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Story Of A KissClick here to download subtitles file for the movie "Story Of A Kiss"Click here to download the movie "Story Of A Kiss"Relevant Links:Seagulls Screaming Kiss Her, Kiss HerFirst Kiss Every Little Kiss Kiss It Kiss Kiss Kiss You More Links:THE STORY OF A KISS Hello, Julio. How are you? Don Lino! It's good to see you. Why did you go to the trouble? It's no trouble. The car is outside. What terrible weather. Many years ago, at the Vega procession, a gypsy told him that the lifeline on his hand was short, so he took a knife and, without a second thought, he made it longer. I saw it. That was Blas. It was on the radio several times yesterday, and on the news. And this morning too. There's a write-up in ABC. I'm sure that quite a few people are now realizing who Don Blas was. I'll serve the chocolate, Melchora. They say he was better known in France than in Spain. In France, and in Italy and in England and everywhere. What was it he used to say about not paying heed to ourselves? Exactly that, and how we shouldn't take ourselves too seriously or believe we are something, because we're nothing. That's what he used to say. The thing is, your uncle had talent and in this country that's always been a crime, as his friend Valle-Inclán so wisely said. And he never toadied up to anyone. Not to politicians, or bankers, or army officers or priests. You're on dangerous ground. Don Telmo, you don't count. He never saw you as a priest, but always as a friend. - As we all do. - What harm would it have done him to say something nice about the Falange, or about General Franco, in some of his articles? But not him. And they sent him enough messages. The number of times the mayor summoned me to see if I could do anything. He was right. Oh, Miss Marisa! Always hammering away! He was right. Sit down, Melchora. There, there, Melchora. Don't upset yourself. I'm sure he's at peace with the Lord now. And I have it on good authority that the Lord likes to have nice, pleasant people at His gatherings, despite... Despite everything. He didn't want to confess. Don Telmo and he had a tremendous discussion, but it was impossible. He refused everything. He wouldn't even be anointed. I said to him, "Blas, what does it matter?" And he, as always, would avoid the issue. "Hey, Telmo, who won on Sunday, Sporting or Oviedo?" - Is there any more chocolate? - I'll get it. Or he'd start singing. "What if there is another life?", Don Telmo said. "If there is, all the better for those who are going to live it. One is plenty for me." And then he'd sing, "I'm the first rogue. And I'm the second. And I'm the third." "La Gran Vía". He always liked that. It was all the rage in Madrid when he was studying in high school there. It seems like yesterday. When the moon's corona is seen... the falling snow is keen. - How did you find "Little Things"? - Just the same. People still call him that? No, not any more, not since they stopped him practicing. Good. How long will this go on? It depends. Some days it doesn't come on all night, and other days it takes ten minutes. Your case is in your room which, as you'll see, Julio, is exactly the same. Your uncle wouldn't let anything be changed. - How long are you staying? - What's wrong? No more "Julipín, don't slouch"? I should leave the day after tomorrow and try to get back for the last exams. I don't know, because with the trains... París, Irún, Venta de Baños, change trains, Oviedo, change trains and engine. Cerralbos del Sella. Almost two days. What's more, as I'm here, I want to go to Oviedo and buy some books. Look, we're in luck. I'll pray to St. Raphael, patron of all needs, so that he'll bring you back here very soon. I look at you and it seems like yesterday that I was knocking on your door to waken you, and you'd say, "I'm coming!". The thing is, he was fine. Your uncle, I mean. You'd never have thought he'd take a turn like that. He still took his walk to the bridge every morning. But on Tuesday, he hardly ate any breakfast. He said he felt shivery. And the strangest thing was he asked for "El Sol". "El Sol", Don Blas? You mean "El Comercio". He looked at me and said nothing, as if he'd been caught out. Anyway, I called "Little Things", because for your uncle he was still the doctor. He took some drops, went to bed and never got up again. He spent the last night reading and singing until all hours. He seemed very happy. At around 3:00, worn out by the concert, I think, he fell asleep. In the morning, I brought him up his coffee and he said, "Melchora, my bags are packed. I'm going away." "Where to?" "To the Land of the Snows", he replied. And then he said, "Now you're going to do me a favor. Open the windows wide, I want to see the valley. Then you're to go out and leave me alone for a minute." I went out. I left the door half open. I took his cup down to the kitchen. I went back up and said, "Can I come in now?" But he was gone. Come along. Time for bed, it's been a hard day. - I have to tidy up. - I'll do it. You go to bed. What about you? Me too, but first I want to poke around a bit. - Shall I heat you some milk? - Go to bed. I put a hot water bottle between the sheets. It makes you cry but causes no pain, goes up in the sky but isn't a plane. Smoke. Get along. - Good night. - Good night. It's time. Julipín, get up. I'm coming! Come on, the water's hot. Get up. I'm coming! At school, we'd a competition to see who could spit farthest and I won. It's the second competition he's won. Last month, it was the one to see who could piss farthest. How did you do in the "writing to mother" competition? I wrote the letter yesterday. I'm going to post it now. It's got teeth but it doesn't bite. A comb. Don Blas, fifteen years ago, you received a tribute in Paris, in the Closerie des Lilas. You said at that banquet, and you can't deny it because it