There aren't,

but it's up to you to switch off the lights upon the stage of the drama.

She'll get over it after a good night's sleep.

Do you suppose there's some sort if connection

between that story about the ship and Sartawi's death?

I don't see any but we could skim through the evening newspapers.

I was precisely going to suggest that we dined out.

My head is swimming but it seems an excellent idea.

Did you get sick aboard?

Mal de mer. I get seasick since I was a kid.

Long ago, when one still travelled by ship to Azores,

it was usual to see an enormous line of passengers leaning overboard.

One wouldn't know if they were sick with the rocking of the ship

or with the neighbour's vomit.

"Load overboard", yelled always an imbecile enjoying the show.

Search the house!

That's how you got your eyes into that condition. Search behind the books!

We don't like to harass women and children.

We don't speak Spanish.

Galician-Portuguese resistance.

If you behave, nothing will happen to you.

Stop it.

Damned!

Stupid yourself.

And ugly. And bad.

My vase!

Nothing, chief.

Keep on searching!

You're completely fucked!

Aren't you old enough to have grown some sense in that head of yours?

I can't control myself, madam.

Where is Laura?

For some moments I was afraid of seeing a werewolf come forth.

He's not a werewolf.

Here they are.

Have they left already?

Yes. Where is Rosa?

She's repairing the damage. Everything is in a chaos.

They opened drawers, cupboards,

browsed among papers, scattered clothes everywhere,

with a special liking for the so-called underwear...

No traces of ill-treatment were detected,

which is already more than one could hope for...

The Chief was strict with regard to that...

And we had Roberto to protect us.

I must tell you your children didn't waste a second.

As soon as that idiot Stavroguine turned his back on us,

they set to work.

I'm proud of these children.

What has changed is that, in days past,

they came at dawn

and caught people half-asleep, trembling with fear.

Your children weren't educated in fear...

There's more here.

And that's what makes them somewhat strange,

almost detached,

undoubtedly fascinating.

Will it be the future tense of our present?

I'll find out what happened.

There's no need for all of us to go prying about.

What could have been?

It was the bogey exploding.

- Mother went to check. - I'll look for her.

Back to work.

Mother and aunt Rosa went to check and will tell us everything about it.

That did it to our lovely dinner.

After these emotions

we'll have to do with some scrambled eggs.

Where can Antoine, who's never around when needed, be?

There's more here, aunt.

That's enough for today.

We'll stop at Virgilio.

I was worried about you.

Is it them?

I think so.

But it's a madman tale, Laura.

I must catch some fresh air.

It's after ten and I don't know where to go to catch some fresh air.

We could go to the seashore.

I've had my fill of sea.

Another spoon full of sugar if you don't mind.

Where can Antoine be? One can't get hold of him at this hour.

I forgot to tell you: he came by yesterday, looking for you.

He didn't leave an address but he said he would come again.

He always does.

Particularly when I don't feel like it.

Returning to the subject:

first, there's an PLO leader who is shot down...

The killer has been caught.

The presumable, Laura.

The presumable.

It wasn't a isolated action.

There was premeditation and an efficiency

that presupposes complicities.

It's all together canonical:

shooting down the bodyguard before the target.

It's in the books.

It is not an amateur's job but one of people who learned how to kill.

Roberto had nothing to do with it.

Robert, I've grasped it, has nothing to do with anything.

The sea brought him by chance

and, in your head, be might as well be Ulisses, back to Itaca.

And is he not?

That's what I was trying to tell you: of course he is.

He's called Robert Jordan

and came straight out of one of Hemingway's novels,

as if it still was possible

to come straight out of one of Hemingway's novels.

I would prefer him to be called Robert Schumann

and to have come ashore carrying a piano on his back,

but I'm probably just trying to bring grist to my mill:

in case he disappeared

he would always have left some musical traces behind.

You're being very sceptical.

I would be very much more so if I were the mother of two children.

What would you have done in my place?

Do I have to answer now?

Besides, what have I been talking for?

The walls of this fortress

can't detain the invaders greed,

the door is frank and welcoming for whoever appears:

"Welcome whoever it is".

Remind me to have it placed at the doorway.

What am I complaining about?

Maybe about the days that make us old, and nothing else.

Could you lend me the car's keys?

I insist upon fresh air.

I'll go along

if Rosa doesn't mind to stay alone with the children.

