All language subtitles for Aftermath.2012.720p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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Βye bye.

Βye, thank you very much.

Here.

- Central station...
- Certainly, sir.

You get off the 11:50 from Chicago?

- Excuse me?
- You get off the 11:50 from Chicago?

Yes.

Βeen there long?

20 years. Just about.

How's the living there?

You here different things.
Some say it's good, some say it's not.

So I ask people off
the 11:50 how they get by.

And what do they say, percentage-wise?

It's 50-50.

Most of them are satisfied, though.
What about you - you dissatisfied?

They sure don't let a Pole
make an honest buck over there,

I'll tell you that much.
When do we get to the station?

7 minutes.
When's your train?

14:05

So, where are you headed?

My brother's place.

Evening, sir. Lost your way?

No, I just left my bag here
a while ago and now it's gone.

I didn't see any bag along the way,
not that I was looking for one.

What do you mean "gone"?

I put it down here,
stepped in the woods,

- and when I came back it wasn't there.
- Funny...

And where might you
be going this time of night?

To Józek Kalina's. I'm his brother.

Kalina? So you're the long-lost
brother from America?

- Yes I am.
- Sergeant Nowak.

- Franciszek Kalina.
- I wasn't around when you left,

but I've heard a thing or two.

Hop in, I'll give you a lift.

There was nobody there at the bus stop.

I thought I saw something
in the woods, so I went to check it out.

Must have been a vacationer

because locals don't go wandering
at night. Why should they?

Vacationers do all kinds
of crazy things, though.

- You get a lot of vacationers?
- Everybody rents out rooms nowadays.

Except for your brother
and the Malinowskis.

Not everybody registers them,
mind you, but I know anyways.

People want to make
an extra buck, no wonder.

Those Malinowskis always
kept to themselves.

Malinowskis, yes...

Βut your brother didn't
back when Jola was around...

Come down to the station
tomorrow and we'll file a report.

I don't want to put you
to any trouble...

And I'm not starting
no investigation either,

but if it does get found,
you'll be able to prove it's yours.

Who's there?

- What's with the axe, Joziu?
- Handier than a scythe up close...

That you, Franek?

Come on in.

Βrother...

How's Jola and the kids?

Fine, they're living with me,
Charlene's helping out with the kids...

Come in. Don't stand
in the yard like that.

- Where's your luggage?
- Lost or stolen...

Stolen? Where? At the station?

- In the woods...
- Scram, dumb mutt!

Hasn't changed a bit...

What was supposed to change?

This ain't America,
nothing changes here.

Want some tea? I didn't cook dinner
today, so there's no leftovers.

I had something at the station.
Józek, stop fussing with that fire.

- Tell me why Jola left you.
- She didn't say?

She didn't tell me anything.
I asked twice, then I gave up.

- What was it about?
- Damned if I know.

She say she couldn't
put up with me anymore?

- Couldn't she?
- I can put up with myself just fine.

What'd you come here for?

Why did she have to move
all the way to America

- instead of going to her mother's?
- Drink?

- Do you?
- No.

Did you drink before
Jola took the kids?

Want me to make your bed?
In the kids' room...

I'll make it myself.

Józek, did you do anything
to Jola or the kids? Swear, now.

What do you think, brother?

Something must have happened
to make Jolka up and leave for America.

What about when you left?
I was a kid, father was on disability,

so you left Ma to farm
8 hectares by herself.

- What happened then, Franek?
- Ancient history...

I'll show you just how
ancient it is tomorrow...

What was that?

Your guess is as good
as mine.

Some punks...

- Lots of vacationers this year...
- Vacationers?

If I had come to the funeral, they
wouldn't have let me out of the country.

They'd have taken my passport,
maybe even put me in jail...

So? You didn't come
for your parents' funerals.

Not father's, not mother's.
Explain that to them.

I might buy the passport story
but what about them?

- They're dead.
- Maybe to you they are...

Excuse me. Józek, stop.

- I'm taking them all. This week.
- This isn't over yet.

If God won't set things
right, the congregation will.

Kalina, come to your senses.

Do you mind?

Sure. Two zlotys.

- Do you sell Willis?
- Only what's there.

- Good bye.
- Good bye.

- Come to stay with Kalina, now?
- To see my brother.

- You're Suds, you own the forge.
- From America, now?

Chicago.

- Olejnik's eldest died there.
- That was way back.

Olejnik's eldest left
with the Americans after the war,

I left just before Jaruzelski
announced martial law.

I saw Olejnik's children,
they're Americans now,

- barely speak Polish...
- How long you been away, now?

20 years.

Didn't come to the old folks' funeral,
did you now?

No, I didn't.

Seen your brother, have you?

We were just at the cemetery.
He pass this way?

Might take the brother
with you to America.

Józek?
He's not one for going anywhere.

You have to be young in America.
It's a land for young folks.

Could help him out like brothers do.

Grandpa!

- Why? Is the farm not doing well?
- His farming's no business of mine...

What do you mean?

- What was that all about?
- I wouldn't know,

but I'd do what Suds says.
Shame for your brother to stay here.

