All language subtitles for papusza.2013.720p.bluray.x264-rovers_track3_eng

Mom.

Mom.

Mom.

Mom.

What name will you give her?

Doll.

It's not a good name.
I'd name her Terna.

I want Doll.

I'll get Urma the Austrian,
let her remove the bonds.

May you walk
on earth light as a feather.

Tread light.
Light as a feather.

May you walk on earth
light as a feather.

There is something wrong,
something in the way.

And?

I told you it was a bad name.

She won't walk, you'll see.

She will either bring everyone
great pride or great shame.

STATE PRISON

Governor...

What am I to tell the Minister?

That she's doing her second
month for stealing a chicken?

It's a repeat offense.

This error needs correcting.
The Minister's waiting.

Citizen Wajs!

Could you get the door, please?

There you go. Everything will be fine.

Mrs. Bronisłwa, I'm begging you.

But it's a mistake.

Everybody's waiting.

It'll only be a minute.

- I never wrote no poems.
- Mrs. Bronisłwa...

Mrs. Papusza, I have
a dress here for you.

Just change into it, show up
and you'll be done. Please.

Get changed, you oaf,
or I'll give you a wallop!

Here come the Gypsies in a big kumpania,

wagon wheels whistling and turning,

their horses neighing
and their dogs a-barking,

tied up under the caravans.

The wood carries it all on the wind.

Men tell wives their homes to bar,

shoo us away from afar.

Our children go asking for bread...

May God stop the rain and storm,

my tent is all rags, all torn.

Come, little Tarzan.

Hold on, kids.

Don't cry. Why are you afraid?

Come quick.

Come, uncle is back.

Watch it. Careful.

Easy... Easy-

- Health and happiness to you!
- Welcome!

Well in tune.

You did well, Lieutenant.

And who is the gadjo?

He came from Warsaw.

Slugged a secret police guy.
They issued a warrant for him.

His ass needs saving.

You could take him in
for a month or two.

We Gypsies don't meddle in politics.

As you wish.

But from now on,
fix your harps on your own.

Lieutenant...

You drive a hard bargain
over your repairs.

Thanks for everything.

Why so scared? They won't eat you.

Give us a shove.

Just don't be an embarrassment to me!

Look, like this.

Careful.

Put it against your arm...

and hold it tight.

Can you do that?
Can you?

Yes .

Try it yourself then.

Look again.

My head is all washed now.
All clean inside.

Keep looking,
there may be something here.

Old rubbish.

What's this?

Hold on.

- Something fell out.
- What is it?

You tell us, you can read.

Jerzy Ficowski.

What else does it say?

Polish Literati Society. It's an ID.

He's a policeman.
He did look like a snitch right away.

Anything else in here?

A cop, a snitch.
He'll go and sell us all out.

Who knows what he is.

He'll put a spell
on our kids and horses.

We'll be lost.

He's a very evil man, that gadjo.

Don't eat it!

The gadjo will see.

Put it back in.

So you can read, big deal.
Don't lecture us, know-it-all.

Well and good.

Cheers!

Jurko...

Do you know why Hitler hated
and murdered us Gypsies so much?

Whom wouldn't he murder?

It's 'cause he envied us, he did.

He envied us
our Gypsy imagination and wit.

He murdered us out of envy.

And why did he fail?

He was a fool.
Wasn't bright enough.

Learned or not,

a Gypsy and a Jew

are wiser between them
than all the Germans.

And Hitler knew that.

Sing us something!
Just not that sad stuff of yours.

Sing yourself.

You can't let him stay here.

Yes, I can.

I am Dionizy Wajs.
I can do anything in my forest.

Look. The Hen and Chickens in the sky.

And one is missing again.

Just like before the war, in Volhynia.

A great trouble's afoot.

Make him go back whence he came.

He's bad luck.

Just lying about, you gyppo?
Go get a decent job!

Son of a bitch, I'll stick that
whip right up your ass!

Fuck!

Thank you.
Thank you.

You asked
what the Gypsy baptism looked like.

Now you know.

Now you're a real Gypsy.

Smart kiddo!

Hey, give it back!

What do you write in there?