Fear has already found better company:

it won't leave us for times to come.

They are ashamed of the light.

You must do as aunt Rosa told you and wait for them.

Bat, Bat, come down to the cane greased with tallow...

There's no need for such yelling. You'll scare off the bats.

They won't come if you don't ask gently.

Bat, bat, come down to the cane greased with tallow.

That's it. Keep asking. I'll be right back.

We went all the way round the house and we didn't see a single bat...

Angelus.

Angelus.

It's the prayer of Annunciation and I'm not fond of Millet.

It's also the name of a boat,

of the boat arrested at Tavira.

It says so in the newspaper.

Would you mind summing up?

"Angelus entered the Port of Lisbon more or less one month ago"

"under Holland's colour."

"Ownership was registered in the name of a Greek citizen,"

"Mr. Odysseus Onassis,"

"now suspected to be false."

"The crew consisted of four individuals"

"whose identities have not been confirmed,"

"it being strongly suspected that they too are false."

"The names of the crew members follow."

Names? What names?

Nothing particularly far-fetched.

They are familiar names

that seem to have been picked up in the Tales of Thousand and One Nights.

"Angelus was moored in the Quay of Bom Sucesso"

"where it supposedly underwent a cleaning of the hull"

"and received a cargo of pharmaceutical products"

"from a company now known never to have existed."

A variant of the miracle of the roses follows.

"An inspection of the ship's hold,"

"revealed inside the boxes,"

"- Io and behold! - "

"neatly wrapped up in sackcloth,"

"a real arsenal of war weapons."

"Angelus left the Port of Lisbon bound for Beyrut"

"and was intercepted off Algarve's coast"

"by a corvette of the Portuguese Navy."

"Aboard were found three male corpses"

"riddled with bullets"

"and traces testifying that a violent armed confrontation had taken place."

"The police presumes it to be the settling of a quarrel"

"among traffickers in arms"

"and proceeds with enquiries,"

"and so on..."

So what?

Nothing.

We are thinking about the same.

I'm not thinking about anything.

Where on hell could the fourth member of the crew be hiding?

Is he drifting on open sea or, on the contrary,

did he find shelter and help on firm ground?

Isn't this the subject of our thoughts?

I'm not thinking about that;

I'm worried about Robert.

Won't you understand the difference?

I don't recall having pronounced that name.

You don't have to.

- Your logic is that of the police. - Not only, Laura.

It's also that of the public

and, probably, that of the visitors who called this afternoon too.

What does it matter?

I would like to see Rosa and your children away from this mess.

That's all I ask for and I suppose I'm not asking too much.

Again I ask you: what would you have done in my place?

Again I won't answer you: it's the only way to assure my own freedom.

We didn't speak with one another for too long, Sara.

And yet, I loved you all. I'm not guilty...

Of what?

- Of nothing. - Tell me!

Of Virgllio's death?

I want to live and not wrapped up in your bloody dreams.

One can't go back to fascism and start afresh once more.

Shit! Bloody shit!

I can't bear it anymore.

What do you do?

He says that he travels and has got a boat.

Like Sindbad's?

How was Sindbad's boat like?

It turned into a big bird and flew wherever he wanted to fly.

Uncle Robert says that his boat is like Sindbad's.

We travelled aboard the boat of Rosa's boytriend yesterday.

- He's not my boytriend. - Yes he is, aunt Rosa.

Get to sleep!

Ask Robert if he'll let us travel aboard his boat, aunt Rosa.

He's going to make a very dangerous trip and you children can't go along

but he'll take us all with him when he comes back.

Is uncle Robert going to kill the black pirate?

He is.

And does he promise to take us with him through the Seven Seas?

And will you bring me a little monkey?

And a parrot! To keep company to Maria Callas.

He'll bring you whatever you wish if you go to sleep at once.

I'm already sleeping!

What's this?

Uncle Robert was going after a very fast fish

and hit his head against a ship lying on the bottom of the sea.

Was uncle Robert born in the sea?

Uncle Robert was born in an apple tree.

No one is born on apple trees; only apples.

It's a long story.

- I'm listening to everything. - Tell us!

Roma, open city!

El Lobo.

Leave everything, I'll clean up later.

Everything is ready.

Robert sleeps in my room, and I sleep with the kids.

Sleep well.

Naughty but nice.