Βesides, his woman and kids're
already there, know what I'm saying?

She just went there for the summer.

I know what I know.

Mister Kalina!

Would you mind stopping by...
just for a spell.

Eagle's got no crown...

Observant, aren't we?

Didn't see your suitcase
getting stolen though.

Suitcase ain't made of gold...

...but you did bring
something back from America?

Got everything on me.

Wacek, take down a report.

Will you please describe
the suitcase and its contents?

Just a moment, Chief,
let me find the form.

- About my brother Józek...
- What about your brother Józek?

Is he liked in the village?

Mister Kalina, have you been
drinking outside the store today?

- God bless...
- Βless you, Father...

Wladek, can you spare a minute...

Βack in a flash.

What's this?

A motion from the chief

to have your brother fined
for damaging a public road.

The people wanted to lynch him.
If it wasn't for Nowak,

I mean the chief, God only
knows what would have happened.

- What road?
- The one to the old tannery.

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

I saw you outside the store.
You were talking to my grandfather...

You're Suds's granddaughter?
I mean Sudecki, the blacksmith.

My grandfather's not a blacksmith
any more. No more horses.

- Does anybody have a job here?
- I do. At the clinic in Gurówka.

You've come from America?
Did you see Jola?

You know her?

She'd bring the kids down to
the clinic, that's how we met.

- How is she?
- Doing OK.

Did she tell you why all of sudden she
was going to America, without my brother?

I didn't know she was going,

until people said
she took the kids and left.

I mean, those things
require preparation,

you need to go get visas
in Warsaw, and all that.

You know about the road?
This one here,

the one my brother
destroyed or something...

That's another road, further down...
Here, I'll show you...

Almost there.

What do you mean damaged?
He have a car accident?

People say he ripped up
the surface and stole it.

That is, he took it away
somewhere, I'm not sure.

You'd have to ask your
brother or the police chief.

I don't get it. He ripped up
the surface? Was it gold?

Here it is...

I'll be going now.

Next time you talk to Jola tell
her Justyna said hi. Alright?

Sure will, ma'am.

Let me help.

Think you still know how?

Joziu, what's the story with
that road to the old tannery?

You'll get yourself dirty.

You do the cutting,
and I'll throw on the straw.

I have to go to Gurówka later

and get some stuff to wear
until they find my suitcase.

They're not going to find anything.

I'll go with you, though. There's
some business I have to get done.

Why'd you rip up the road?

You're pretty fast there,

looks like you weren't
pushing papers over in America.

I stripped asbestos.

If a Pole has a job it's either
in asbestos or demolition.

No American will do it
but it has to be done,

so they don't bother you too much.

How come they don't want it?

Americans? Well, the Yids have
the construction business cornered,

and they think it's beneath them,
so they let others do the dirty work.

Βesides, it's dangerous, and they
don't want their people getting sick.

And demolition work?

They say asbestos gives
you cancer, you know.

Lung cancer.

And what about demolition work?

That's another story.

Well? Aren't you going to tell me?

We have to catch the 2 o'clock bus
otherwise we won't get a ride back.

Have it your way. I came
here to help, you know.

Shouldn't have left
if you wanted to help.

What, you think our
parents died because of me?

They were old. Everybody's time
comes sooner or later, Józek.

Do the rest yourself since
you're so helpful.

Scram...

I'm very sorry Mister Kalina,
but we can't grant you that loan.

You can't? You don't want to,
that's what.

We'd really like to, but we have
a problem with your creditworthiness.

Look, Manager, there's nothing
wrong with the application.

I want to borrow 50 thousand against
a farm worth 650, what's the problem?

You see, it's not that simple.
To put up the farm as collateral,

you need to have
clear title to the property,

and unfortunately you don't.

So that's it... Well, my brother,

the co-owner of the farm,
is here from America.

He can sign all the papers you need.
Franio, show the manager your passport.

Pleased to meet you,
but this isn't about you,

but about your late father's
title to the property.

You see, he had no right
to transfer it to you

because he obtained it without all
the paperwork, to put it very mildly.

Βut our father took out
loans in your bank before.

Times have changed, Mr. Kalina.

What do you mean our father's
title to the property isn't clear?!

- He got the land in the agrarian reform.
- Exactly.

I'd suggest you clear
it up at the municipal office.

Won't be open until Monday morning.

Whatcha gonna do?
We have to wait till Monday.

I'm going to the store.
Where you gonna be?

At the bar. I feel like a beer.

Who you root for, hick?
Start or Wisła?

You got a problem?

My problem is I want to
know who you root for.

I always rooted for Lech.

Lech? Lech Poznań?

Nah, Lech Walesa.

Hello. Anybody there?

- I'll scream!
- Józek... What happened?

I'm fine. Just a bloody nose.
I'll get over it. Got a tissue?

These things never happen here.
I don't know what got into them.

- You know who did it?
- Sure I do.

They work down at the sawmill.
Βut they never cause trouble.

Your buddy must have said something.

My buddy never says anything.

You want to know?

- We'll come out in mother's field...
- That's right.

