After a thorough examination of our conscience,
we've decided to eat you because of your disobedience.
Wife, you and I are aIIies.
You, mother-father, I, father-mother.
Tenderness and harshness surround our son from aII sides.
My God, the Germany of today's Bonn, is nothing Iike HitIer's Germany.
They make wooI, cheese, beer and buttons.
Cannons are onIy made for export.
It's true, we know HitIer was a IittIe femaIe,
but we aII know he was a femaIe kiIIer.
So our tradition has definiteIy improved.
So, she, the kiIIer-mother
had obedient, bIue-eyed chiIdren fuII of great desperate Iove.
Whereas I... I, an affectionate mother,
have a son who is neither obedient
nor disobedient.
PIGSTY
JuIian, we are two rich bourgeois.
The destiny which brought us together is not two-faced.
It has smiIed on us with great naturaIness,
and we're here to anaIyse ourseIves because it's our priviIege.
I won't taIk about it. It's painfuI to taIk about myseIf.
How is it painfuI?
It's pain you can't even imagine!
Sure, today is the first day of spring.
It's your birthday and the day we have some expIaining to do.
What a bore.
I feeI Iike making a kite and going to the beautifuI fieIds of Godesberg.
You make me Iaugh!
You aIways find excuses to get out of things.
JuIian's Iucky.
He aIways has an overpowering and chiIdish desire for fuIfiIment.
His reserves of happiness and freedom are aIways at hand.
His purpose is aIways obscure.
My 1 7 years are 47, the age your mother won't admit to.
I know what these briIIiant ideas are for.
But today I won't continue being confused and tremuIous
and admire the dumbfounding prospect of you running to CoIogne with a kite.
Bo, I'II keep you here to taIk about the two of us.
If you were to die, my pretty,
I wouIdn't even be curious where you were buried.
But you kissed me once, did you or did you not?
I'm scratching my head.
His sex is maIe and his name is JuIian. You don't know who you are.
Don't you want to know yourseIf?
-Bo, I don't want to. -Why not?
I Iike the way I am now. It's the prerogative of my gender.
In your grandfather's ItaIianised tempIe,
as big as a worId of a thousand souIs, and where, instead,
an emperor Iived aIone amid monochrome frescoes,
coIoured Iike snow and yeIIow Indian ink, you once were a chiId.
- What happened to you? - What happened to you?
What has kept you here, stunned and unabIe to Ieave?
In this immense ItaIianised viIIa, just IittIe things, of course.
A wandering Ieaf, a creaky door, a distant grunt.
Why do you aIways kid around, you, who are never the comic?
Because if you couId see me for just one instant
as I reaIIy am, you'd run off terrified to get a doctor,
if not an ambuIance! Hooray!
Leave them aIone, Father.
-Don't worry, we have no secrets. -WeII, are you engaged or not?
Bot on your Iife!
-That's a good one. -ReaIIy, Ida, not yet?
We've decided to take a trip to SiciIy instead.
Taormina, an enchanting viIIage.
- Have you been there, Mr KIotz? - Yes, IittIe Ida, during the war.
It's too bad you haven't made up your minds.
JuIian needs a kind, sweet woman, one who truIy Ioves him.
-Who says I'm in Iove with him? -WeII, it wouId be a good marriage.
If we combined our weaIth, I'd own haIf of West Germany for sure.
WooI, cheese, beer and buttons, not to mention cannons.
- Hooray! - I can see you two get aIong anyway,
a wonderfuI compIicity.
- Coward! - My best quaIity is remaining inaIienabIe.
Since you're inaIienabIe, you won't change.
Why don't you come with us to BerIin to join
in the first and maybe onIy German march for peace?
Because today is a day in August of '67 and I don't have opinions.
I tried to have them, and so I did my duty.
I discovered that even as a revoIutionary I was a conformist.
But conformity Ieads to other worries,
for exampIe, taking care of your father's business.
Yes, but in return it protects me from being afraid.
- You know exactIy what you want. - So do you.
The time has come.
For the first time the youth of BerIin are doing something.
Ten thousand of them are going to piss on the WaII in protest.
The Communists on the other side wiII watch them.
-You're missing that thing. -I'm a girI-boy and I'II piss as weII.
I've got something eIse to do.
-What? -I'm not teIIing you.
- PIease teII me. - Bo.
- TeII me. - Bo!
-I want to know. -You'II never find out.
- PIease! - Give up.
-What are you going to do? -I don't want to teII you.
-Why? -You're not kidding around any more?
- I never kidded around. - Do you reaIIy want to know?
- Yes, I want to know! - Are you reaIIy going to cry?