- I write poems.
- What's poems?

Poems...

Poems are something to let me
recall tomorrow what I felt yesterday.

Doesn't it give you a headache?
I'd kill myself.

In the Gypsy tongue, “yesterday”
and “tomorrow” are one word...

- Taishia.
- Yes.

What's all your books for?

Why, have you counted them?

Mom, I just took the one you wanted.

Be quiet.

Now, Papusza!

There it went.

It'll peck you, you'll see.

There's something here.

Catch.

A pretty knife.

- Beautiful, isn't it?
- Yes.

It's so big.

What's in there?

What a beauty...

Money!

- What shall we do with it?
- I don't know.

Look, a ring for you.

Give us a finger.

This is pretty, too.

Real gold?

It must be a robber's.

Keep looking!

There's bound to be something else.

Dig deeper.

- Nothing.
- There must be something.

Search deeper.

Nothing.

Try again.

Drop it, there's gadjo spells in it.
Why pick it up?

What are spells?

It's evil, a devil's trick, drop it.

Those who know
how to spell can do anything,

they can turn you into a pig or a dog.

Whatever grows in the field,
any God's creature

that scratches or clucks, you can take.

When you drink water, do you steal?

No, you don't.
it's the same with a chicken.

My little devil is still blind.

The devil can see all things
just the same.

How much is this egg?

Two pence.

But this one looks odd.

What do you mean, odd? it's an egg.

- What now?
- Look, ma'am!

- What, a devil?
- Yes.

In an egg?

You're the third one
to talk of an egg devil.

You need my ring to undo evil?

Get me two pence from your mother,
now!

Them Gypsies, what a curse!

Hey, give that back!

You want to swipe something?

Buy or get out.

The candies are three to a penny.

I want to learn how to read.

Mazel tov...
Here's a Gypsy trick I haven't heard.

I want to learn how to read and write.

- What for?
- I just want to.

Education is costly
Can you pay?

“G... L... O... W.”

Read. Don't just guess.

“G-L-O-V-E.”

All together now.

“The countless...”

“The countess.”

“The countess... dropped... a glove.”

What's a countess?

A grand goy lady...

...in gloves.
- And what's a goy?

You are a goy.

Me? I'm a countess?

Stop! Where are you off to?

Where are you off to?

Come here.

What is it?

- Scribbling?
- That Jewish lady put a spell on her!

Want to sell us out to the gadje?

- Let her be!
- Get up.

- Don't hit her!
- Get away!

Leave her alone!

You want to be a grand lady?
Get up!

Let her be, she means no harm!

Want her to teach the gadje
how to harass our people?

Come here, quick, we'll burn it.

Cheers.
Beat this.

What's that, chicken face?

He plays like shit.

Go on, play already.

Look, it's the gadjo
you beat at cards yesterday.

Get them lousy dogs out!

- You hear this gadjo?
- I won't drink around no stinkers!

Dirty pigs, get the fuck out.
Out with you, shits!

Fuck him up!

Pour it over him!

I'm gonna fucking get you!

I'll get you!

A... D... O... N... I... S...

"Adonis".

"Adonis".

"ADONIS" - DR KOCEMBA'S POTION.
HAIR POMADE.

"A... D... O... N... I... S..."

"Adonis".

It's my fault.

How are your affairs?

No changes.

But my mother... mire dai...

is looking for connections.

- I think you'll become a Gypsy.
- I think so, too.

Take a wife.

Do you like any?

I don't understand.

You need a woman.
Do you like any?

No, no... I don't.

- Malina, come here!
- Uncle...

- Want Jurko for a husband?
- I want no husband.

Dyźko's kidding!

He'll buy you a tent, a quilt and earrings.
You want him?

But, uncle, why would she want a gadjo?

How do you say “ugly?”

"Khira."

Why would she want a khira gadjo?

Malina, why would you want a khira gadjo?

If anything, just steal her, that'll do it.

TONIGHT AT THE FIREHOUSE:
GYPSY ORCHESTRA IN CONCERT

No, no!

Just sit right here.

I don't want to!

Cops! The cops are coming!

Good evening.