was in every newspaper in Spain, that you would never again accept a tribute. First of all, I want to tell you that I feel uncomfortable and ridiculous all dressed up like this. Yes, indeed, that... went down badly with all those who were fighting over me socially. Why have you accepted this tribute in Oviedo? I couldn't refuse. It's given by my fellow students, my oldest friends are attending, and it's being held in the city where I was born, and I do believe that it will be different from the usual tributes which, as you know, are always against someone. Do you believe that this last quarter century has produced "immortals"? I feel that Albert Einstein, in science, and Pablo Picasso, in art, are already "immortal" in this century and will be for several more. Curiously enough, both have given us a new way of conceiving - space and time. - What do you think of cinema? I've seen very little, but I think that it's a way of seeing the world that didn't exist before. What do you think of Unamuno's exile? It's outrageous. What else could I think? Don Blas, what would you say is essential? The absence of fuss, that is, exactly the opposite of a hectic life, which is what we wanted when we were young. Everyone knows of your affection and admiration for Galdós and for Baroja. I want to read some lines by Don Benito, written very shortly before he died and addressed to a relative. "I feel very ill now, about to fold my napkin. The blindness is now so bad that I cannot even make out my beloved yellow blotches. Only when they read to me from a book by Otamendi does something light up within me and I see again the things of the world". The last time Don Benito and I were together was... in the Fe bookshop, in Madrid. And he forgot his glasses. Good evening. Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but it's going to rain any minute, and very heavily. In that direction, some 150 meters away, there's a... How did you know it would pour like this? My knee. Whenever it hurts, it rains. Or it rains because it hurts. I've never known. That book you're reading isn't worth a cold. - Good evening. - Good evening. - Post this, please. - Yes, miss. Would you sign it for me? Please... - Have you had lunch? - Yes, thank you. At the first sitting. I'm sorry about yesterday. Put "For Andrea, with growing dislike". "When will there be a very strict law against women with a gaze like Andrea? Blas Otamendi." I think it's a duty to be brief in a country as saturated with rhetoric and pompous oratory as ours. I have seen that nations made from wrought iron and totally inflexible, like Spain, unfortunately for us, are always too loud-mouthed. What can I tell you? For hours I have been... interviewed, interrogated, maligned and dined. Writers are the least interesting of people when we start talking. Squeezed fruit. Squeezed oranges, lemons, apples. That's what we are. We've got no juice, because any substance that we think worthwhile... we keep for our books. Every morning, I open my eyes with curiosity. I like to look at the sky, to see if it's blue or leaden, if there's rain or sunshine. I like to have my coffee and then smoke a cigarette while I read the papers. I like to exchange opinions with friends, whether we agree or not in our interpretation of politics, art, economy, progress. I like horse racing. Years ago, when I lived in France or in England, I went to the race tracks. Nowadays, I just read the newspaper reports. And I like to know that I've got a lot of books in my library which I long to read, and many others which I long even more to re-read. I like to watch this boy growing up. And I like to write. At any time. For some, my books are harsh, clumsy, obstinate, with uninteresting opinions and wrong descriptions, as if they were written in a slapdash way. My enemies even say that I write in a gossipy way. But others like them. They say they are lively, simple. And I try to distract and to move people, and never to convince them. That is why I try to write in an enjoyable way about what I've seen and what I see, and I also try to fool myself as little as possible, because you know that the easiest thing in this world is to fool yourself. And to finish, I'll say something that... That may surprise you. - Good morning. - Good morning. - What...? - Not a word. - Good Lord. - Don't say a word. - I was going to get up. - Make yourself comfortable. - But, Julipín, love... - Hush. Maybe they gave me the wrong note in the kitchen. Ritz Hotel. Are you Melchora Rodríguez? Room 302? Milk coffee, toast and butter and a snifter of anisette? Why are you up so early? "Hurricane", Zane Grey. A good novel. Listen, Doña Melchora, if you don't get up early in this house, the morning is gone and you've done nothing. Sweeping, washing, cleaning, ironing clothes. Melchora... Listen. Things are different now. This house is very big, you can't stay here on your own. The years are adding up. - Not as much as people think. - Yes, all right, but you're not able to do all the work. Have you no relative who would come here and live with you? - They'd be paid, of course. - No... Julipín, I don't need anyone, especially not relatives. Who would I bring here? Someone who would just laze around? Absolutely not. As the saying goes: A hand that you pay is a hand in the way, whatever the wage. All right. We'll look for a girl from the village or wherever. But get used to the idea that you won't be on your own. And how are you? It's good to start the day in a cheerful mood. Sorry, Antonio, you're out. Give me the handkerchief. You're out, sorry. Number 5! Lola! - Good morning. - Good morning. Sorry. Number 6! - When do they get vacation? - Tomorrow, but it seems like today. Number 1! - May I take a look? - Of course, go on up. Thank you. What numbers are left? How about 3? You're out, because he got you. That's it, I'm sorry. So this insomnia business