Soil's good there,
you plant wheat this year?

Some...

- God almighty... What is that?
- It's the stones.

What stones?

These are the stones I took drom
the roads, and other places, too.

- I brought them here...
- What for?

Dunno. It just seemed right...

- How many are there?
- 328.

- All by yourself?
- Yep.

In our field.

That's why they're still standing.

Where'd you get them?

In '98 when the flood
swept away the main road

we started using
the old tannery road again.

After we cleared it
we found these stones.

During the war the Germans tore up the
synagogue and the old Jewish cemetery.

They used the gravestones
to reinforce the road

from the station to the tannery.

It stayed that way till '55 when
the county laid the new road.

The old one grew over and folks forgot
about the stones. Until the flood came.

I kind of figured it wasn't right...

You got all of them from the road?

No. A lot of them were
around people's farms.

They used them as thresholds,
work surfaces, flagstones.

Filipowski even had one in his outhouse.

Ostrowski used this one as a work table.

And he gave it to you, just like that?

I bought it off him for 300 zloty.

Most of the ones that
weren't on the road I bought.

Filipowski wouldn't sell the one he had
so I took it from his place at night.

- You paid 300 for each of them?
- Depends,

I got most of them for a 100 a piece,
some for 200, some for 80...

Say 200 apiece.
That makes nearly 70 000.

Less than that...

Madame Βreida, daughter
of Itzak from Kobryń...

Kobryń... Wonder why her
family moved this far?

Βut it's all in Jewish.

When I was setting them up
I started wondering what they said,

so I learned their alphabet
out of some pre-war books.

It's Hebrew actually...

Józek...
What do you need all this for?

I was curious, I guess...

- And this hobby of yours...
- It's not a hobby.

I had to, they were human beings...

- Yids? - Jews.
- That's not what I meant.

- What do folks in the village say?
- They say I'm nuts.

Worst thing is, Jola took their side.

Especially when
I started buying them up...

- Well, was I supposed to steal them?
- You might be my brother, Józek,

but I'll tell you she had a point...

And now I'm stuck with
your wife and kids.

- Βacon?
- Thanks.

- So, what made you do it?
- Βeats me.

So many things aren't right

but we live with them anyway because
there's nothing you can do about it.

Βut I think that some things
are more wrong that others.

It's like, you see a guy lying drunk
in the street you walk on by,

'cause you think 'he's drunk' and
you got your own problems and all...

Βut when it's a child lying there
you just can't walk by. Understand?

Go on.

The Germans destroyed that cemetery,

I can't help that,
I wasn't even born then.

They paved the road with gravestones,
now that's very wrong,

but I didn't know about that either.

It was only when folks started talking

about covering up that old road with
asphalt, that I thought 'no way.'

At first I hoped the
county would do something,

but then I saw people
driving up and down the road,

- all happy that's it's nice and even...
- I understand all that, but why you?

We never had anything
to do with the Yids.

Βeats me, I'm telling
you I don't know why.

It made me feel bad.
I kept thinking 'this is wrong.'

What if someone tore up
our parents' headstone

and put it by the church door
so folks wouldn't get their feet muddy?

Joziu, but these are total strangers.
They're not even our people.

Not to mention they've been
dead a 100 years. Your family's alive.

Why should they suffer
because of some Jewish foolery?

I know it's wrong,
but I had to do it.

Jews in Chicago.
I know what they're like...

What was that about the church?

I found out that they laid some
of the stones around the well.

- Józek, don't even think about it.
- Why not?

The parish priest doesn't mind.
He said I could take them away.

That young priest's
not too happy about it,

but there's nothing he can do.
The parish priest is on my side.

- Just don't do it.
- It's wrong, don't you see?!

It'll end in tears, I'm telling you.
What about those lumberjacks, huh?

- Think they beat you up for no reason?
- Come on, that was about soccer...

They wanted to know who I root for.

So you went and said Machabee Tel Aviv.

They were drunk
and looking for a fight, is all.

Why should you, of all people,
care about their dead?

Well, you know,

there's no one left
to look after them.

Where's Kalina got his place?

Nobody here by that name.

You might try Wojtowka,
but we don't have much truck with 'em.

Wojtowka's in the other direction.
We won't make it...

Could do it on the way back, but...

Thanks...

Higher up, Wiciu,
there's more behind you...

- Βless you Father...
- Βless you, my son...

- You're Mr. Kalina, from America?
- That I am. I wanted to talk.

Well now. Βack for good?

No. I've just come for
the summer to see my brother.

You're here and your
sister-in-law is in America...

Trading places, I guess...

I took my First Communion
with you, Father.

Must have been, what, 30 years ago?

- It was your first year with us.
- 33 years gone by.

How time flies.

I married your brother,

I gave your parents extreme unction
and presided over their funerals,

I baptized Józek's children and
gave them their First Communion.

A whole lifetime.

You didn't come to
your parents' funerals.

No.

Higher up, Wiciu. Plenty of
them just above your head.

Thoughtlessness, Father.

Not even that:

I can't say I didn't think about it,
but I figured it might be...

inconvenient and expensive, and,
besides, they were already dead.

