To an unknown God
Granada. July 1936
Jose, will you never learn how to ride a bike?
Why is it that all you men are a bunch of clowns?
Why don't you tell him to come down?
Lord Pedro?
What do you want, Jose?
Soledad!
Yes?
Tell your brother that I don't want Jose to play in the garden.
Wouldn't you like a soft drink?
No.
The pedal is twisted.
Again! One day you'll break your head. That's what's gonna happen.
For sure. And now I have to repair your pedal.
Yes, I'm a bit clumsy with the bike.
You sure are clumsy!
OK, let's see what I can do.
I'll see you later.
Soledad, call him. Tell him to come down.
That looks like a tomb.
Why don't you call him?
He listens better to you.
You think so?
You know it's true, come on.
The truth is that you're shy…
Come on, call him.
I like the piano so much…
Would he mind if you call him?
I didn't say I'd call him!
Federico!
Why don't you come down, let's go for a walk!
Daylight doesn't want to come so that you won't come
and neither can I go.
What are you doing here?
It's very nice what he's writing.
Are you coming to bed?
I only want to see him.
Only he makes me sad and satisfied.
He'll hear you.
One day it will matter.
Will he come tomorrow?
No, mama told me.
Give me that!
Here, there's another one!
They put them on cars, bring them to Bibla,
…and we don't know if anyone came back.
Emilia, if you believe everything they tell you!
Besides, you'll see that in the end nothing's the matter,
…like always, just some scares.
Careful, this one is really ripe.
Admit that this one is the best until now.
Let me see?
Yes, it's really good. If I can reach the one I saw, I'll go one better.
Careful, they'll kill you by falling like that.
Pedro! Put your shoulder to him.
Yes, I'll help you to go one better…
Pedro, don't be a beast, I'll fall.
Did you hear that? He called the lord a beast.
Hush Emilia, that's silly. If you go on like that,
…I'll put a snake in your bed.
That's too much, milady. This will turn out badly.
But help him man, don't you see he's going to fall!
Well, that wouldn't be the first time.
I'm going to fall!
Look what a cheat you are.
Pedro!
It's on our door.
If they knock here, it must be for my father.
Soledad.
Let's go home. Run, right now.
Nothing will happen to him.
It's him.
Come, better they don't see you in the garden. Come.
- I want to see Lady Soledad. - Milady isn't expecting anyone.
No, she's not expecting me.
- Tell me your name. - I'd prefer you wouldn't tell it to Lady Soledad.
- But how then can she attend to you? - I'll take my chances.
- Who is it, Lucia? - This gentleman who's asking for you.
Well, then let him in, don't leave him planted there.
Tell me what's your purpose.
I'd like to see you, since quite a while.
That means that you know me, that we know each other.
This house always was very dark.
Or is it that the sun outside is so strong,
…that here it looks like one became blind.
- You know the house too. - Better outside than on the inside.
But I know it, yes. The garden at least.
Could you quit the mystery and tell me your name?
I'd prefer that you'd recognize me. I recognized you right away.
Sorry, the truth is that hearing the piano was enough for me.
Perhaps my eyesight is not the trait I conserved best.
It's useless, I see you very faintly.
You're really very stubborn!
Still nothing?
It's of course a smart ploy to get into another house.
I'm not a crook.
Jose!
So many years!
Come on up.
Soledad, how strange.
It's the first time I'm going up these stairs.
In the train I was fretting whether to address you as Milady.
So how did you address me?
Pedro I called you, but with you I never knew how to go about it.
Well, in reality we hardly exchanged a single sentence.
Would you mind to keep me company on the other side?
I'd like to see the garden.
How strange the garden looks from here.
Let's go, the tea will be cold.
Leave me for a moment, I'll come right after.
Well, it's still lukewarm.
- Did the fig tree die? - No, it's still healthy.
You can't see that from your room.
You're not going to see anyone else?
For what? They'd look at me as at a zombie.
And you're not afraid I might look at you like that?
Not you.
Why did you come, Jose?
You didn't want to see me, you simply wanted to return.
Or look at the garden from up here.
Sometimes it seems to me I didn't stop thinking of Pedro one single day.