can't be cured. Only with wine, Don Telmo. Put a good bottle of red wine under the bed before you turn in. You can't get to sleep? Put the bottle to your head. A good swig, half the bottle. It never fails. In two minutes you're out of it. We'll finish this and leave. There's no hurry. I'm going to pour myself another drink. - Will you join me? - No, thanks. Really, there's no sleeping draught like wine. Sulphonal, Cloral, things like that... They're useless compared to a good glass of Rioja. Imagine, you went to university for years to end up prescribing cheap red wine, like I do. How right he was, whoever said that doctors prescribe medicines they don't understand for patients with illnesses they can't identify. "He" was your friend Voltaire. You hear about the surgeon who cut off a patient's legs? After the operation, the patient's wife asks the doctor, "How is he?" The doctor answers, "Bad, very bad. He won't last two days." And the woman says, "Then why did you cut off his legs?" And the doctor says, "To keep him entertained". Is Don Lino at home? It's 3:00 in the morning. Of course Don Lino is at home. Don Lino is in the land of dreams. "Yes, what is it?" "My wife, Don Lino, she's..." Or, "My son, he's burning up. We took his temperature, it's over 40." And Don Lino has to get dressed, and Don Lino has to saddle his horse, or Don Lino has to cycle 10 or 20 kilometers in the pouring rain or in the freezing cold. Then, on those nights of total silence, when it seems your ears have been plugged, when even the river seems to be asleep, Don Lino thinks how he would have liked that someone had seen him off. "Wrap up well..." Little things like that. Then, clutching his bag, Don Lino realizes that his life has always been surrounded by calamities. He thinks of all the illnesses destroying bodies, of all the misfortunes he has seen since he began his career and of the ones he has yet to see. And Don Lino wonders if perhaps God is deaf. But, hours later, at dawn, when Don Lino is going home after having eased the blacksmith's son's fever, or after having brought a new life into the world, Don Lino no longer notices the frost or the rain, nor does he feel that something is missing in his life. Then Don Lino radiates optimism and he whistles and sings all the way home. It isn't just that Don Lino has done his duty. It's that Don Lino is truly the happiest man in the world. Gentlemen... To Don Lino. May he continue to care for us and love us for many years. The deeper it is the less it's seen. Darkness. Darkness. Yes, but you were told. Uncle, I have to talk to you. Go ahead. It's something personal. A man to man conversation, you mean? And that conversation can't wait until tomorrow? No. So the conversation can't wait. Melchora, leave that. - But I haven't finished. - You can finish it tomorrow. So take your glass of anisette, poured with a generous hand, your "Genoveva de Brabante", and good night. I've finished "Genoveva de Brabante". - This is "The Phantom of the Opera". - A good novel. Julipín, don't slouch. Good night. The thing is, I didn't know you knew so much about love and all. But at the banquet, and the other evening in the cafe, I realized that you knew heaps. Everyone else was amazed too. And...? - I wanted to tell you something... - Wait. Melchora! Do you want an ear trumpet to hear better? Trumpets, my eye! Go on. It happened to me last summer, when I stayed with uncle Casimiro and aunt Federica. Then you tell me... Wasn't the water warm? And that wall we built! Hurry! Come on. Let's go to bed. The key to winning this new battle of Verdun is to prevent, by all means, the arrival of reinforcements. The "Aunt Federica" armored division can doyou a lot of damage. Good luck, soldiers! Waken up! You go in. What are you doing? - You're for it! - Idiot! Half-wit! Stupid! What's going on here? Come along, get out! You boys, get out! Girls, get into bed! Boys, go back to your room! Come along, quickly! We'll talk tomorrow, eh? We'll talk tomorrow! As for you, young ladies, we're going to talk now. Afterwards, in bed, I couldn't sleep. My cousins started snoring right away. All I could do was think about Bea, and smell my hands, which smelled of her. And I felt as if my face was burning. And I also felt that my heart was beating differently. And even now, when I'm at school or playing, I wonder if it was true or if I imagined it all. "I am afeared all this is but a dream, too flattering-sweet to be substantial". Shakespeare. And you, Julipín, were called Romeo and you weren't in uncle Casimiro and aunt Federica's house, but in the Capulets' garden. I'm so happy to have this chance to see you. Not at all. I'm the one who's grateful. It's rare here to be able to speak to people who are interesting. This is a barren land in every sense. Not just the town, everything. Well, you know the fuss there was in Spain when Rita Hayworth took off a glove in "Gilda". My uncle always said that Spain's real problem was that we skipped the 19th century. We went directly from the 18th to the 20th. - Do you read French? - Yes. - Well... - Thank you. If you like, I could send you some journals and books from France. That... That would be great. Speaking of books, I almost forgot... Here. Your uncle lent it to me. "La Regenta". "La Regenta", "Fortunata y Jacinta" and "El árbol de la ciencia" were, for him, the three gems of our turn of the century literature. He said that Galdós, Clarín and Baroja had transparent writing. By the way... This was between the pages of the book. It's a photograph. I put it in an envelope to protect it. It's of two children playing on the beach. I'd swear the boy is you, and the girl is lovely, eh? Thank you. I learned to read with this book, with this very copy. "The heroic city was having its siesta. The wind from the south, hot and sluggish, pushed the white clouds which tore apart as they raced