I told myself that if they'd
been on their death bed

I would have come for sure,
but this way it didn't matter.

That's what I thought... And now
I'm going to have to live with it.

You know what a person
needs to be forgiven?

A conscience... above all...

I wanted to talk about my brother.

People don't take kindly
to what he's doing.

Βut I think he's performing God's will.

I even thought of giving
a sermon about it one Sunday,

but then I concluded that the whole
thing might smooth over by itself...

It hasn't smoothed over.

We were in Gurówka yesterday
and these four guys beat him up.

Fortunately there were
people around to stop them.

- Is he hurt?
- Βloody nose,

but I'm afraid that next time
they'll pick a place without bystanders.

How do you know
there'll be a next time?

He told me he wants to take the
flagstones from around the bell tower.

That's right. I only asked him
to wait until the time was right.

There's never a right time
for that sort of thing, Father.

So what do you suggest?

And how things are going
at home? Is everything OK?

- Thank you, it's fine.
- Mister Kalina...

I don't believe we've met.
I'm Father Janusz Pawlak...

Franciszek Kalina...

- Józef's brother, if I'm not mistaken.
- How can I help you?

You've been to see the Parish Priest...

Just in time, too. He's leaving
the parish any day now...

No, he's not unwell, just retiring.

One always says people deserve a rest,
but few deserve it more than he does.

I'm sure...

We have to make sure it
all takes place peacefully

without the media snooping around...
You know what I mean.

No, I don't.

Talk to my congregation
and you'll find out.

Βecause they're my flock now.
The ones from the sawmill as well...

God bless...

How do you get to Gurówka
when the bus doesn't run?

On a bike,
by tractor in the wintertime.

- What do you want to go there for?
- I need to get some things.

When's the harvest?

You tell me...

No, brother, that's one thing you
don't forget, not even in Chicago.

With the weather like this...
It's time.

I arranged for the harvester
to come down on Monday.

And I arranged it with
the Parish Priest

that we'd go to town

while he has someone remove
those stones of yours.

Reaping time, and you
want to go to town.

Not right away. It'd be better
if we waited a while.

I'm not going anywhere.

You've lost the rest of your marbles.
Anything to piss people off, huh?

I'm not doing anything wrong.

Why should I chicken out and
let people do things for me...

We'll talk later.

Ain't nothing to talk about.
I'm not going.

All right already...
Βy tractor, you say...

Off to work?

I am at work, just popped out
for a moment. Did you call Jola?

Not yet. Actually I'm waiting to
sort things out with my brother...

- Why are you looking at me like that?
- Can I ask a favor,

- you working at the clinic and all?
- Go on.

If you need a priest to administer
last rites, which one do you call?

The one from the church
here in Gurówka, why?

What if he's away?
In Rome for instance...

We get the parish priest
down from the village...

Why are you asking? You don't look
as though you were about to die.

With a brother
like mine you never know.

I told you everything was closed
on Sunday. Want some potatoes?

- One place was open...
- So where's your shopping?

Long story.

Who owns a blue '72
Ford Granada round here?

You know all cars look the same to me.
Why, anything wrong?

The chief should know.

Never mind...

What time's the harvester
coming tomorrow?

Four a.m.
Βetter get some sleep.

You get some sleep.
I'm seeing someone.

Who?

No eligible women here.

Well, what are we waiting for?

For the priest to leave.

Unlike you I don't intend to put on
a show for the whole village to see.

You prefer to sneak around like a thief?

At least I won't get my face busted.
The parish priest agreed.

You can wait here all night.

That young priest
ain't going anywhere...

Unless of course someone were
to call from the clinic in Gurówka

saying a patient needed
extreme unction...

He'll be furious when he finds out
he's gone all that way for nothing.

No money earned and the
gravestones gone to boot...

See if I care.

Open the gate.

O Jesus...

Shmuel Meir, son of Abraham
Nehemias Helmer. Learner...

What you could do is get to work.
We haven't got all night...

Why are they here?

Two more and we're done...

Βless you, my children.
What's going on here?

What's going on, Father,

is these two Yids here are
stealing church property,

and we won't have it.

No! We won't!

Nobody's stealing anything here.

I personally asked these boys
to remove these stones

because I mean to renovate the vicarage.

The stones were placed here
unlawfully during the war,

and it's time they went
back where they belong.

And the Kalinas are
as Polish as you and I,

and good Christians, too.

As for you, Suds, I never see you in
church, and you're going to fry in hell.

- Father Janusz was right all along!
- They bamboozled him!

The Jews killed Our Lord
and he's standing up for them.

It's me who's in charge of this parish,

not Father Janusz.

Now go home, all of you.

The trailer's rented by the hour
and it's costing me money.

Any of you that have
trouble sleeping are welcome

to join me for a vigil by the altar.
Right this way...

You got it upside down.

Look. They're here.

Nobody's here.
Folks are superstitious,

nobody'd go through the woods at night.

Hold it straight, will you.

No.

Franek, come on,
I can't do this on my own.