She's asleep.
Deeply asleep.
Nevertheless, she can react to my voice.
Ana! Ana, do you hear me?
Yes. Yes, I hear you.
Tel me: what's your dearest wish?
To wake up.
Could the music wake you up?
No.
Could I wake you up?
No.
Could anybody wake you up?
Perhaps…
Who?
Do you feel somebody here could do it?
Maybe…
If he'd had a really unblemished heart.
What else?
- A kiss. - A kiss, is that all?
An unblemished heart, a kiss…
Rest.
A kiss given with an unblemished heart.
You, sir?
- You? Are you sure? - I'll try, who knows.
Just one moment!
Are you sure you meet the conditions? They're not easy.
Yes, I think I do.
- Bye. - Tell me a number, any number you want.
Fourteen.
The M. Which name starts with an M?
I suppose there are many. Manuel.
No, someone you know. He's speaking well of me.
- How do you know? - There's a tone in my right ear.
If it were on the left, he'd me speaking badly about me.
Well I don't know, Mercedes.
My sister, sure.
Mercedes always talks good about me.
But why did you think of 14? Do you like it?
No. Yes.
- I like number 3. - I know that.
Why didn't you choose 3?
- Are you really leaving me? - Yes. I won't work with you again, Jose.
Is that my fault?
- What do you think of me? - Would you like to know?
It would be a good farewell.
And you, what do you think of me?
You see? Nothing.
Goodbye.
- Good evening, Jorge. - Hi, Jose.
Isn't you mother scared, every time you go out on the moped?
No. I think she's already used to it.
- And coming home late? - I've called her.
- Bye. - Bye.
Escape. Don't delay.
Far, go far. You think there will be place for me?
Hurry up!
Get there!
That's it. Always impossible to calculate the damage.
As soon as the moon rises the pulleys will spin to alter the sky;
a border of needles will besiege memory
and the coffins will bear away those who don't work.
New York of mud,
New York of wire and death,
What angel is hidden in your cheek?
Whose perfect voice will sing the truths of wheat?
Who, the terrible dream of your stained anemones?
Not for a moment, Walt Whitman, lovely old man,
…have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies,
nor your corduroy shoulders frayed by the moon,
nor your thighs pure as Apollo's,
nor your voice like a column of ash,
old man, beautiful as the mist,
you moaned like a bird with its sex pierced
by a needle.
Enemy of the satyr, enemy of the vine,
and lover of bodies beneath rough cloth.
Not for a moment, virile beauty,
who among mountains of coal, billboards, and railroads,
dreamed of becoming a river and sleeping like a river
with that comrade who would place in your breast
the small ache of an ignorant leopard.
Not for a moment, Adam of masculine blood,
man alone at sea, Walt Whitman, lovely old man,
because on penthouse roofs, gathered at bars,
emerging in bunches from the sewers,
trembling between the legs of drivers,
or spinning on dance floors wet with absinthe,
the faggots, Walt Whitman, were dreaming you.
He's one, too!
And they land on your luminous chaste beard,
blonds from the north, blacks from the sands,
crowds of howls and gestures, like cats and like snakes,
the faggots, Walt Whitman, the faggots clouded with tears,
flesh for the whip, boot or bit for the lion tamers.
He's one, too!
Stained fingers point to the shore of your dream,
when a friend eats your apple with a slight taste of gasoline,
and the sun sings in the navels of boys who play under bridges.
But you weren't looking for scratched eyes,
nor the darkest swamp where someone submerges children,
nor frozen saliva, nor the curves slit open…
like a toad's belly
that the faggots wear in cars and on terraces,
while the moon lashes them on the street corners of terror.
You were looking for a naked body like a river.
Bull and dream that joins the seaweed to the wheel,
father of your agony, camellia of your death,
who would groan in the blaze of your hidden equator.
Because it's all right if a man doesn't look for his delight
in tomorrow morning's jungle of blood.
The sky has beaches where to avoid life
and there are bodies that shouldn't repeat themselves in the dawn.
Agony, agony, dream, ferment, and dream.
This is the world, my friend, agony, agony.