north..." They say that they're building a stadium in Río de Janeiro for 200,000 spectators. And it's round, like a bullring. There are very good teams, Don Telmo. The Brazilians, the Italians, the Argentineans, the English. The Argentineans aren't convincing and the English are old-fashioned. All I'll say is this... Watch out for the Uruguayans and, above all, for their black player, Obdulio Varela. He's a phenomenon. Is that V tactic really good? The V M? Hell! Or rather, the W M. A revolution, Don Lino. You hear that, Julio? And some say we don't live in a free country. Here, anyone can give his opinion on who'll win the World Cup, France or Brazil, England or Argentina, and nothing will happen him. Oh, Miss Marisa! You're always hammering away. Who'd think, Don Telmo, that you were a disciple of Mr. Petland? Well, the thing is, all we talk about is soccer, which, however, is the only reality in this country... Come now, Don Telmo. That's the truth of the matter. The thing is, I've ended up becoming an enthusiast. Did you see the 4-1 we scored against France in Paris, in May? Yes. I read in "Marca" that the stadium was filled with Spaniards. - Isn't that so? - I wouldn't go that far. Remember, Don Reyes, that Colombes holds about 70,000 people. The radio said that it was packed out... with Spaniards. Isn't that so? Overflowing. But with French. I think there were about eight or ten thousand Spaniards. And half and half. The papers said that when the National Anthem was played over 20,000 Spaniards cheered the Caudillo. If you were there, you saw it, right? What I saw was that one group of Spaniards cheered Franco, and another brought out a huge republican flag which almost covered one of the stands. - Really? - Yes. First I've heard of it, and it's odd because I get "ABC" and "Arriba". As well as "Marca". These things, mayor, are like Rembrandt's "Night Watch". Some say it's day, others, night. Anyway... Shall we play? Don Telmo, I'm sorry to insist, but don't forget about Melchora. No, no, no, don't you worry. I told you that I've got just what's needed. She's a niece... Well, the niece of a niece of mine. How old is she? She's at that uncertain age between the mid-twenties and the mid-forties. She's a mute. A mute? Not a deaf mute. A mute. Ideal for Melchora. Out of curiosity, Don Telmo, how does she confess? In writing. I raise the stakes. Do you know what you'd like to be? When I grow up? Sometimes, I think I'd like to be an actor and travel the world like my mother. An actor. You know that, long ago, actors couldn't be buried in sacred ground? And they couldn't wear a mustache or a beard, like bullfighters. But it's a good trade. You make magic with words, and it isn't at all boring because one day you're Hamlet, prince of Denmark, and the next, Ciutti. And I'd like to be a writer too, like you. A writer. That's worse. Literature brings nothing but solitude, grief and frustration. Abroad, in other countries, I don't know for certain, but here most writers die and leave a table, four chairs, a trunk full of yellowed, crumpled cuttings, a worn suit and seven or eight pawn tickets. But they get buried in sacred ground, don't they? Some of them. All right, listen. This is between us. A man to man conversation, you mean? A man to man conversation. To be honest, I didn't realize you knew so much about love. But when you told me about you and Bea... Heavens. I realized that you're very knowledgeable. So I want to tell you something else that happened last summer, when I went to Las Caldas. I met a woman. Obviously, not a word about this to anyone. My lips are sealed. I'll start by saying that, although I didn't see you with Bea, I'm sure that you are much more a man of the world than I am. I'm not! My problem with Andrea, her name is Andrea, is that I feel intimidated by her. I can't be natural with her, and it's been like that from the start. But she is just the opposite. She expresses herself with an ease I don't have. You know? For the Romans, the rich Romans, that is, the baths were fountains of paradise. They would rest here from the bustle of war and politics, from vanities and disappointments. They exercised patience, renewed their parsimony and dozed in the water, dreaming of new borders and never-forgotten passions. Floating in the steam. Only they managed to touch time with their hands, don't you think? Heavens. You recount the decline and fall of the Roman Empire better than Gibbon himself. Have you come here to treat your knee? My kidneys. They're a little bit rusty. But, really, I've come here for a page cure. These are the only days of the year when I write nothing. What about you? Me? I've come in search of those rations of eternal youth guaranteed by the publicity. May I ask you a personal question? Of course. Don't you think men flee from women with a sense of humor? Why aren't you married? That's the personal question. Perhaps because I never found a woman with whom I liked to talk and talk for hours and hours, - about everything and nothing. - Until now. And yes, I think that women with a sense of humor shorten men's lives. - Really? - And why did you get married? Out of instinct. May I ask you something that is common knowledge? Why is the most attractive woman at the spa at times the saddest woman at the spa? I'm not attractive, friend Otamendi. I have to work hard at it. Melchora, this is Filomena. She's here to help you. Don Telmo recommended her. She'll come every morning and stay until nighttime. She cooks, irons, sews, embroiders. A gem. You have to look after her. She's mute, but she hear perfectly. Right, Filomena? If you ask her anything, she'll answer you on the slate. She writes very clearly. Where are you from? Corrales...? Corrales de Somiedo? Do you know Roxu? Roxu was a boyfriend I had before the Great Flood. They called him Roxu because he had bright red hair, didn't