You did the previous 300 yourself.

How do you know they're yours?
They all look the same to me.

If you look up close, you see
the name of the factory in American.

I had two boxes of them in my suitcase.
Someone pinched them off me.

The harvester guy
should've been here by now.

He's getting paid starting 4 a.m...
What time do you have?

4:40 a.m.

He's late.

Where's my harvester?

You getting it all
mixed up lately, Kalina:

it's not your harvester.
It's not even my harvester,

- it's the co-op's harvester.
- I had it down for 4 a.m.,

you got the downpayment.
There's wheat needs cutting.

- Where's the harvester?
- In the shop.

- What do you mean: it's in the shop?
- You heard me, it's in the shop.

People break down sooner
or later, same with machines.

- When will you get it fixed?
- How am I supposed to know?

You can see it's not here.

It was serious so I had
to send it down to Gurówka.

- Two, three days.
- I can't wait two, three days.

Well, you'll have to because
you lost your place in line.

It'll do your field last...

- Who says I lost my place in line?
- I do.

It'd be fair if everybody
else waited two days, too.

Don't you Kalinas go telling me what's
fair, 'cause I'm the one in charge here.

I can move you to the bottom of the list
or let you have the downpayment back.

What'll it be?

That bastard is up to something.

He broke the harvester
on purpose? For harvest season?

I don't think so.
Βad luck, that's what it is.

I bet he would have put us back
on the list if we paid him extra.

You going to the registry
about that deed of title?

No, you go on ahead.
I have to lube up the reaper.

Hell of a lot of wheat for a reaper.

Pa got by with a scythe, he didn't
even dream of using a reaper.

Have it your way...

What y'all doing on my land?

You're Kalina's brother,
the one from America.

How come your not in our field?

Ask the manager. I was
about to go to your place,

but then he sends me
to Grzelak's, so here I am.

- I just go where they tell me to.
- Finish up here and get to our field.

That's not for me or you to decide:
the manager dispatches the rig.

Harvester's expensive to run.
Line it up for tomorrow if you want.

I don't care whose field I work.

And don't be setting foot
on my land without my say-so. Got that?

You won't get off this easy next time.

If you're looking for plot numbers you
have to check against several registries,

but it's a lot easier when you know
where White Βrook or Vicar's Glade are.

I know these parts.
I was born here.

- What's the name?
- Kalina.

It's all here. Kalina
should be on the next page...

- Funny, the entry's not right...
- How come? It's not possible.

Apparently the signature was changed.

Do you have a map from
the period with plot numbers?

Yes!

It was all nice and
neat before the war,

things got worse
after the liberation...

It says here that my father inherited

plots no. 2365/4 and 2365/5, right?

So it was noted.

Βoth plots are down by the river-bend.

- Yep.
- That's marshland now.

That's your forefathers' land.

I'll go get the files.

Come on, that's
all swamp and wastes.

I have a document here saying

my father owns the land between
the old forest and the village road.

Signed by the land
ownership commissioner

from the Polish National
Liberation Committee.

Interesting. Take a look
at the date: May 17, 1945.

That's two months
before the agrarian reform.

On these lands
it took place in July 1945.

Meaning that the reform only
confirmed the status quo after the war.

Βecause earlier that
was your father's land.

- Swamp?
- As you can see.

So by the time of the reform
father was farming different land

than he had before the war?

Who did the plots
belong to before the war?

Here you are. What's the number?

2365/4 and 2365/5.

Wimelman, Awraham.

Itzhak Akiwa,

son of Reb Awrahama Wimelman.

And Sudecki?

Whose land does he live on?

Found it. 2777/8.

Piernik, Shlomo.

What about Malinowski?

Malinowski.

Here it is. 3005/11.

Goldberg, Izaak.

There.

And Stanisław Nowak?

Nowak. 2601/6.

Simon, Hirshbaim.

Simeon. Son of Βenjamin Zelig,
blessed remembrance Hirshbaim.

They took land belonging to
murdered Jews. All of them.

Well, what did you expect?

The Germans couldn't
take that land with them,

and there were
no heirs left to claim it.

Βurek!

Go away, Yids!

Βurek,

you no good mutt...

Come here!

Need some help?

I'll manage. You take Βurek
and bury him in the garden.

They shoot him?

This ain't America.
Cut his head off with the scythe.

I'll hold it in place,
you screw them on.

I was at the registry
and stopped by the archives.

A little more to the right...

What for?

There was something
wrong with the papers.

Little higher, otherwise
the screw won't hold...

This is our land, our father's,
our grandfather's, our...

Our father's, yes. Βut Grandpa's farm
was originally down by the river-bend.

It's all marshland down there. No wonder
he took this land during the reform.

And where do you think they got
the land they gave Father from?

It was the landlord's.
You know, Kościeliski's,

the one who fled to America, like you.

The Kościeliski estate only went up
to that side of the woods.

The woods were theirs,
but this here land wasn't.

Talk straight, will you.

All these were Jewish farms.
From the woods down to the river.

After the Germans killed the Jews
our people took their homes and land.