It's the hard business of living.

- I want a bilberry ice! - There aren't any.

Then...

I want a cup with chocolate and coffee icecream.

Have you got blackberry icecream?

Only strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, cream, almond and marashino.

Then...

I want mint.

A mineral water with sprinkles and a small coffee.

Where are the children?

Mother: this icecream isn't good.

Don't eat it.

Why do you eat it if you don't like it?

Why are there never bilberry icecream?

Mother, when can we go into the water?

You can go right away but don't swim out of your depth.

- Not even with uncle Robert? - Can we have icecream?

No icecream. There's cool lemonade in the bag.

Don't stay for too long under the sun.

I'm going to fly!

Aren't you coming to the beach?

I don't think so.

These much too perfect days are inclement.

I prefer the comfort of this peace.

Beautiful, the image of the children playing:

Maria and Robertino;

of Rosa bathing herself...

Is she?

Not now.

She seems to be telling something to the children.

Beautiful too, the bearing of a man who walks on the sand...

He isn't walking.

Each one of them has a movement of his own;

and yet something joins them and confounds them

with the movement of the light itself,

this animal light which quivers and vibrates

like the wings of a cicada.

I don't even have to see them.

I have just been looking through the binoculars.

I brought them close.

The image I keep of them is an image of happiness.

I have not great doubts about it.

If they question me...

Ah, if they question me,

I'll be perfectly willing to deny the nature of that image:

it's intolerable in the present times.

I brought some red wine...

It's very good.

Maria wants a starfish.

I don't want to remember you.

All my days are memories of ghosts.

There's never anything to drink in this house.

If it isn't eaten right away it will loose the zest.

Dinner is served!

You children eat right here.

The fish-stew has lots of pepper in it and isn't good for your bellies.

Where is Laura?

Miss Laura, it had to be this very day,

has left some while ago and told me not to expect her for dinner.

God bless her!

Take me away with you, very far away.

I see you made a night of it.

You've already got there your food.

But I fancy you aren't hungry.

Are you in a hurry? Won't you even say good morning?

Good morning, senhora Amelia.

Good morning, madam. Do you want me to make you some tea?

That's filthy!

It's not filthy, it's a mosquito.

Don't make so much noise.

He dropped a mosquitoe into my milk.

What doesn't kill you is good for you.

Do you think that's reasonable?

Uncle Robert eats lizards.

Then eat the mosquitoe. He was in the desert and had nothing else to eat.

- There are some who eat stones. - And the sole of their shoes...

I'll drink this one.

We all know Maria's a saint.

After they've eaten, the mosquitoes belly becomes red.

I looked at the mosquitoe through aunt Sara's microscope.

He looked like a hairy monster.

If the mosquitoe is plunged into the milk,

the mosquitoe will turn pink.

Thus, the mosquitoe becomes less repelent,

quod erat demonstrandum. - What redeems you is being funny.

The lady should take the children to the toad-hole in Castro Marim.

- What's a toad-hole? - It's a swamp.

With toads?

Whit toads and frogs and leeches and lots of vermin.

And very pretty birds.

Many tourists go there to take pictures of the royal heron.

Do you know what a royal heron is?

It looks like those flamingoes you saw at the Zoo, you remember?

We know.

The flamingo is that pink bird

with big legs and a long neck

who sleeps on one leg only with its head under the wing.

That's it. Some call it a crane.

In days past they came in the Autumn, in big flocks.

Now only one or two can be seen.

But no one takes the picture of what there are lots of:

gnats and mosquitoes.

It's a place of fevers, one of the most disgraced.

How is your son?

He's a heavy drinker. There's nothing one can do.

Good morning, everybody.

Is there any coffee left?

Yes there is, miss. I'm heating it.

Are you still coming with us to the beach?

Of course I am.

And what about the trip to the toad-hole?

I suppose that's all.

- The milk is missing. - It's not necessary.

You were about to forget the honey.

I don't want to see anyone ever again!

They came to fetch Roberto!

I won't let you go.

I would have liked to drink a cup of tea with you.

I only wanted to say goodbye.

I don't know what else to say.

Have a good trip, mister Roberto.

What did he say?

That he would like to have a mother like you.

How nice...

Ship in sight!

It's the Angelus!

Uncle Robert!

We'll have to learn how to use up the remaining unhappiness.