he? I'll call you Filo, Filomena is very long. - And sit down! - She's mute, not deaf. Do you have a boyfriend? All the better. Boyfriends are like clothes. They always come out badly however carefully you fold them. Would you like a drop of anisette to get rid of the cobwebs? You've never tasted it? You'll see, one snifter. Taste it. In one gulp. Come on! Try it! It nearly got you talking! It's great stuff. Roxu was only after what all men are after. I haven't been to Oviedo in 11 years. It's changed a lot, you'll see. I hope the Cervantes bookshop is still open. It is. Shall we go by train or bus? By train. In theory there's one at twenty past. You know? Your uncle was my library. Every week, I'd go to Llendelabarca and borrow a book that he'd choose. - He knew that, years ago, I... - A very few years. - I tried to write. - You did? I published a few stories, nothing wonderful. But he encouraged me to keep on. And I'd say to him, "If I write from my heart, they'll put me in jail", as they've done with friends of mine. Your uncle was very proud of you. But he didn't like that you taught. "He's a poet, not a teacher!", he'd say. Teaching, and especially translating, take up a lot of time, but you can't pay the rent, transport and food with poetry. Not in Paris, the most expensive city in the world. The most beautiful, but also the most expensive. Anyway, we'll see. I wanted to congratulate you for some of your poems which I read in the magazine "Escorial". Thank you. - Do you like poetry? - Very much. Which poets do you like? Lorca, Juan Ramón Jiménez, the Machado brothers... And my teacher at the Jovellanos Institute in Gijón... Gerardo Diego. Will you let me read your stories? I think that if a man is wooing me, and I feel he really loves me, what I have to do is go with him, live with him, whether he's rich or poor, single or married, young, or not so young. I know that what I say may seem shocking, but for me there is no yesterday or tomorrow, only today. That's what I believe. I've never been as decisive as you are, Andrea. I envy you. I can't even express my affection... You see? I say "affection" when everyone else says "love". And that's why I've made so many mistakes in matters of the heart. I try, and I don't know why, to seem distant, yet a simple gesture from the other person would help me open up. But what can one do? - I know that some accuse me... - Of misogyny. But it isn't true. Shyness, introversion, perhaps. It would be ridiculous to deny that everything to do with women is dangerous, but it's even more dangerous not to know that to have dreams is a wonderful gift. The problem arises when, instead of falling in love with a woman or with a man, we fall in love with a dream. I like to see you laugh. "Laughing is like removing the mask which we put on every morning when we get up." - You wrote that in "Latin Quarter". - And I like your voice. You know that happiness affects the voice? And do you know that men are more attractive rolling a cigarette than trying to save the world? May I? By the way... Is there anything sadder than married couples who eat in silence in the dining rooms of spas, and never look at each other? I guess marriage isn't meant for vacations, or journeys. How old are you? Thank you. I've just turned sixty. My case is worse, thirty five. But inside, which is what counts... How old are you inside? Inside, age doesn't exist. Do you know that, at times, like now, you sparkle? And you... What are you thinking? I'm not thinking. I'm looking at you. Look as much as you want, but tell me, what are you thinking? If I tell you what I'm thinking, the police could arrest me. It's dawn and we didn't realize. Everything always happens unannounced, doesn't it? Even the most feared and secret things end up happening. Don't you think so? What I think is that I feel envious of Paris and of everyone who has made you laugh. Congratulations. Bach. Johann Sebastian Bach. He was his favorite musician. Our beloved Blas Otamendi, as you all know, was not someone who liked to tread the stones of this church. Well, neither this nor any church. And so if any of you are surprised that I have asked you to come here this evening, I can tell you, to ease your conscience, that the first to object to celebrating this act would have been precisely Blas Otamendi. You know that he respected my faith, as I respected his skepticism. He always told us that we had to love truth without dogmatisms. He was filled with a goodness beyond belief. And yet, as you see, he didn't believe in the Supreme Goodness. Even now, I am sure, on his way to the Light, our beloved Blas will be grumbling because friends who are believers, and other friends who are less so, are here remembering him and not in the Café España, or taking a walk along the cliffs or playing skittles. But don't worry, Blas, don't worry. We're not going to say a dozen masses for you. Nor even one. Just an Our Father. I don't know if it'll be of any use. I think it will. For many of us, it will. But in any case, it won't... It won't do you any harm. One Our Father. And then we'll go home. All right, Blas? Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven, give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us... - 'Morning, Don Blas. - Hello, Basilio. - Resting, are you? - Working. - Shall I leave the mail here? - Yes. There's a lot today. A postcard. A letter from the Eastern Republic of Uruguay. Spanish papers. And journals from Paris. Did you want something? - Could you clarify something for me? - Go ahead. Am I greatly mistaken, or are we getting less letters from readers? No, you aren't mistaken. You're quite right, thank God. The thing is, a while ago I made it known publicly that I wasn't going to answer any more letters from readers, so they don't write. And if they do, unfortunately it's just to insult me. Right! Well, I'm off. - Don't forget my stamps. - No. - Especially the foreign ones. - Don't worry. I'm writing from the Prado. Why is it that in "Las Meninas" everything seems to be floating? But on to more important things. Women's fashion. Hats are being worn small and brightly colored. Despite everything, Madrid is beautiful. Why don't you come for a few days? Do you know that you fill almost all of my memories? After Montevideo we go back to Buenos Aires. This time, we're only doing "La malquerida" and "Canción de cuna", so I reckon that after three or four weeks, five at... at the most, we'll be going home. The bad thing, for you and for me, about these successful tours is that we'll be apart again in the summer, but I've already written to aunt Federica about you spending the month of August with your cousins in Muros. Hug uncle Blas for me and tell him there is no bookshop in Argentina, Chile, Peru or Uruguay that doesn't have his books, and say hello to Melchora. For you, a very big, very long kiss from your mother who loves you and misses you. Carola." "P.S. I'm sending you postcards and new cuttings for the album." Let's see... Lemon. The last one smelled of heliotrope, remember? And the one before that, of cinnamon. Julipín, don't slouch. I know who could write on perfumed paper like his sister. That way his office would smell clean and not stink of tobacco and dead books. Look how pretty she is here dressed as a nun. - And the habit! - And why not today, Melchora? - Why not what today? - Why are we not eating? Before I forget, pack my case, I'm going to Madrid tomorrow. For how long? I need to know what to pack. I don't know. A week, or two. Are you going to see her? Good luck! I always believed that on his second trip to Italy Velazquez attended the lectures which Kircher gave about his invention of the magic lantern in the Roman College. Because in that hieroglyphic which we know as "Las Meninas", we see for the first time in the history of painting that convalescent light which turns into air, which wants to give movement to the image, a light... seemingly filtered through some magical contraption. Thank you. Don't stir it. It's Turkish. How can I put this? It sounds like a cliché, but I feel as if I've known you for a long time. Since even before I read your books. And when I'm not with you it's not just that I miss you. It's more than that. There's something in your presence... How can I put it? It calms the way I am, but without changing it. It calms me. It restores that tranquility one gets from hot baths. Although, if I'm to be honest, excitement agrees with women. It's very confusing. I'm going to Paris next week. I'm meeting my husband. We got married in France. And that's where we're arranging our divorce. All families resemble one another. Each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. Tolstoy says that, at the start of "Anna Karenina", remember? Our unhappiness was very peculiar. We've lived apart for a long time, he in South America running his business and I here, in Spain. I say peculiar because ours was one of the few cases found in marriages of convenience which didn't work out. It came with a motto which we both respected. If it seemed appropriate, one said: "Please, let's not talk about that." And we didn't. "That" included everything. On my way back from France I intend to stop at Las Caldas. When I know the exact dates I'll write to you. The problem with autumn love, friend Julipín, is that it's very dangerous because it becomes like first love. So be very careful. I don't think Bea likes me anymore. Why's that? Because girls grow up before boys do. She'll be thirteen in August and so will I, but it's not the same. Every year that passes, I'm younger than she is. The opposite of what's happening to me - It's not fair. - Nothing is fair. And I can't get her out of my mind. When I hear the name Bea, even if it's another Bea, my stomach flips over. You can't stop thinking about her because your brain is being held hostage by your heart. Don Quijote calls Dulcinea "Lady of my thoughts". But don't worry, no love is eternal. Give any love enough time and it will end. - It will? - Yes. Love springs up and disappears and no one has yet discovered why. What we do know is that when it goes it goes forever. Don't forget to write to your mother. - Isn't Bea here? - Oh, Bea! - She's gone for a ride. - A ride? A ride, with that boy from Madrid. - He's lovely, he's fifteen. - And he's almost got a mustache! Look, there she is! Bea! Bea! - What do you want? - Open the door. I wanted to tell you that I still like you, that I've remembered you all year, and that like Dulcinea was the lady of Don Quijote's thoughts, you're the lady of mine. - And you? - What about me? You know... Do you still like me? Yes, but as a friend. Is it true you're dating that boy from Madrid? What's it to you? Soldier, greatness lies in the endeavour, not in the result. The Ottoman power has faded. The Romanovs have been assassinated. The Titanic has sunk. The Austro-Hungarian empire has fallen. And I'm sorry, soldier, but love's maneuvers are more hazardous than cross-fire. Never forget that. If the word love doesn't appear in my books as often as it should it isn't because I don't like it, just the opposite. I think we use the word for too many things which aren't love. Love is a word of great resonance. You're quite right. Quite right. That's why I think we should use it with the same care and the same respect as a gong blow in music. Gong... "Happiness is solid. Joy is liquid." Blas Otamendi. It's the report on the tribute. It's right here. I think that women are mysterious and that love has to be governed by laws which are themselves mysterious and unknown, like those which govern chance. Do you know anything more exciting than the birth of love? Christ! This discussion is reaching a level that nobody can follow. I must confess