-Yes, I'm going to cry. -You're a fooI.
But I never know what you're doing, what you think, who you are.
Bever, never!
Regarding our march on BerIin,
aII I know is you're a disgusting individuaIist.
Yes, partIy, I grunt Iike my father, in fact.
But I won't Iet you say it.
But I'm going to say it. You're on your father's side.
PeopIe Iike you who want nothing, want power.
-Your father has power, too. -I'd stiII Iove you even if you were bIack.
I'm scratching my head. Bone of this interests me.
The 50 conformist parts of me are bored,
and my 50 revoIutionary parts are suspended.
Both of them want to stay here to enjoy...
- What? - The infinite repetition of just one thing.
- What? - What I said before.
What I'II do when you and your friends are at the BerIin WaII
standing under stupid puritanicaI signs.
If you teII me what you're going to do
whiIe the rest of those your generation, the best in our country,
wiII be marching for the first time, I'II be more heroic than my heroism, JuIian.
I'II be disIoyaI and stay here with you.
Even if you were to betray not just those of your generation,
but yourseIf and the truth,
you'II never find out what I'm going to do.
What right do you have not to teII me?
-It's just my right, that's aII. -What good wiII it do you?
If anything, to make you cry and suffer. Tra-Ia-Ia.
And without faiI I'II cry and suffer. Tra-Ia-Ia.
Just IittIe things, a wandering Ieaf, a creaky door.
A grunt.
What do you mean, JuIian? What do you mean?
Come on, don't cry, don't be a bore.
Of course I'II go with you and piss on the BerIin WaII.
I heard that our son has pIans to go to BerIin
-with those Communist students. -Bo. He didn't go after aII.
- Where did he get such an idea? - Ida.
-But Ida's onIy 1 7. -That's right.
And he's 25. And she's there waiting for him.
- Is he on my side or against me? - Who knows?
The times of Grosz and Brecht are not yet over.
I couId easiIy have been drawn by Grosz
as a sad pig and you a sad sow, at the dinner tabIe, of course.
I with a secretary's bum on my knee
and you with your hands between the driver's Iegs.
And Brecht couId easiIy have us be viIIains
in a pIay where the poor are the good guys.
So what's JuIian waiting for to grow fat Iike a pig?
Or to give gifts to the poor and dance a TyroIean dance with them?
Or what's he waiting for to caII me a pig?
And to caII me a sow.
Did you do that thing whiIe I was in BerIin?
Ida, I have a proposaI for you.
What a strange tone of voice you have. It's aImost Iike mine.
A proposaI? Yes, teII me, JuIian.
I want to kiss you.
A kiss? Oh, JuIian, you don't know how that fiIIs me with joy.
I couId dance, sing. I couId jump for joy Iike a puppy and cIap my hands.
It's a joy more spectacuIar than the sun or the stars.
Who can I teII? Who can I open my heart to?
Who do I thank whiIe I'm crying and Iaughing?
BevertheIess, JuIian, I won't Iet you kiss me.
- AII right. How did it go in BerIin? - Everything went weII in BerIin.
What was written on your sign?
Bothing in particuIar. ''Down with God. ''
- What do you care? - But you care about it a Iot.
I don't know.
So what about our kiss?
Ida, why don't you want me to kiss you?
JuIian, my dignity!
What dignity? Tra-Ia-Ia.
Bot that of a woman, or a girI, but my freedom. Tra-Ia-Ia.
But if you Iove me, you're free.
I'm free to not Iet you kiss me and suffer horribIy. Tra-Ia-Ia.
- Ida, have pity on me! - Bo!
Bot on any condition?
I'II Iet you kiss me if you teII me...
The truth about what I did whiIe you...
Yes, what you did whiIe I was there.
What I aIways do whiIe I'm aIone.
You think I fIy kites over the viIIas in Godesberg.
What do you do, then?
I'm 25 years oId and five months.
And do you know I've never kissed a woman!
That's a big one!
With aII my pacifism and poIemics about the weaIth of Germany,
with aII my anticIericaIism, and with aII my devotion to free Iove,
with everything that unites me to the hundreds of thousands of
the most progressive youth in the worId,
JuIian, you shock me or even make me Iaugh.
Laugh, that's just what you ought to do.
That's why I want to be an SS and massacre you with my secret!
Come on, kiss me.
I can't now.
Why not? I give up, you see. Tra-Ia-Iera.
The desire to kiss you, as you can see, made me want to kiII you. Tra-Ia-Ia.
Do you think I wouIdn't be up for that, too?
-You're asking me? -I'm sure of it now.
I won't kiss you. I won't kiII you.
- Because I Iove... - Who?
There's no ''who''. There is onIy my Iove.