Bodies decompose beneath the city clocks,
war happens crying, followed by a million gray rats,
the rich give their mistresses small illuminated dying things,
and life is neither noble, nor good, nor sacred.
Man is able, if he wishes, to guide his desire
And you, lovely Walt Whitman, sleep on the Hudson's banks
with your beard toward the pole, openhanded.
Soft clay or snow, your tongue calls for comrades
to keep watch over your unbodied gazelle.
Sleep on, nothing remains.
- Thanks a lot, sir. - You're welcome.
Take this. This one for you and that one for me.
Thank you, they're precious.
- They're very, very beautiful. - Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Did you go away? I haven't seen you lately.
A couple of days.
- Are you going home? - No, I'm waiting for Jorge.
That boy always lets me wait.
Not this time.
- Hello, Jorge. - Hello, Jose.
Goodbye.
I called you, so many times.
- Did you know I went away? - Yes, but not when you'd be back.
Miguel.
Miguel!
What do you think, let's go?
Now?
You'll never get rid of your fears.
I'm afraid not.
- To your health, Miguel. - Goodbye.
And then he got serious. No, more than serious.
He put on a pathetic look, and the laughs started to get less.
It became total silence. His eyes filled with tears and he said:
I don't know why the misery of others always gets so much laughs?
And from that point on you started to have a bad time.
Would you like another whisky?
No. I'm trying to reduce the intake.
- How many? - 11 days now.
Since 11 days.
Depends. When I was sad, 7. When happy, 10. Sometimes more.
- And now? - 3, or 4.
- I had 5 today. - Means you're happy.
You could increase the intake.
Alright, pour me a little.
Even a whisky you make problematic.
About one, no.
Do you know what Luis told me once?
- Which Luis? - Luis Anibal.
Must be a funny character, right?
Funny, smart and dangerous.
Why dangerous?
He always gave me the impression that his highest ambition is himself.
Mine too.
But you're not involved in politics.
- And a politician needs to be generous. - Yes, necessarily. If not.
- If not, what? - He goes back being a laborer.
Somebody dumbfounded by power.
Could you conceive of a politician not dumbfounded by power?
Yes.
Ay, Miguel. I'll think you'll never make it to power.
It's exactly the point that nobody makes it there.
Right. And that all share in it.
You see I'm learning from your lectures?
Yes, you're a good pupil. I bit ironic,
but good. Solid. - And plenty disenchanted.
I'm taking less and less of that, Jose. If that were true, you wouldn't love me.
You said Luis told you something.
Yes. Back when I was drinking like a Cossack,
He really wanted me to know how many whiskeys I was drinking.
And he said that he thought I'd collapse at the next one.
And he admired me for not collapsing.
To Luis's great regret.
I said he's ambitious, not evil.
You wouldn't even call your worst enemy evil.
- Luis is not my enemy. - Evidently.
Because your only enemy is the exploitative class.
Come on, Miguel, today is our lucky day.
- Will you stay overnight? - I can't.
They'll pick me up early in the morning.
Alright.
Soledad asked about you.
She forced me to describe you.
- She wants us to go there one day. - You know I won't go.
I'm not going back to Granada. - Why?
Why did you go back after all those years?
I don't know. I think for no reason at all.
She showed me her room. Exactly like I imagined it.
And I saw the garden from the balcony.
- Is she living alone? - Yes.
Did she stay single?
Do you think she'd have received you if she'd married?
- And what can you see from the window? - The garden. Not the fig tree.
Pedro…
He saw me many times from that balcony.
- You felt you were Pedro. - No. Why do you say that?
Pedro always dressed in white.
You told me that many times, but surely that can't be true.
Nobody dresses always the same, except when he's crazy.
- And if he was? - Why?
Why did he seduce you?
It's never really clear who's seducing whom.
He could, you couldn't.
I won't go back there, you understand, right?
I never knew Pedro.
And of Soledad I only remember the fear she instilled in me.
So dry and distant.
When I started to be aware, all was already dead.
Even the Habanera dance, you taught it to me here in Madrid.
- How is Antonio? - Why don't you talk to him sometime?
Are you faithful to him?
Yes. That's funny, right? Yes, that's funny.