that recently almost every night I go to bed with a headache. How about that? - 'Morning, Don Blas. - Hello, Basilio. Working, are you? Resting. - Hello, Basilio. - Hello, Melchora. - Regards to the family. - Thanks. - Shall I leave the mail here? - Yes. There's a package that smells of freshly baked books. And a postcard from Paris. It's lovely. The "Eyeful" Tower. How's your knee? - So, so. - Well... Don't forget about the stamps. - Don't worry, Basilio. - Thanks, goodbye. This came for your uncle. It says "To whom it may concern". I think you're the one it may concern. - Has the jackpot come up? - Not yet. Melchora. Men, who are flawed, make me sleep shod. A horse. Sign it for me. The dedication is printed inside. "For the confused times of A and B." Thank you. Will you take me to Tibet, to the Land of the Snows? Why there? I don't know. It sounds so far away. The roof of the world. The closest thing to the sky. You know the Lhasa shepherds throw stones at the clouds to bring rain? And we'll go to Italy too, for the blues and pinks of Fra Angelico, from Milan to Naples, Rome, Venice, Florence, Capri... Is it true what they say, that in Florence, every building is on a corner with a convent? And Germany! You can show me all the tragic, romantic landscapes I've seen in illustrations and paintings, full of solitary trees, just as I imagine the empty lands of Yorkshire in "Wuthering Heights". Bad news. I may cut my hair. What do you think? You were right. Childhood landscapes are always colored by memory. They're not real. We can't trust our memory. It changes everything to suit us. It can't be taken into consideration. I remembered everything as brighter and bigger. Llendelabarca, the school, the church, the Cafe España, the station... I'm leaving. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. You used to say that when Christmas comes it always seems like the old days, a bit hazy, a time that we think we've lived. And you also said that there's just one Christmas. That each of us has his Christmas, different from everyone else's, and that's the Christmas we try to reproduce each year. If you see mother, tell her that she's always in my Christmas. Beautiful, in a dress that seems like gold, drinking champagne, laughing constantly and letting me stay at her side all evening until I fall asleep in her arms. Anyway... I've brought you a gift from the Land of the Snows. It's beautiful. You'll be happy. Me too. I'm going now. It's a cold afternoon, but the light is beautiful. "Like pewter", you would say. Goodbye. As you would say... How can I put this? And let's see if for once I can say things to you naturally and without being clumsy. I think the problem with old age is that it arrives unannounced. Any day, suddenly... I know it won't be long before that happens to me, and I also know that I won't like it at all. What I am sure of is that for each person their decline comes in a different way. I've always thought it will happen to me gradually. I'll slowly lose my mind. Without realizing, I'll repeat things three or four times. And I won't be able to tell you that your eyes are the color of the sun when it's reflected in the pools. Withal, my dear Andrea, the most terrifying thing about old age is that you leave your era. It may seem you're still living in it, but no. You're living in a previous time. Your train is falling further and further behind another much faster express train which it can't follow. That fast train is called life. Apparently, Andrea, I would accept your world, which is new, full of curiosity about things, in constant evolution. Of course I'd accept it, but I couldn't become part of it. I'm sure that the music you like is no longer the kind I like. Or if it still is, the moment when we'd like to listen to it, or the volume, wouldn't coincide. And that would happen with everything. I would accept willingly, perhaps with a touch of melancholy, your projects, your interests, your enthusiasm. But I couldn't be part of them, I couldn't make them mine too. Our times are confused. You think there is no yesterday or tomorrow. Just today. But your today will be my yesterday. And in that yesterday, I'd be jealous of your today, of your freshness, of your energy, of your youth. And I'd weigh you down at all hours. And finally I would end up making your life impossible, as the lover always does when he discovers that the loved one no longer returns his love. The idea that you could witness that spectacle doesn't shame me, It paralyzes me. I know that I should have said this before, but I didn't know how to, nor was I able to, because I wanted to make the dream last. And because I am not a brave person. And because I love you. I love you so much, Andrea, that I don't know if you've noticed that recently in the world there's barely any love left for anyone else. And I think it's a great idea to cut your hair. - Hello. - Hello. Thank you! They're beautiful. - I came to say goodbye. - You're leaving already? I loved your stories, really. Especially the one about the two 5-year olds who want to get married. - "Marindia". - Yes. - I'll send you those things. - Thank you. And write. Find the time, somehow, but write. And you too. We could be less formal. - Have you been to Paris? - No. Would you like to go? Rooftops. - What? - Rooftops. I don't know, I always imagined it like that, a city of slate. It's because I'm obsessed with my work. As well as rooftops, there are boulevards and trees, cafes, theaters, bookstalls, jazz clubs... - You like jazz? - Yes. And cats, lots of cats. Which is the best month to visit Paris? The best month to visit Paris will be the month you go. April, June, September, all of them. The secret is that the month you go will always be the best month in Paris. I want to take advantage of this early Christmas toast to thank all of you, and to ask a favor. Of you, Melchora, that