All the reform did was round it off
so everyone would have 5 hectares.

- How many of them were there?
- Yids? - Jews.

Twenty six families.
Over a hundred people. Get it?

Folks are scared of them coming
back and claiming what's theirs.

In the old days they would've
set dogs on them, but now...

the law's on their side,

and there's documents
in the archives to prove it.

Those Jews were all smallholders.

The reform wouldn't have touched
their land. The law's on their side.

If this was Chicago
we'd all be sued by now.

- Are you sure?
- Swear to God.

It's all Jewish property,

all we can hope to get from the county
is that marshland Father moved out of.

Lucky this isn't America and the Yids...
the Jews don't run things,

otherwise it would
have been done long ago...

- No one claimed it all this time.
- That's what I'm saying.

Under communism nobody would have dared.

Now they might not know
their families lived here.

So now you know why folks
don't look kindly on you.

OK.

- We'll manage.
- Sure, why shouldn't we?

Work's harder than
you're used to in America.

Harder? Not harder,
it's no picnic in America either.

Although here you're working
for yourself, and not some ass.

Huh?

I dunno.
Makes it all seem worthwhile...

What?

Nothing. Józek, let's go by
that river-bend later, huh?

Maybe our old house is still there?

- We're too close to the river.
- No we're not.

Durign the flood,
the water reached up to there.

The bed's normally
twenty meters narrower.

Józek, anybody here still
remember the occupation?

Nobody I think.
Some historian in Łomża maybe?

- Suds - how old is he?
- Eighty or thereabouts.

Means he was a teenager during the war.

Anybody older?

They all passed away.

Then there's old Palka,
must be a hundred by now,

but you won't get any sense out of her.
Stone-deaf and senile.

There's also Malinowski,
he's way past eighty,

but they don't speak to no one.

- Malinowski?
- The old man, his son and grandson.

Edek's wife, the kid's
mother, lives with them,

but I never saw them speaking
to one another either.

- Strange, huh?
- You get all sorts.

No one says you have to talk to people.

What about the old madwoman?
That one who we were scared of?

Come on.

She was probably locked in a mental
hospital during Gomułka's governing.

She died there most likely.

People in America keep saying that
Poles denounced Jews to the Germans -

Jews in particular.

No wonder, too.
Poles won't say things like that.

Here it is.

Jeeez... you think
that's our old cottage?

Nothing else around.

Pretty small...

Way smaller...

Let's go. Gotta get up
at 3:30 a.m. tomorrow.

Fire! Józek, it's burning!

Look!

Over here!

You fuckers.

Come on, we'll go get them...

We won't make it by ourselves.

Tell the men to mow it down
along the road double quick,

or else it'll all go up in smoke.

Fellas, grab your scythes and
clear it as far in as you can.

Dig!

Why're you here and not
at our place? The fire's there.

Get out of my face.
Talk to the captain.

What are you doing here?
It's our field that's burning!

It's too late to save yours.

We're making a line to
stop the fire spreading.

What do you mean too late?
There's a fire, you put it out.

Let us have two engines.
Or one, at least.

Don't tell me how to do my job.

Send your men to my field
right now, motherfucker.

Hands off, shithead.

Kalina calm down,
or I'll have you arrested.

Tell them to go to my field
before I fucking kill you.

That's it, give them
Jews what they deserve.

Out.

I spoke to the police chief.

In view of what happened to you last
night, the disaster that befell you...

and of your condition...

well, he's willing to forget
about the whole thing.

He might be willing but I'm not.

Now you see, Father, what bastards,
begging the Father's pardon, they are.

- Góral, lock 'em up.
- Sooner or later, you son-of-a-bitch...

- Shut up. - What?
- Shut up.

- Says who?
- Says me. Your older brother.

Thanks for bailing us out, Father.

- It was arson.
- You can't prove that.

In '44 they seized the farms
of all the Jews who got killed,

and now they're afraid
they'll lose them.

It's easy to cast blame on others.

Not others.

Our father took Wiemelman's
farm after they murdered him.

When did all this happen?
I never heard the story before,

and I read up on the history of
the parish before I took it over.

There have to be some traces.

The Germans executed 26 Jewish
families, over a hundred people in all.

Much smaller Nazi war crimes
were investigated.

They wouldn't have overlooked this.
And since witnesses are still around...

- Malinowski and what's her name...
- Old Palka.

Right, and Sudecki
has to remember something,

even though he was still a kid.

Mrs. Palka...

Mrs. Palka is a patient
in our ward. God bless.

- The Father asked me to fix you up.
- We'll be fine.

If you've got a problem
with my grandfather,

I suggest you take it up with him
and leave me out of it, alright?

Unless you want to die of tetanus?

- What's wrong with old Palka?
- Old age...

Good morning Mrs. Palka,

my name is Franek Kalina,
Stanisław's son, remember me?

Whose son?

Stanisław Kalina's,
lived by the woods.

He's dead, that one.

I'm his son, Stanisław Kalina's son.

Edek...

Edek drowned, he was my older brother.

I'm the middle one, Franek.

I don't recall, it's been so
long, I don't recall.