Okay, fine, I'll go.

Camping in a public place.

Lights on the wagons - missing.

Traffic safety infringement...

No firefighting equipment.

It all comes to a fine of 500 zlotys...

per wagon.

I'd give you 1000, luv,
if money grew in the woods.

Where is your license to play?

- God... I had it.
- Show us.

I did have it! Brand new, too.

Folks!

Our grandfathers used
to play for Queen Mary herself!

Which you don't have.

She gave us a permit, a paper
for the Wajses to play all over Poland.

I gave it to the Wawel museum.

You can't ban us from travelling.

Travel we did and we will.

And we won't pay you a penny,
because you beat him up.

Go away already.

Be a darling, give us a light.

- They'll put the screws on you.
- On you, they will.

The papers say they'll start settling you

in post-Jewish mansions.

In Auschwitz and Birkenau.

Hitler-shitler couldn't fence us in.
Can you?

He wasn't so bad.
Tidied things up a bit!

Quiet!

Well, do something!

Keep playing!

In the wind the green grass sways,

young oaks to the old oak bowing.

A leaf speaks,
a wandering heart dies

as a black crow mourns its going.

The big forest's singing softly,

black earth trembles, grieving wholly.

To the young boy death's unwelcome

as he shuts his black eyes slowly.

Again, mommy.

Whose poem is it?

It's not a poem,
it's something my mom made up.

We say: “a leaf, a bird, grass",

but is what we say true?

Maybe it's God who made us
agree on what we say?

Papusza...

You are a poet.

And who's a poet?

Someone who makes up songs.

I heard it was mermaids who made up songs.

Every year we paid. All was fine!

The police sent us a ban.
We can't rent to you.

Is paper so scary?

Did you hear?

They do checks with dogs
every week, we can't.

Take our women and kids at least!

We won't stick our necks out for you.

- Come, uncle.
- We ain't dead yet.

Back to your caravans, now!

Back you go!

Curses on you!

Come, little Tarzan.

Health and happiness to you!

And may you have much of the same!

Welcome!

Welcome.

It's good to see you!

Welcome.
May you have health and happiness!

Welcome,
much health and happiness to you!

How are you? Everything good?

Yes, thank you.

By the order
of the Office of Internal Affairs

issued on 29th of August, 1949,

settling activities regarding Gypsies
begin as planned, with no appeal.

Folks, what is it they want?

What is it we hear?

What will we do?

What do them gadje think?

Who do they think they are?

And you, read in our tongue.
Folks won't get it otherwise.

You won't be able to travel in caravans.

Your children will have to go to school.

All Gypsies will be counted,
will go to work.

Don't make a ruckus.

Let a man hear.

Please...

go, leave us alone.

We will resolve this
the Gypsy way, among ourselves.

Let the gadjo go, it's our problem.

When Gypsies used to travel,

the king himself couldn't forbid it.

I heard they locked up
two whole Gypsy camps in Dęblin.

Took the children, too.

Can't be.

Have you seen a police jail
big enough to hold two camps?

The gadje spread these rumours

just to scare us.

That's right! Well said.

If they give us those houses,
maybe we should take them?

You're scared. Don't be!
What are you scared of?

I'm not,
but maybe it's better that way?

You want one? You take it.

What houses?

We'd rather keep travelling.

I'd sooner strangle and drown
my kids than let them go to school.

Don't anyone tell me
what to do with my kids.

The earth brought us up.
We sleep on it, eat on it.

We don't need their houses,
the woods are just fine.

- That's true!
- Hear, hear!

Quiet!

Let the elder speak.

Listen, Gypsies.

The gadje have done with us
whatever they wanted for many a year.

And they want to continue.

We must stick together in peace.

Then they can do nothing to us.

If they get us to quarrel,
they'll do whatever they want.

We need to get money together,
grease somebody's palm to leave us alone.

The gadje like money.

Everyone counts their money,
be it a regular gadjo or an official.

What say you?

What say you?

The world is my representation.

Schopenhauer.

A German philosopher.

A wise man. Baro rai.

And what do you think? The world,
is it real or just in our heads?

If the world weren't real, one can...