But he demands nothing, and all you give to him is like a miracle to him.
He's not even aware of my faithfulness to him.
Some are like that, blessed they are.
Leave me alone!
Get up!
I don't know what's the matter, I'm afraid.
Why don't you leave me alone? Nothing's the matter.
- Then why don't you get up? - I don't want to.
Get out of here! - But son, don't say that.
Come on Jorge, make an effort. You can't stay here.
I'll get him in the house.
- Careful! - Don't worry.
- Whore! - But son.
Better get him to a sleeping room.
- Leave me alone! - I only want to take out your jacket.
Jose, please help, he's sweating. I'll call the doctor.
You can't talk to your mother like that.
Could we know what happened?
She's hysteric. Hysterical.
Useless old woman.
What did you drink?
Tell me?
- I didn't drink anything. - Sure?
Well, I smoked.
I felt bad and I took a fright.
It will be over in a little while. Aren't you going to tell her?
- She wouldn't understand a thing. - I think you're wrong.
Don't go. Don't leave me alone with her.
Jose, would you like a drink?
Hush now, I'll stay until you're asleep.
No thanks, I don't want anything.
They insisted on being happy and they managed.
- Do you think insisting is enough? - No, surely not.
I suppose that you'd also have to go without many things.
What do I know?
My father always says:
Do what you think is easy, and leave the difficulties for the neighbor.
- And what's easy to your father? - He's always been faithful to my mom.
Because to him, to know a different color and skin, it would mean…
an unbearable effort.
And to you?
The truth is, I never paid much attention to my father.
And to your mother?
My mother is more complicated.
She never lets herself be known.
And I'm sure she's capable of leading a double life.
At least double. - And is she using that capacity?
That's a mystery.
Are we going to eat?
- Here's my workmanship. - Looks superb.
Smells superb.
Why is it that I can't cook?
'Cause you'd put a chicken in the oven and in two seconds you'd get…
a pigeon chick flying out.
I'm changing, just a moment.
I don't like the smell of food in my clothes.
You never told me how she is.
Her name is Clara.
- Would you like me to put music? - No, we're fine like this.
Clara makes love furiously. Always like it were the last time.
She must be intelligent.
To whom are you faithful?
To you.
Water fell and fell, like a real waterfall.
And me poor widow, too shy to go upstairs and ask that serious gentleman.
Could you please check whether you've left a tap running?
And indeed he had left it running.
You didn't send me flowers again, ever since.
- Can I serve you? - Yes.
We're seeing little of each other Jose, don't you think? Very little.
At times I feel like calling you. Or get up and ring the bell.
- Why you never did that? - 'Cause I'm a well brought up lady.
- And does that make up for it? - No, no.
So?
It's that if you'd be unfriendly my world would fall apart.
- I'm also a well brought up man. - But at times you get angry, right?
Don't believe it, I'm perfectly peaceful.
When I want to really get it out, I turn against myself.
- And do you fight yourself a lot? - I do.
I even punish myself severely at times.
Jose, have you never thought of marrying?
Adela!
I'm not talking about passion, it'd be a kind of pact.
Your good upbringing has to be so some kind of use, right?
- And you think I'd carry that off well? - Don't be stupid, of course.
It'd be like an insurance for old age.
- Aren't you turning a bit theatrical? - No, realistic.
And who did you choose to protect my last years?
Myself.
Don't laugh. At our age it's not good to be alone.
And you came up with this absurd idea all alone?
Well, I even asked her advice.
- Of whom? - Of my confessor.
- And what did she say? - That's a secret.
I can't take a decision that important without knowing all the facts.
She thought it an excellent idea.
She doesn't even know me.
Well, doesn't matter, I told a lot of good things about you.
You could live in your house. I'd hardly bother you.
And every now and then you'd come up and ring the bell.
Right. Think about it.
- Adela… - Well, think about it.
I'm mulling about it since…
…I think since the flood.
I won't tell Jorge that you sent me those roses.
- Why? - He might be jealous.
Jealous?
I wasn't saying that just for me.
Also Jorge'd like to feel protected.
You see, you refuse with that air of forgiveness.
- Jorge is very important. - Very.