you intercede with that patron of all needs so that he brings me back here soon. Of you, Filo, that you'll look after her. Of you, Don Lino, that you won't take me to the station. And of you, Don Telmo, that you have a talk occasionally with your friend Blas, and tell him how Sporting or the national team is doing. I'm sure he'd like that. And as my mother used to say, may we never be worse than we are now. I think that the best thing we have is love, that mysterious power that emerges from our bodies. Nothing more wonderful can happen to us. Love, like music, like painting, like books, is not sought. It is found. Love is like... Like laughter. When it comes, no one can resist it. When love strikes, just as when laughter strikes, all your defences are shattered. All the money in the world couldn't pay for the love between two people. Love is the best reward we have for being here, although at times it may leave a lifelong wound in your soul. |
SLC Punk SNL Best Of Eddie Murphy 1998 SWAT S Diary 2004 Saathiya CD1 Saathiya CD2 Saaya CD1 Saaya CD2 Safe Sahara (1943) Sahara (with Michael Palin) ep1 Sahara (with Michael Palin) ep2 Sahara (with Michael Palin) ep3 Sahara (with Michael Palin) ep4 Sahara (with Michael Palin) video diary bonus Sahara interview with Michael Palin Saint Clara Salaam Bombay CD1 Salaam Bombay CD2 Salaam Cinema 1995 Salems Lot 2004 CD1 Salems Lot 2004 CD2 Salesman - Albert and David Maysles (1969) Salo Or The 120 Days Of Sodom Salon Salton Sea The Salvador (1986) Salvatore Giuliano (Francesco Rosi 1961) CD1 Salvatore Giuliano (Francesco Rosi 1961) CD2 Samourai Le Samsara 1991 CD1 Samsara 1991 CD2 Samurai - Miyamoto Musashi - 03 - Duel at Ganryu Island Samurai 2 (1955) Samurai 3 - Duel At Ganryu Island 1956 Samurai Assassin 1965 Samurai Fiction Sanbiki No Samurai 1964 Sand Pebbles The CD1 Sand Pebbles The CD2 Sands of Iwo Jima Sanjuro (1962) Santa Claus 2 Sante Trap The Saragossa Manuscript The (1965) CD1 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View Stargate SG1 3x07 Deadman Switch Stargate SG1 3x08 Demons Stargate SG1 3x09 Rules Of Engagement Stargate SG1 3x10 Forever In A Day Stargate SG1 3x11 Past And Present Stargate SG1 3x12 Jolinars Memories Stargate SG1 3x13 The Devil You Know Stargate SG1 3x14 Foothold Stargate SG1 3x15 Pretense Stargate SG1 3x16 Urgo Stargate SG1 3x17 A Hundred Days Stargate SG1 3x18 Shades Of Grey Stargate SG1 3x19 New Ground Stargate SG1 3x20 Maternal Instinct Stargate SG1 3x21 Crystal Skull Stargate SG1 3x22 Nemesis Stargate SG1 4x01 Small Victories Stargate SG1 4x02 The Other Side Stargate SG1 4x03 Upgrades Stargate SG1 4x04 Crossroads Stargate SG1 4x05 Divide And Conquer Stargate SG1 4x06 Window Of Opportunity Stargate SG1 4x07 Watergate Stargate SG1 4x08 The First Ones Stargate SG1 4x09 Scorched Earth Stargate SG1 4x10 Beneath The Surface Stargate SG1 4x11 Point Of No Return Stargate SG1 4x12 Tangent Stargate SG1 4x13 The Curse Stargate SG1 4x14 The Serpents Venom Stargate SG1 4x15 Chain Reaction Stargate SG1 4x16 2010 Stargate SG1 4x17 Absolute Power Stargate SG1 4x18 The Light Stargate SG1 4x19 Prodigy Stargate SG1 4x20 Entity Stargate SG1 4x21 Double Jeopardy Stargate SG1 4x22 Exodus Stargate SG1 5x01 Enemies Stargate SG1 5x02 Threshold Stargate SG1 5x03 Ascension Stargate SG1 5x04 Fifth Man Stargate SG1 5x05 Red Sky Stargate SG1 5x06 Rite Of Passage Stargate SG1 5x07 Beast Of Burden Stargate SG1 5x08 The Tomb Stargate SG1 5x09 Between Two Fires Stargate SG1 5x10 2001 Stargate SG1 5x11 Desperate Measures Stargate SG1 5x12 Wormhole X-Treme Stargate SG1 5x13 Proving Ground Stargate SG1 5x14 48 Hours Stargate SG1 5x15 Summit Stargate SG1 5x16 Last Stand Stargate SG1 5x17 Failsafe Stargate SG1 5x18 The Warrior Stargate SG1 5x19 Menace Stargate SG1 5x20 The Sentinel Stargate SG1 5x21 Meridian Stargate SG1 5x22 Revelations Stargate SG1 6x01 Redemption Part 1 Stargate SG1 6x02 Redemption Part 2 Stargate SG1 6x03 Descent Stargate SG1 6x04 Frozen Stargate SG1 6x05 Nightwalkers Stargate SG1 6x06 Abyss Stargate SG1 6x07 Shadow Play Stargate SG1 6x08 The Other Guys Stargate SG1 6x09 Allegiance Stargate SG1 6x10 Cure Stargate SG1 6x11 Prometheus Stargate SG1 6x12 Unnatural Selection Stargate SG1 6x13 Sight Unseen Stargate SG1 6x14 Smoke n Mirrors Stargate SG1 6x15 Paradise Lost Stargate SG1 6x16 Metamorphosis Stargate SG1 6x17 Disclosure Stargate SG1 6x18 Forsaken Stargate SG1 6x19 The Changeling Stargate SG1 6x20 Memento Stargate SG1 6x21 Prophecy Stargate SG1 6x22 Full Circle Stargate SG1 7x01 Fallen Stargate SG1 7x02 Homecoming Stargate SG1 7x03 Fragile Balance Stargate SG1 7x04 Orpheus Stargate SG1 7x05 Revisions Stargate SG1 7x06 Lifeboat Stargate SG1 7x07 Enemy Mine Stargate SG1 7x08 Space Race Stargate SG1 7x09 Avenger 2 0 Stargate SG1 7x10 Birthright Stargate SG1 7x10 Heroes II Stargate SG1 7x11 Evolution I Stargate SG1 7x12 Evolution II Stargate SG1 7x13 Grace Stargate SG1 7x14 Fallout Stargate SG1 7x15 Chimera Stargate SG1 7x16 Death Knell Stargate SG1 7x17 Heroes I Stargate SG1 7x19 Resurrection Stargate SG1 7x20 Inauguration Stargate SG1 7x21-22 The Lost City I n II Starship Troopers (Special Edition) Starship Troopers 2 Story Of A Kiss Strada La Strange aventure de Docteur Molyneux Street Of Love And Hope (Nagisa Oshima 1959) Street of shame (Akasen chitai) Streetcar Named Desire A Style Wars Suicide Regimen Sukces 2003 Summer Tale A 2000 Sunday Lunch (2003) Super 8 Stories Superman IV - The Quest for Peace Surviving the Game Swedish Love Story A (1970) CD1 Swedish Love Story A (1970) CD2 Sweetest Thing The (Unrated Version) Swept Away Swordsman III - The East is Red Sylvester - Canned Feud (1951) Sylvester - Speedy Gonzales (1955) Sylvester and Elmer - Kit for Cat (1948) Sylvester and Porky - Scaredy Cat (1948) Sylvester and Tweety - Canary Row (1950) Sylvester and Tweety - Putty Tat Trouble (1951) Sylvester and Tweety - Tweetys SOS (1951) |