- Could.
- Could...

Could... One could do anything.

Anything one wanted.

If the world isn't real, are pain
and suffering only in the head?

Yes.

And death?

That too.

I don't think so.

My eyes are black, yours are green,
but we see the world the same way.

Because the world is.

We see eye to eye,
but we live differently.

Your people are strong, mine are weak,

because we have no science or memory.

Maybe that's for the better.

If Gypsies had memory,
they would all die of worry.

How will it be then?

Winter's coming.

If we took a house,

Tarzan could go to school.
Maybe his life would be easier.

Spoken like a gadjo bitch.

The "state" do what it wants.

Take a house early
and it'll be a better one.

They'd have to burn
all the wheels in the world first.

As long as one wheel is left,
Gypsies will travel.

And you? What do you think?

Look at him drink,
his mouth all shut. Why don't you talk?

Open that gadjo trap.

You always write,
but now you won't speak?

Good morning.

- I barely found you.
- Health and happiness to you!

It's best not
to leave tracks these times.

From your mother.

- Good news or bad?
- See for yourself.

They've called off
the warrant for my arrest!

They've called off
the warrant for my arrest.

A cause for celebration.

We'll cook
tree leaves and have a feast!

It's the worst time
we've had since the war.

Where do you want to go, lad?
To your doom?

With us, you live like a lord!
All woods and roads are ours.

Where better?

I need to go back, find myself a wife.

I'd give you one, but you just laughed.

Here's my address.

If you need anything,
find me, day or night.

Write. Write poems
and send me them. I'll be waiting.

My scribblings so bad
you won't be able to read it.

Don't you worry.

What do you want my poems for?

A child could do better.

Here's to a good start.

Hold on, little brother.

Take this bakhtalo.

It's a piece of iron, a pebble,
some bitter herbs, a feather.

May them bring you
good fortune, health and strength.

Don't get up.

A Gypsy girl that can read.

That's nice.
I haven't seen it before.

And how did the Gypsy girl learn?

Don't be afraid.

Just so you know...
wise women have a hard life.

Is that why you are so sad, ma'am?

Marry me, Papusza.

Marry me.

Uncle, don't sin!
You could be my father.

You'll dance in Vienna, in Paris.
I'll open the world to you.

You're drunk, uncle.
Open a door today, it'll be a feat.

That's why we are brothers born,
to agree on this.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

How much do you owe me for the guitar?
The debt is gone.

Mother will weep.

You'll dry her tears.

Throw in the money you got today, too.

- Have it.
- And your father's ring.

Here. Shake on it.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

May you have health and happiness.

You will have silk dresses.

Gold and swansdown.
Whatever your heart desires.

You'll live like a lady.

Stab me, go ahead.

Be a widow.

So you fancy me, is that it?

Father forest, great forest...

Have mercy on me, seal my womb.

Piss off!

He used to get well from raspberries.

There's fungus here,
it gets into his lungs.

Raspberry's the best cure-all.
Nothing can match it.

You know, Doctor...
I played in Paris once.

The French said it:
raspberry's the best cure.

I played in Vienna,
Austrians said the same.

The whole world says it's best.

You'll waste the kid, don't you see?

Will we so?

The people's state will!

- Be quiet.
- Why?

Did they license us to play? Shit, no.

Wasn't it schools you wanted?

Got what you asked for.
Fungus will chew out of his ass!

Give us money for the cure.

- I don't have it.
- You had it for vodka!

There are still people
who'll give one a helping hand.

Don't worry, mom, I'm healthy.

Drop dead!

It is a pretty thing.

But I do not trade in pens.

I have a sick kid at home, luv.

Please buy it. Give us a little.

This pen is from Warsaw, you know.

Come on, you have a good heart.
Please buy it, luv.

Give it here.

What am I doing?

Oh God!

Why?

God, oh God!

Why?

Why?

No one will understand me
but the wood and water.

What I am telling here

everything, everything's long gone

and everything's been taken away
with years of my youth along.

What do you think?

That Papusza, isn't she
in love with you by any chance?

Will anyone even publish it?

I work all night and this is what I get?