- But he has you. - Me?
He senses that I'm afraid, and fear doesn't protect nobody.
That's funny, a friend of mine says exactly that.
A tall one?
Yes, Miguel. But he says that talking about his passion.
- His passion? - Politics.
And yours?
It fled I don't know where, and there's no way to make it come back.
Please check whether it's a regular card.
- Yes. - Shuffle, please.
- Did you shuffle well? - Yes, I did.
- Say it louder. - Yes, I shuffled well.
- What's your favorite card? - 7 of Hearts.
- Don't you prefer the ace? - No.
It's a lucky card, everybody picks it.
You clearly want to be different.
And don't you think that could be rude?
Does my suggestion seem rude to you?
Not to me.
Could I continue to question your…?
Companion.
- Companion. - Yes, for my…
Even though the questions would be rude?
You need permission from me.
I'm afraid she's right.
- Can I? - You can.
Right. Mrs…
Call me Clara.
Clara has chosen a real magic number.
The seven.
Do you know that it's a magic number, full of mystery?
Yes.
Do you know we'll be forgiven 70 times 7?
Right.
When I lift up the cards 1 by 1, which one would you like to be 7 of Hearts?
The 7th.
No doubt about it, Clara is a headstrong woman.
Count loudly, please.
One, two…
- Sir. - Three, four…
…five, six.
- Your card. - But I asked for 7 of Hearts.
That's right. Could you show it to the public?
We just established that the 7 of Hearts has been put in motion,
but before we move on,
is it OK for you keep on assisting me?
Yes.
- Do you accept? - Sure.
Right.
- Don't you want the ace now? - Of course not.
Do you know sir, that your companion is extremely faithful?
I suspected it.
I'm gonna make a prediction.
Could you shuffle, Clara?
Hold this one, please.
Higher please. Hold it so that everybody can see it.
That's it, very well.
You all are witness that this prediction was made…
before starting the game.
No, no. Hold it up, that's it. Don't move it.
Clara, how many 7 of Hearts do you want to turn up in the deck?
All of them.
All of them?
OK. Choose a card.
Show it.
Sit, would you mind to stand up?
Would you please read the prediction?
Clara will not pick the 7 of Hearts.
It looked very easy that Clara wouldn't pick the 7 of Hearts.
However, it was really difficult!
Clara, trust yourself.
Mama's not in, and I don't know what I've done with the key.
- Is it raining? - Yes, it started a while ago.
- Come in, don't stay there. - You don't mind?
Is it really OK?
- Dry your head. - No, I like it wet like this.
OK, take that off.
- Did you have supper? - I took something there.
- And Adela? - I don't know.
She must have gone to one of my aunts.
- Sit down. - Can I play some music?
Of course.
But not very loud.
- To auntie Palmira. - Do you know her?
No, but your mom told me something about aunt Palmira the other day.
Something about money. - Sure, she's stingy.
- Who? - Aunt Palmira.
Well, my mother too.
Jorge, don't start to talk bad about your mother.
How could you be friends, mama and you?
Friends… I don't know, many years of being neighbors.
Pity you didn't know my father.
Why?
I don't trust what mama's telling.
- No? - Nobody's that perfect.
Sometimes I think my father lives and is having a great time somewhere.
But the thing with mama…
It's logical that your mother is worried about you.
This house is just like mine.
Yes, of course.
What's in there?
An electrical train.
If you want I'll show it to you.
- Is that what you came for? - No, it's because…
To talk with me.
I appear strange to you.
Mama always talks very well of you. And I know you since I was small.
Yes. I appear strange to you.
And you always stared at me with surprised eyes.
- You don't live like everybody else. - No? Why?
You live alone.
Well, there are more and more people living alone.
Completely? Without seeing anybody?
Without seeing anybody. Anyway, I see a lot of people.
Very few come to your house.
My friends. Only my friends.
Are you worried by my friends?
No, no.
Why do you say no?
One time you met one of them on the stairs…
and you couldn't take your eyes off him.
And you waited on the landing of your house to see if they came here or not.
When you're in the elevator with another, you don't know where to look.
Depends.
For a long time, when we happened to go up together, I looked at you.