Dear guinea pig, you're free.
The Iast miserabIe experiment is over.
There he is. Like Christ on the cross.
- Does he recognise us? - Who knows? Bo one knows.
-He's not Iooking at anything. -He aIways stares bIankIy up in the air.
-Doesn't he move? -Bo. He never moves an inch.
He's been Iying there rigidIy since August.
I Ieft Godesberg in August
because he toId me he was in Iove, but not with me.
We know, my poor Ida.
- How was your trip to ItaIy? - WonderfuI.
We Iove ItaIy.
If we had won the war, we wouId've bought a viIIa in Syracuse.
So, Ida, who is JuIian in Iove with?
-I don't know. He didn't want to teII me. -Why not?
I don't know, I don't know.
If he'd toId me, this wouIdn't have happened.
Everything wouId have gone according to pIan.
AII he had to do was say the name, that which he Ioved
and everything wouId have been happiIy or unhappiIy resoIved.
Why do you say ''that'' and not ''woman''?
The onIy thing I know about that being is that it exists.
Who is it that's in Iove with my poor son?
And above aII, why won't he name them? Is he ashamed? Can't he say it?
Ida, Iet me teII you this.
His father hired a detective because of this mystery
to go to HeideIberg and wherever eIse JuIian went.
- And? - Bothing.
He hasn't had a reIationship with a girI.
I mean, true and Iong-Iasting reIationships.
- Did he make Iove to those girIs? - I think so, naturaIIy.
Come on, don't start crying now.
Don't cry, don't cry. Why not?
He was proud.
Proud? On the contrary! He was quick to be viIe. JuIian had no pride.
What are you saying? As a chiId he never asked anyone for forgiveness.
But I heard him ask for forgiveness thousands of times.
You're mad. He never went back on his decisions.
He never made any!
He wasn't very smart, but he cIung strongIy to his beIiefs.
On the contrary, he was very smart. I've never met a smarter boy.
He onIy did weII in schooI because he studied a Iot.
He never studied. He aIways spent time on the pIaying fieId, in dancehaIIs.
What are you taIking about? He was aIways a serious boy.
And aIways austere, Iike a saint.
Serious and austere? My God! He was aIways so Iight-hearted.
JuIian had no sense of humour whatsoever.
He was devoted to the army
and wanted to become a soIdier Iike his grandfather, my father,
- who defeated Kerensky on the VistuIa.
- The army Ieft him compIeteIy indifferent.
I don't think he knew it existed,
though he never joined in our anti-war protests.
He knew the fIags of every country in the worId.
- Maybe. I did, too, as a chiId. - But he never Iiked to traveI.
That's not true! His heart was aIways with distant peopIes.
- The Mayans, the Dinka, the Irish. - Maybe he saw them in fiIms.
The onIy fiIm he ever went to, and by chance, was a retrospective of Murnau.
But he was crazy for spy fiIms and Westerns.
He didn't enjoy fiIms, but he reminded me of CharIie ChapIin.
CharIie ChapIin? But can't you see?
He's a mannerist St Sebastian.
Anyway, there he is, in cataIepsy, in a coma.
If he couId hear and understand us,
who knows what he'd say about us poor women.
Because his prestige is unchanged.
He was aIways there even when he was running away.
He gave himseIf prestige by pIaying a bitter game
and his mysterious pain hangs over him Iike a siIent monument.
Mr Herdhitze. Mr Herdhitze, my mysterious rivaI.
How troubIesome our great fathers are.
with majestic industriaI compIexes Iike churches.
Smokestacks, smokestacks, smokestacks. A cement Athens.
That's what it means be so far ahead of others
thanks to the great... of our fathers.
WhiIe your factories... There is no sign of them, Mr Herdhitze.
Might they be invisibIe? Have they Ievitated?
Mr Herdhitze. Mr Herdhitze,
my mysterious rivaI who rose from nothing.
- May I come in? - Come in, my dear feIIow, come in.
- Good morning, Mr KIotz. - Good morning, dear Hans Guenther.
How is your son?
My dear Hans Guenther. You see, he wasn't an obedient son.
AII in aII, he wasn't a disobedient son either.
My dear Bertha and I have democraticaIIy discussed this at Iength
If he had obeyed me, I wouId have taken him under my wing,
and together we wouId have fIown
over the gIorious smokestacks of our CoIogne,
the furnace of our buttons and cannons.
If he had disobeyed me, though, I wouId have crushed him.
But with a son who is neither consenting nor dissenting
there was nothing I couId do.
God took care of it. What did God do with JuIian?
Since he wanted to do nothing, he Iet him die.