Me, a writer, an artist...
a translator, a philosopher?

What's this thing of yours, anyway?
Will anyone buy it?

You want tea?

- ...afternoon.
- Excuse me.

- Where to, citizen?
- Why do you care? I'm the caretaker.

- So? Let me in.
- To see who?

- Piss off! I'm seeing a colleague.
- What colleague?

Hey!

Tuwim.

Mister Tuwim, you mean!

Language, you scum!

I'm sorry it took me so long,

but I've my housekeeper
flirting at the cinema

and my wife in the mountains.

Not flirting, I hope.

- So I'm on my own, all thumbs.
- Let me give you a hand then.

Remind me where you work, will you?

At the radio station. As an editor.

You've sent me interesting things.

Here are the manuscripts.
Have a look, please.

There are no line breaks.

She just writes
until she runs out of space.

- So the line breaks are yours?
- Well, yes. A translator's work.

Have you tried to get them published?

I've been pretty much everywhere.

Ah, yes. This isn't
a good time for masterpieces.

And this is the purest tone
I've heard in years.

When you are young from hope
and young at heart,

you throw the world wide open
with any key you've got.

Simplicity itself, isn't it?

Where did you find her?

Papusza, is that it?

I roamed around
with a Gypsy camp for two years.

We will need... a ruse of some kind.

Will you let me interview you?

- You interview me?
- For a Warsaw newspaper.

It will be a plot by two poets
conspiring to save a third one.

And here I have a real treat.

See for yourself.

A sentence of exile.

Gypsies are exiled
from the Kingdom of Bohemia.

18th century. The year 1721, I think.

Amazing. How did you get all this?

There is an antique dealer in Cracow
I've known since before the war.

Did you keep a diary,
some kind of a travel journal?

You youngsters, with no respect for notes.

You know, no monograph on Gypsies

has ever been published in Poland.
None ever.

Some amateur sketches at most.

The last one in the 19th century.

Yes, Husserl excluded them from his
“European spirituality” and it stuck.

You! You should write a line or two.

I already have the first five chapters.

That's the spirit!

It is you then. The little Wajs.

Mr. Headmaster,
Sir, I didn't break it, it's a lie...

They will always tell on the Gypsy.

Is the Bronisława Wajs...
in this paper... Papusza...

is that your mother?

Listen up, Gypsies!
My mom is in the papers!

Her name is Bronisława Wajs.

Gypsies, though, call her by the name

she signs her letters and poems with:

Papusza, or Doll...

You're going to be rich now, Dyźko.

Have a bite.

Cheers.

We're all very talented.

I once played before Lenin himself.

He got a headache from his
revolution and wanted a break.

He liked it so much he jumped for joy!

Uncle, he liked it so much
that he had your harp nationalized.

You're a fool.

In the morning I'm packing my harp,
the butlers are serving champagne...

It was in the Kremlin.

And Lenin says to me:

"Dionizy, I can't do the revolution without you.

Stay with me. Be my right hand.

My court virtuoso!”

- Why didn't you stay, uncle?
- Why?

How could I have? I'd already
agreed to play for Piłsudski.

Now, that was a man
with a high regard for Gypsy music.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

I'm gonna be a poet, too.

- Go ahead, be one.
- He's taking after his mother.

Look, Papusza.

“Przekrój” - a full article.

“Świat”...

“Papusza, the first Gypsy poetess.”

And here, the poems.

One here, two here.

In "Świat" and "Kultura".

Uncle, and this is for you.

A license to play all over the country.

Now will Dionizy dazzle the world.
Don't write him off yet.

Hands off, you got your toy.

Papusza...

And here is your author's fee.

- For the poems.
- For what?

For the poems.

How are they mine?
They come and go as they please.

The newspaper pays,
so you'd best take it.

Little brother, it seems to me
you want to help us out.

Money for poems, how? I'll take only
as much as for fortune-telling.

Shut up, stupid,
it's the state paying, not Jerzy.

That's right.

You're looking on how ugly we live.

You must be living nice.

As everyone should.

I live nice, yeah...

but with terrible neighbors.

How about a little vodka, uncle?

Sure!