I saw you grow.
Until one day I found myself with a boy who had grown to the height…
of our lips.
- Does your mother know you're here? - No, no.
- Do you want me to go? - No, the thing is…
Do you see my hands? - Yes.
How are they?
Empty.
That's it. Don't stop looking.
Can I close them?
Yes.
Don't stop looking.
Which hand would you like me to open?
The left hand.
Your keys.
It's dangerous to play with those who live off their hands.
But come back when you want. When you feel like it.
I'm still wondering why you stole my photo.
I don't know. It was in my pocket just like that.
- You'll have to give it back to me. - I don't think I will.
This time it'll be me to present myself in your house.
Please, that photo doesn't mean a thing to you.
And for you? If you didn't know him.
What do you know? He was one of those I saw in the garden talking with you.
Or better, the only one who survived.
What's there in the tower now, Soledad?
Nothing, ever since Pedro died.
From here Pedro tossed me a crumpled piece of paper.
9 AM under the fig tree.
It was our first date. - He told me you were dead frightened.
He also told me things about you.
You reckon, he was playing with both of us.
And that?
Pedro stayed here a lot during his last months.
One time I followed you. Do you know I was very jealous of you?
- And now? - Perhaps. I don't know.
I still feel jealous of you.
Must be we're still alive.
You think so?
So that was almost the last view he saw?
- Did his character change a lot? - Anyone's would in that situation.
And he was only 18 years old.
I mean, did he resign himself.
No, never, neither did I.
So it's not true that death is nothing.
That it doesn't exist while we're alive.
And that when it comes, we're the ones who don't exist.
It's not true that it has nothing to do with the living nor with the dead.
No, it's not true.
Who's the one on the piano?
I'll end up thinking that you don't remember a thing.
Julio Albeala, you must have seen him here a 1000 times.
His father was a famous doctor. - Well no, I don't remember him.
I'm going to read for a while. - You're not comfortable?
Too many people.
Good night.
The other day, when I opened the door for you, I recognized you.
You have sad eyes, just like before.
Life didn't teach you much.
when the dark night,
covered the battlefield in mourning.
In the light, of a happy and sad bivouac
a young man passed away.
The guard saw something
and when he knew he was dying he said in low voice,
he let go his rifle, and closed his eyes
and he wiped away a tear.
Everybody will tell everywhere today
that when the white appears in the East
in the encampment drums and cornets
are playing the reveille.
It will roam, the mysterious shadow
which stops, below a window,
and murmurs: don't weep, my love.
I'll be back tomorrow.
Someone in here.
It's engaged!
I'm exhausted, but please call me tomorrow.
I want to bring you to the station. - I'll wake you up.
Good night, Jose. Did you have a good time?
Very well, you don't know how much. Good night, Soledad.
Take these.
They were Pedro's. I gave them to him and I don't know how they came back to me
after he died. - They're still hot.
He was 15 and I 30. One day he came to the house,
went to the room, greeted my mother, talked a while with her,
until he made her weep with laughter.
Then he said that me and him had private matters to discuss.
We went to my room.
From that day on, Pedro came to our house when he felt like it.
He knew I was waiting for him.
He told me: don't shiver, why are you shivering?
One day he asked me whether Frederico and me were of the same age.
I told him Frederico was older.
Then, looking at me all the time,
he told me that it wasn't really with me he wanted to be.
But he didn't dare to.
That was the first time I heard him talking of sin.
It was a sin not to dare.
From then on, he never came to the house any more.
I saw him again when he was already very ill.
For the first time he talked about you, and a lot about death.
Not only about his death.
But he kept on worrying about the things he hadn't dared to do.
I think he died considering himself a coward.
What did he say about me?
SMILE FROM THE LEFT
Fast train to Madrid, on platform nr. 1…
is about to leave.
I was singing this song, which always reminds me of you.
Nobody who's not like that knows that feeling, a mixture of…
nostalgia and sadness, that can grab the heart sometimes.
Me too sometimes I like to treat my heart badly.
I blame it on the memory. Only you know, Jose,
how hard it is to show the weak side of my character.
I'm so accustomed to merriment as a companion…
to take me wherever it goes.