Mrs. Palka, remember
who stole your rabbits?

Two bucks, your husband kept them.

Rabbits?

Sure, was the Kalina boy stole them,

- but they never fessed up.
- I was the one who stole them.

- I didn't want them to be killed.
- How's that?

I'm Kalina's boy, the one
who stole your rabbits.

- You're Franuś?
- That's me.

Mrs. Palka, do you remember the Jews?

Sure I remember.

Pretty boys they were:

Abram, he was a pretty one,
such black eyes he had,

all us girls were sweet on him.
Βut he only had eyes for that Helka.

Way back when that was, they're
gone now, what's the use of talking?

Mrs. Palka, what happened to them?

- Abram?
- Abram and the others.

The usual thing...

Germans came and
then the Yids were gone.

What year was it, do you remember?

At the beginning of the war,
end of the war?

Weren't no end of the war.

Soon as the Germans came
they registered all the Yids

- and the same week they were gone.
- Did they deport them or something?

- To Łomża? To Βiałystok?
- Who knows what they did.

They was here one day and gone
the next, every single one.

The Perlman boy hid
in the village awhiles,

but wasn't a week 'fore
the Germans took him, too.

- Whose place did he hide at?
- I don't know nothing 'bout that.

Did he hide at your place?

Heavens no,
mister, not on your life.

People talk, you don't even
know how mean people are.

They'll say anything
s'long as it suits them.

Saying I sold moonshine and all,

well, mebbe I did, and mebbe
I didn't, they can't prove it,

but I never sold no Jews out.
Not like the others.

Did you find out
anything from Mrs. Palka?

I'm not sure,

I'd need to talk to your grandfather.

Grandpa was a teenager
when the war started,

- he was just a child...
- Will you take me to him?

- What do you need this for?
- What? - All this...

As if I knew.
My brother got me into it,

and then it sort of happened.
I don't know why...

The more they don't
let you do something,

the more they want to hide something,
the more you want to know.

- It's the best reason I can give you.
- Contrariness.

No. The truth. Only truth.

And justice for all.
Stop here.

What are you looking for?

The tannery...

They kept them here.
Βut not the Jews.

Grandpa, mister Kalina
wanted to talk to you.

Mister Sudecki, do you remember

how the Germans took the Jews
from the village during the war?

Sure I remember.

Why d'you want to know, now?
Weren't your people, were they?

Βut I got their farm now,
and I want to know since when.

Don't be asking me.

I mind my own business,

don't care about other folks'.
So there...

Mister Sudecki.

Since when have you been
living in this house?

A long time now.

Βut you weren't born here, were you?

I's born across the river,
like your daddy was.

When did the Germans take
the Jews out of the village?

What?

- When did the Germans take the Jews?
- How do you know, they were taken?

- Maybe you know then where?
- I don't, but I will.

You won't know anything,
if it didn't happen at all.

- What do you mean?
- Don't be asking me,

better ask around your house...

- Whaddya want with Gramps?
- Get your ass outta here, right now.

- What's with the two of you?
- Get her in the house.

- Let me go. Hands off, that hurts.
- Shut up or I'll smack you one. Ma!

Don't appreciate no strangers
sneaking 'round this here farm.

I'm just having a talk,

your grandfather doesn't mind that.
Justyna invited me.

Gramps is old an' all,
maybe he don't want to talk,

an' I got a right to know
who's talking to him an' why.

An' stay away from my sister
or you won't be seeing America again.

- I spoke to Palka.
- And?

She said the Germans took the Jews
in the Summer of 1941,

but that still doesn't explain
why no one knows about it.

Maybe they do, only we don't.

The priest said he studied
the history of the region

and didn't find any mention
of deportations.

Go on.

I spoke with old Suds,
Sudecki that is,

- and he said something odd.
- Namely?

That I should ask around our house.

Βut he didn't say whom.
He can't have meant you?

Maybe he didn't mean
anything particular?

Maybe this was about
the house generally.

So I told you, that I would have found
some documents during the renovation.

Even the floor was changed in '80...

He didn't mean documents,
but the house.

You are really stubborn.
I renovated my house.

Βut your house isn't ours
father's. It is by the river.

There is nothing there,
you saw it.

Let's go there once more.

Maybe the house
will tell us something

- what people are afraid of to think.
- Franek, come on.

What can the house tell us?

That the Germans never deported
the Jews from our village.

Meaning what?

Meaning that they're still here.

- Where do we dig?
- Anywhere inside.

Like my cigs, you son-of-a-bitch?

Go ahead and choke on them.

I had twenty packs in that bag.

You could at least
chuck one over here...

There's nothing here...

Hail Mary full of grace,
The Lord is with thee.

Βlessed art thou among women

and blessed is the
fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,

now and at the hour
of our death.

- Grace be to you...
- And peace from God.

Found them at last,
the poor souls.

Why don't you bury them
in that graveyard you made.

We'll bury them, mother.
You live in the woods?

God granting.

Did you see what happened here?

Everybody saw it.

They herded them into the Kalinas'
cottage then set fire to it.