We can play all over Poland.
Even at the opera!

The Wajs Orchestra and Ballet!

See, down here? The Ministry's stamp,
the best there is.

Cheers!

Don't call me a poet,
or I'll die either from pride or grief.

Mr. Tuwim would like to meet you.

- Truly?
- Truly, Papusza.

Tarzan, have you learnt
of the great poet Tuwim?

Do you know him?

Does he know me?

My book will be published this month:
“Polish Gypsies.”

What's it about?

- About where Gypsies come from.
- Where is it?

India.

And about how you hid from the Germans.

What else is it about?

That only fools are afraid of Gypsies.

- Is it about me?
- And me?

- And me?
- It is about everyone.

Won't that book hurt Papusza's heart?

Why would you think so?

Doesn't it betray Gypsy secrets?

You said yourself
that Gypsies had no memory.

My book will be precisely that, “memory.”

You're right.

Some day those secrets
will be taught at the university.

Did my bakhtalo bring you fortune?

Do you wear it, little brother?

I've got a daughter.

Only now are you saying?

Some father you are!

I got married.

So it did bring you good fortune.

It's good that you came.

Man, what have you done?

The whole Poland is talking about Gypsies.

Apparently that gadjo of yours...

He even cooked up a book about Gypsies,

didn't he?

You didn't cut off your tongue,
now it'll cut off our heads!

Let her be!

Why didn't you write you were coming?

I'd have come out to meet you.

What happened?

Papusza, what happened? Tell me.

Is little Tarzan well?

Burn them.

What should I burn?

What should I burn? Tell me.

Burn the Gypsies.

The book?

Papusza, it's impossible now.

Papusza...

There's soup and dumplings on the stove.

Can you offer them to Mrs. Papusza?
She didn't want them from me.

I have to go.

I must go to the studio.
I'm two hours late.

Wait a second. Excuse me.
Wait, come back here.

- What about the kid?
- You take care of her.

Hush... Hush, Krysia.
Will you stand here a while?

Papusza, have a look.

This isn't all.

Krysia, come back here!

Have a look.
This is not all, not even half.

They'll be in bookshops within a week.

Burn them.

Papusza, what do you want me to burn?

Five thousand books?

Am I to burn five thousand books?

What am I to do? Tell me.

Burn them, yes?

I'm very sorry, but this is my work.

Months, years of it.

I'm good
when something needs fixing, right?

To hell with you all. Krysia!

Come, Krysia.

Papusza!
Papusza!

Yes, sweetie, we're going home.

Papusza!

Papusza, open up!

Open the door!

What are you doing?

Have you gone completely nuts?

Papusza!

Go away!

I am cursed, I'm cast out.

I've been possessed by Satan.
Go away!

Papusza!

It's all right.

Hush, hush...

Hush.

POLISH GYPSY

Folks, the woman
has betrayed all our secrets.

This book is written
in both Gypsy and Polish.

Have a look, uncle.

The police will know everything.

We are lost.

She sold us out, we're lost.
What to do?

She snitched on us, sold out our tongue.

Fellow Gypsies, do you see?

She betrayed us, made us ashamed of her
before our Śero Rom.

She can't go on living among us.
Are we Gypsies or not?

She took our honour,
she betrayed everything.

I don't know what next,
but this cannot be.

Keep quiet! Silence.

Those who know that woman
not to be at fault, let them speak.

Once again:

those who know she is not to blame,
let them speak!

Respectable Gypsies. Brothers.

Don't look for brothers here!

It's your woman sold us out,
you've no brothers among us.

What is to remain hidden, must remain so.

You're right, she strayed.

But was she the only one
to talk to the gadjo?

Let whoever didn't talk to him
throw a stone.

You talked to him! And you! And you!

And you, Reca?

Cut out her tongue
since she failed to do it herself!

“Little brother” this and that,
and she sold him all. Traitor!

- Well said!
- She's right!

It's me who took him into our camp.
I gave him the tent and the food.

Cast me out, I'm the one to blame.
But let her be!

She's already been punished.
God has messed up her mind.

Hold on.

She won't be cast out,
she'll keep living among us?

As if nothing happened?