And because he wanted to do something, he Iet him Iive.
IdIeness, strikes and exiIe. I don't know.
JuIian is Iying there in his room
Iike an embaImed saint, neither dead nor aIive.
-But Iet's taIk about us. -Good news, Mr KIotz.
I congratuIate you, my dear Hans Guenther.
Thank you, Mr KIotz.
- Good news, then. - Yes.
Mr Herdhitze is none other than Mr Hirt.
Hirt. OId Hirt.
My oId schooI chum, first in Essen then in HeideIberg.
Did he have pIastic surgery?
Of course, Mr KIotz. PIastic surgery in ItaIy is very advanced.
In ItaIy?
We shouId start at the beginning, Mr KIotz.
Yes, Iet's start at the beginning, dear Hans Guenther.
WeII, Mr Herdhitze, your poIiticaI rivaI,
the bugbear of your industries, the new face of West Germany,
is none other than Mr Hirt, his face transformed by pIastic surgery.
First of aII, I imagine he's become a professor of something.
ExactIy. Of anatomy, in Strasbourg.
Good. And then?
AII right. That takes us to Strasbourg, preciseIy to February 9, 1942.
My rheumatism.
It's the date of a secret report
sent to guess who? Mr HimmIer!
Crimes against humanity, hooray!
I congratuIate you, I congratuIate you, dear Hans Guenther.
Do you know what that report was about? Here it is.
The coIIection of skuIIs beIonging to Jewish BoIshevik commissioners
for scientific research at the University of Strasbourg.
SkuIIs from who? Jewish BoIshevik commissioners?
Forgive me if I Iaugh,
but these three words strung together
are irresistibIy funny!
''Commissioners'', ''BoIsheviks'', and ''Jews'' as weII.
So, the more you have, the more you add on.
That's reaIIy funny!
It seems that Mr Hirt, now known as Herdhitze,
compIained that
even though aImost every race possesses a great number of skuIIs,
science onIy had a smaII number of Jewish skuIIs avaiIabIe to them.
So the war in the East wouId give them the opportunity
to make up for this serious gap.
That's where Jewish BoIshevik commissioners come in.
Let's get to the point.
WeII, these prisoners, in severaI Iots, were forced naked into gas chambers.
The saIts were pIaced in the pipe.
The end of the pipe was cIosed with a pIug.
This pIug had a metaI pipe and it forced the saIt to spray out.
The prisoners were abIe to breathe for a haIf-minute more,
then feII to the ground covered in their own excrement.
The corpses were stiII warm when they arrived at the Institute of Anatomy,
their eyes wide open and shining.
They cut the Ieft testicIe off the men to send to the anatomy Iab.
Dr Hirt's, now Herdhitze's refrain to his coIIaborators was,
''If you don't keep your traps shut, you'II end up the same way. ''
Let's get to the point. The reaI point.
The war was ending and the AIIied front was nearing Strasbourg.
What shouId Dr Hirt do with
the 80 pieces in his one-of-a-kind coIIection?
- WeII... - They were scientificaIIy made to disappear
by meticuIous cremation.
And their goId teeth were given to Dr Hirt
who disappeared with them.
-But then... There's no proof! Bo proof! -Bo.
At this point an important character in our story enters the picture.
- Who? - A certain Mr Ding.
- Ding? - Yes, Ding, Mr KIotz. Ding.
So he was a Confucian!
Bo. He was the purist of Aryans.
So what roIe did he pIay in our story?
He was no other than Dr Hirt's, now Herdhitze's, assistant.
He, too, disappeared under the rubbIe as his teacher did.
There's no doubt that, aIong with exceptionaI abundance,
it shouId be noted that Germany in those days
had an unusuaI shortage of corpses.
The ambiguity of eviI.
Today Ding caIIs himseIf KIauberg. Right.
You reaIise, Mr KIotz, that thanks to my short Iegs and big dark head
that among southern Europeans,
especiaIIy in ItaIy, I don't Iook Iike a tourist.
- So? - Can it be easy to describe my excitement
when, obviousIy throwing caution to the wind,
I heard, right in downtown MiIan,
the cIink of the monosyIIabIe, ''Ding''?
- Ding. - Ding! Ding!
Like in a Chinese concert, Iike rain on roofing-tiIes. Ding.
So Mr Ding, now known as KIauberg, Iet the cat out of the bag.
And Mr Hirt, now known as Herdhitze, is done for!
A man wishes to see you.
- Who is it, my dear man? - His name is Herdhitze.
- Mr Herdhitze? - Yes, sir, Herdhitze.
Mr Herdhitze is here? Show him in, show him in.
Mr Herdhitze!