You see, I remember you. I remember you very much.
I'd like to hide with you right now in some dark corner…
like those we always knew how to find, and caress each other.
I think it will never happen anymore.
My wish will be forgotten.
Well, I'm not sad any more Jose, it's a long letter…
I hug you. Pedro.
Yes?
Who is it? Hi, Mercedes.
Yes, I'm alone. Tonight?
Sure. Listen, is your husband there?
Ah, no, not like that. I don't feel like making an effort.
Tearing up a lot of things. Papers, letters, photos.
Yes, those of Pedro too.
I'll tell you, yes. On Sunday.
You two alone? And you'll give me a tour in your car.
Yes, we'll talk. See you on Sunday, Mercedes.
- Will you tell Miguel that we met? - You'd prefer not, isn't it?
I don't know. You know Miguel better than I do.
Not better. I know a different Miguel.
But that always happens, in a relationship of friends.
My relation with Miguel isn't of friends, Jose.
- Are you in love? - Do you think so?
I wasn't saying, only asking.
I'd like to be able to say 'yes', but I don't know.
Do you know? Are you in love?
Sorry. - Sorry to you.
But I can't stand being asked questions like that.
Wish I could.
And when I ask them, it seems natural to ask.
Why does he disappear?
One day all is well, and Miguel is there almost…
turned into a child and I feel I need to protect him.
No, I don't care if it's a maternal instinct. I don't care.
In know it makes me happy. And Miguel too, surely.
And he disappears…
No, it's not that I call him and can't find him, nothing like that.
It's that I feel he disappears, he flees, he slips through my fingers.
Why? Why is this happening, Jose?
- Do you need him that much? - Yes, yes I need him.
He goes, and I still need him.
Why does this always happen?
- Do I make you have pity? - You make me jealous.
What I want to know is what that boy says.
- He is 14. - Right, he's 14, but what does he say?
He likes it.
He likes to sandpaper wood, to use the saw.
That's what I saw him doing since he was little for his father.
The other day he made a precious wooden boat.
I brought him to school.
He had to dedicate the drawing lesson to paining the boat.
Means, he likes to be a carpenter.
To make toy boats isn't being a carpenter.
- Was the boat pretty? - Yes, very pretty.
Leave it alone Jose, don't insist.
I'll convince his parents to let him continue his studies.
I don't mind you saying that my imagination is lacking.
Of course you'll convince them.
What more could the wish for… But what you're trying to do is…
- Why don't you finish? - Who cares?
What a hang-up, not to finish your sentences!
Your going to impose your will on that boy.
That boy has an intelligence beyond the normal.
Why don't you let him use it the way he likes?
That he does what he likes.
That's easy to say when one lives like you.
I live alone because I like to live like that.
And that has nothing to do with whether this boy will be a carpenter,
an electrician of a nuclear physicist.
But what does he like, do you know? What does he like.
And when he's 30, fixing doors, what will happen?
What do I know what will happen?
Might be he'll end up making wonderful doors.
You don't understand a thing, that boy has superior intelligence.
You think that behind all this there's a superior intelligence?
Listen Mercedes, could you live in a place like that?
No, not any more. I'd lie if I'd say the contrary.
Do you know that sometimes I rent a taxi and drive around places like this?
No, I didn't know. And what makes you do that?
- I don't know. - Perhaps to make you feel triumphant?
Look Jose, that's the child. - The one with the bike?
Not the one on the saddle, the other.
OK, wait for me. I won't be too long.
Looks like you won't make it like that, eh?
How to do it?
Well, if you let me take a ride, I'll show you.
- Well, OK. - Can you hold this for a while?
- That's not for me anymore. - But you did it very well.
Please don't address me that formally.
- OK, now you have to teach me. - Right, let's see.
First, put your hands firmly here, on the handlebars. That's it.
Now get up. Are you left handed? - Yes.
I mount on the other side.
Now take it easy with the pedals. Don't be afraid, you won't fall.
- That's it. - Did you teach many how to bike?
- Some. - And who taught you?
- A friend I had. - Did he have a bike?
- He did. - And you didn't?
No, but he let me use it many times.