Uncle, do something.
This just cannot be!

Otherwise what will become of us?

Look.

Don't you speak in my stead
or cast anyone out.

All of you, wait for the woman
to first stand here before us.

I'm sorry, uncle.
I only want the truth.

Let her explain herself before us.

That's how it'll be.

So what am I to do?

Nothing now.

You've done enough.

You're lucky you're a gadjo
and thus not subject to their laws.

Your book was 500 years in the making.

Couldn't it have waited 20 more?

Shit.

Hey, you!

I've told you before: fuck off. Now!

Papusza is innocent.

For my book I only took her poems.

Nothing more!

Papusza is innocent!

I'm the one to blame.

Get out of here.

Off with you.

And quit talking in our tongue.

Talk like the rest of them pigs, got it?

Why did you sell the harp?

For the hospital.
Our train leaves in half an hour.

I'm not going.

Get dressed, you squirt.

I'm not seeing that loon!

It's your mother, you snot-nosed brat!

Bullshit! She's no mother of mine.

Everybody says I'm a foundling.

Folks! The war broke out... The war!

- Why bawl your head off?
- The war broke out.

What war? What are you saying?

- I've read it.
- You've read it?

You've read it? Bitch!

Reading has messed you up!

You should have learn
how to bear children instead.

You dried-up piece of wood!

Run away, Gypsies.
You're gonna be next.

What do you mean, next?

What's Hitler got against us?

What's he got against Jews?

I don't believe it.

We're next, why?
How do you know?

Just wait and see.

In the cities
they' re already fencing Jews in.

But where to run to?

Don't be scared, come along!

Halt!
Halt, you dirty Gypsy pig!

You brought him along to die?

I've brought you a son.

Did you bring food?

When is little Tarzan coming?

I've told you,
he went on a school trip.

I forgot...

He bought you a gift.

Good boy.

Didn't he swipe it?

He bought it with his own money.

Washed a neighbour's car.

Waldek! Waldek!

Don't you put a tombstone on my grave.

Everything's heavy enough for me as it is.

Plant some flowers.

If you don't come for me,

at least you'll come to water the flowers.

If I hadn't learnt to read,
I would have been happy.

The doctors forbade her the poems.

Go away.

Leave us alone.

You're dead to us.

- I'll tell your fortune, pretty lady.
- No, thank you.

Have you no shame to come here?

- What do you want?
- Have you no shame?

Get lost! Did you come to steal our bread?
Off with you!

Where did you go around all day?

Where?

Huh?

There, there, don't get up.
Don't get upset.

I'll fry you some potatoes straight away.

You've earned nothing again...

Been stuffing me with 'tatoes for a month.

Times are hard.

Everyone's got it bad, not just us.

You can't eat flowers.

They take you for a fool.

Flowery bullshit.

The Minister's diploma is fine...
for stuffing holes in your head.

Against draughts.

Or to wipe your ass with.

Some recognition you got...

You can't tell fortune any more...

you can't steal, either.

Why did you write them damn poems?

Why did you send them to Ficowski?

We'd be living decently
if it hadn't been for your stupidity.

But now?
No Gypsy will even come see us.

The take us for the lousiest curs.

I'm cooking him sorrel soup.

He asked for it so.

On a stolen chicken.

He doesn't like it on a bought one.

May you rest in peace.

- Hold on.
- Okay...

Go on.

A little bit forward...

Bloody hell!

It's slippery. Hold it right! Okay.

Papusza.

I didn't recognize you.
Good morning, neighbour.

Me, to Warsaw?

You'd be under good care.

You'd have a room of your own.

I can't.

I don't know anybody in Warsaw.

Papusza,
I've sent you so many letters.

Do the poems still come to you?

I never wrote any poems.

I didn't.

So much hunger! So much misery!

All the sorrows! Roads aplenty!

All the sharp stones
at our feet a-stabbing!

All the bullets by our ears a-whizzing!

All the Gypsies, all you come
close to me, running down

like to the wood where a bonfire's grand

and everything bathes in the sun.

May at this singing of mine

the Gypsies gather from all around

to hear these words of mine, to reply...