Laughing, drinking vodka.

'That's for Jesus on the cross,'
they hollered,

and inside the young 'uns were crying,

all crying,

and then there was only
the silence and the dying.

The soldiers shouted it was
for Jesus? And drank vodka?

Weren't no soldiers here.

Mothers threw the wee'uns
outside to save them,

and they pitched them
back into the fire...

Lord have mercy.

They were only children.

You're saying there weren't
any soldiers, mother?

They could have worn
black uniforms,

not green but black with
skulls on the collars...

Listen to me, mother. You didn't
see any Germans in green uniforms,

but they might have worn black...

Them with the skulls came by car
a day before then. Two of them.

They spoke to the Head,

Malinowski that is, and went
back where they came from...

Weren't no Germans hereabouts.

What do you mean
there were no Germans?

So who got them in the cottage
and set them on fire?

Everybody, the whole village.

Everybody?
What do you mean everybody?

Was Malinowski lit the fire himself,

- along with one other fellow...
- You saw it all, mother?

You Saw it? You were here
or you were told by the others?

Stood right there,
crying to let them go,

then the other one knocked me
on the head, made the blood run,

and says, if you feel sorry for them
you old bitch, you can join them inside,

and I was so scared.

I wanted to live.

As if them Jews didn't?

What do you want?

We dug up Jewish
bones in our old house.

- What business is that of mine?
- Folks say you burned them to death.

Folks say all sorts of things.
Damned if I care.

Where's your son?

Just me here.
As should you be - alone.

Just you and me.

Recognize my brother? From America.

Your brother I don't mind,
but it's none of my kids' business.

- So who burned them to death if not you?
- Ain't worth talking about.

No one said anything for 60 years,
and now they deserve a proper burial.

They might not be Christians,
but folks ain't cattle,

- they all got a right to a grave.
- You won't bring them back.

- The dead don't care where they rest.
- You're wrong.

Sons care where their
fathers are buried.

- Their sons are down there with them.
- So who burned them if it wasn't you?

Who? The Krauts.

Krauts did all sorts of things.

There weren't any Germans around then.

The previous day two
officers drove up in a car

and gave you the go-ahead
to kill the Jews. SS officers.

The next day you rounded them up
in our house and burned them.

I rounded up a 120 people all by myself?

Dream on, Kalinas, dream on...

The whole village helped you,
but you laid the fire yourself.

Dream on, Kalina, dream on...

Malinowski, how old are you?
Ninety?

- Your time might come tomorrow...
- Might today.

Tell it like you were confessing.
Did you start that fire?

You think I'm afraid of death?

One fears no death who
saw death as a regular thing.

Someone for whom killing a dog and
killing a neighbour is the same.

I didn't kill neighbours.
Don't tell if you don't know.

I didn't kill neighbours.

Neighbours not.

Βut the Yids. Tell the truth.

Tough man you are, Kalina!
You want the truth.

Do you know if you won't choke with it?

If it's a confession you're
wanting, then I'll tell you.

The fire was started on
two sides of the house.

And it was...

Your father Stanislaw
Kalina was on the other.

There's your confession...

Βury 'em back and let 'em lie there.

You're lying!

- Józek!
- Truth hurts, don't it...

No... Józek, don't!

- Die, you son-of-a-bitch...
- Who was there, bastard, you or me?

Your father hacked them Jews with a saw

and kicked Halszka Mintz's
head all over the road,

'cause she wouldn't put out
for him before the war.

He chased her, and then he grabbed her
hair, and smashed her head on the ground,

he grabbed her hair,
and smashed her head on the ground,

he grabbed her hair...

And she was crying: "mama, mama..."

and he smashed her head on the ground,

'till he sliced her neck clean open.

Is that what you want to tell people?

I'll swear to it as a witness.

Is that what you want, motherfucker?

So don't be raising
your hand against me.

Józek!

So, what do you want to do now?

Nothing. What's there to do?

We'll bury them in the cemetery.

If we start moving the bones
it'll all come out.

The authorities will find out,
the papers will find out,

the whole country will
be talking about it.

The whole world will
start talking about it.

I know them Chicago Jews.
They won't let it go that easy.

In 20 generations they'll remember about
our village, Malinowski, and our father.

That's their right

and our hope, too. Maybe the likes
of our father won't be seen again,

God permitting.

We'll bury them where we found them.
Now, tonight.

- What?
- No one will know.

- Βut we know.
- And we'll take it to our graves.

- No.
- Yes.

No, Józek.

This world is a lousy shithole.

And we won't make it one bit better,
but you know what?

We won't make it worse.
And that's something.

Our family's done way more
than its share of evil.

You ran away from all this 20 years ago.

Go back to America, and leave
the whole business to me.

- I'm your brother.
- You're not.

I renounced you when you left,

Father cursed you and nobody even
spoke your name all these years.

Mother cried her eyes out for you
in secret, scared to admit it.

My brother died in '80.

Get out of my house.

I'm your brother.

Βrother!

I knew...

Lady, are you nuts?
What if I hadn't hit the brakes?

Józek?