- Hi, Guillermo. - Hi.
- How's your Sunday? - Nice.
And now you go alone.
If you won't stop being afraid, you won't learn.
It's that I can't reach the pedals too well.
Now try to get to the place where your friend is.
Without fear, eh? I'll be at your side.
Guillermo, did you see?
Why did you look at me like that?
Sorry.
Can you help me to dry my hair?
Keep your head still, eh?
- OK? - Very well.
You never learned to dry your hair by yourself.
No. I prefer to have it done by others.
- What do you feel? - Chicken skin in the back of my neck.
But it will be a long night. - Doesn't matter.
And in the ears? - In the ears, nothing.
I thought that women had very sensitive ears.
Yes, but for feeling, it's not enough to rub my head.
And if I brush your hair?
What do you need to feel something in your ears?
To be kissed, or to be caressed.
You don't know about that. - What do you know?
Could be I know instinctively.
- You think that's not possible? - Possible, what?
That I could instinctively feel what you're feeling.
I don't know, for me that would be difficult.
Those things are very particular to each person.
- Do you think it's different? - From what?
- From what I feel. - I don't know.
- Is it the same with all men? - Of course not.
Go on. Why don't you go on?
Try to hurry up. Like this we'll never finish.
Can you take it off?
At the start is pleasurable.
For a long time, I thought that was all.
- Pleasurable, how? - Warm, pleasurable.
It wasn't with Antonio, you know?
We already went out together, but we had a fight. It was with another.
I don't know what happened.
I heard someone shout and it took a while to realize that was me.
And with Antonio?
At first I was afraid that it wouldn't happen.
But yes, it did.
The warmth starts at one point and extends through the whole body,
and joins itself to the heartbeats.
As if the pleasure were in the heartbeats,
as if it came with them.
Suddenly, one day, it was as if it was all for the first time.
And that day you feel that your body doesn't belong to you.
There's nothing to compare.
…while the moon lashes them on the street corners of terror.
You looked for a naked body like a river.
Bull and dream that joins the seaweed to the wheel,
father of your agony, camellia of your death,
who would groan in the blaze of your hidden equator.
Because it's alright if a man doesn't look for his delight
in tomorrow morning's jungle of blood.
The sky has beaches where to avoid life
and there are bodies that shouldn't repeat themselves in the dawn.
Agony, agony, dream, ferment, and dream.
This is the world, my friend, agony, agony.
Bodies decompose beneath the city clocks,
war happens crying, followed by a million gray rats,
the rich give their mistresses small illuminated dying things,
and life is neither noble, nor good, nor sacred.
Man is able, if he wishes, to guide his desire
through a vein of coral or a heavenly naked body.
Tomorrow, loves will become stones,
and time a breeze that drowses in the branches.
That's why I don't raise my voice, old Walt Whitman,
against the little boy who writes the name of a girl on his pillow,
nor against the boy who dresses as a bride in the darkness of the wardrobe,
nor against the solitary men in casinos who drink…
prostitution's water with revulsion,
nor against the men with that green look in their eyes who love other men
and burn their lips in silence.
But yes against you, urban faggots,
tumescent flesh and unclean thoughts.
Mothers of mud. Harpies.
Sleepless enemies of the love that bestows crowns of joy.
Always against you,
who give boys drops of foul death with bitter poison.
Always against you,
Fairies of North America, clowns of Havana.
Queers of Mexico, gays of Cadiz,
pansies of Sevilla, fags of Madrid.
nellies of Alicante, nancy boys of Portugal.
Homos of all the world, killers of doves!
Slaves of women. Their bedroom bitches.
Open in plazas with fanlike fever,
or ambushed in stiff hemlock landscapes.
No quarter given!
Death spills from your eyes
and gathers gray flowers at the mire's edge.
No quarter given!
Attention! Let the confused, the pure, the classical,
the celebrated, the supplicants close you the doors of the bacchanal.
And you, lovely Walt Whitman, stay asleep on the Hudson's banks
with your beard toward the pole, openhanded.
Soft clay or snow, your tongue calls for comrades
to keep watch over your unbodied gazelle.
Sleep, nothing remains.