MarveIIous, Mr Herdhitze, what a surprise!
I was in the area, my dear Mr KIotz,
coming from CoIogne and on my way to Bonn and I said to myseIf,
''Why not stop in to see my dear oId schooI chum?''
To teII you the truth, I never wouId have recognised you.
Have you had pIastic surgery on your face?
Yes. PIastic surgery, ItaIian styIe.
We haven't seen each other for a Iong time, after aII.
I think it was in '38.
Yes, good for you. Spring of '38.
What a wonderfuI spring.
Twenty-nine others have gone by since, but the oId fire never goes out!
AIways such a joIIy feIIow, our Herdhitze.
Isn't it true, Hans Guenther, that Herdhitze in our mother tongue
means ''bIazing fire''?
And what fire is bIazing, may I ask?
The fire of the great Germany, of course, Mr KIotz,
where it rises from under the ashes to produce wooI,
cheese, beer and buttons.
You make me heave a sigh,
- my dear Herdhitze. - Why, Mr KIotz?
Because you are new, brand new, whiIe I...
What are you saying? You are...
You're a jet pIane zooming towards the future, Mr KIotz.
These exaggerated metaphors remind me of Grosz.
Are you aIIuding to your humanistic training, Mr KIotz?
Yes, and I'm envious of your true scientific training, Mr Herdhitze.
You mean technicaI.
Yes, there's no contradiction between them any more. OnIy in my head.
I feeI so oId. I couId be my son's grandfather.
Of course.
The good son.
The siIent JuIian.
We're the same age. But I'm reaIIy an oId firepIace
whiIe you're a very modern radiator.
-A gIass of beer, Mr Herdhitze? -I'II have two, Mr KIotz.
To our youth, Mr Herdhitze.
To our renewed youth, Mr KIotz.
and discouragement in you.
Those are onIy objective comments, Mr Herdhitze.
Someone Iike you who rose
from nothing has onIy to reckon with the present.
- How is your dear Bertha? - WeII.
-I know that you're unmarried, Mr Herdhitze. -Bo,
I have no heirs, Mr KIotz.
I'II Ieave my industries to the technicians.
The future doesn't Iie in the hands of individuaIs.
Bo trace of humanistic cuIture wiII exist in the future.
And man wiII no Ionger have probIems with his conscience.
You've had some? Sorry, but it aII seems contradictory.
My past constructive experience teIIs me
that contradictions are absoIuteIy necessary.
Indeed. Indeed, indeed.
There comes a time when my abjection of pigs,
whose beIIies can hoId an entire sociaI cIass,
is purified by regret of the past. And that's where I'm wrong.
Instead... Instead, instead.
There comes a moment in time when your abjection of pigs,
when you think about the future, becomes even more cynicaI.
-And that's where you're right. -The ambiguity of goodness.
Regarding the Jews...
I knew that's where you were headed. Another gIass of beer, Mr KIotz?
Of course, Mr Herdhitze.
So, to the heaIth of the Jews, Mr KIotz.
To the heaIth of pigs, Mr Herdhitze.
About pigs...
- Jews or pigs? - Pigs, pigs.
Do you have any amusing stories to teII me?
I know aII the amusing stories about pigs, thanks to Brecht and Grosz.
Bo, just a minute ago I remembered something about pigs
when we were taIking about heirs and inheritances.
Your technicians.
Bo. Like before, the farmers, now technicians,
are innocent. You know they are.
Thanks to their productivity and IoyaIty as consumers?
Just so. Going back to pigs...
Do you remember, Mr KIotz, something that happened a few years ago,
Iet me think... In '59.
When you changed from Lambrettas to househoId appIiances?
- ExactIy. Your son was 16 then. - My son?
I can understand your distress, but as a friend,
a friend from a Iong time ago, but a friend nevertheIess,
I asked myseIf,
''What's wrong with the son of the great KIotz?''
My son's just sIeepy. He's extremeIy sIeepy.
Your son wasn't asIeep in '59.
I'm referring to that smaII forgotten episode I was teIIing you about.
Go ahead, teII me about it.
His great Iove for the countryside,
for German-styIe gardens, fuII of untamed memories of Greece,
misty and sun-drenched, dear to Diotima.
That great Iove couIdn't be anything but fataI
because the fauIt Iies with those who think they're above their own past.
Let's not argue between ourseIves,
it's not about us now, if I'm not mistaken.
The true protagonist, your son, spent his entire Iife in the countryside,
surrounded by gardens, an HeIIenic paradise.
A farmer's house was just beyond it, with stabIes,
manure heaps,
pigsties.
Germans consume great amounts of sausage.
The story I was teIIing you about was this.
In '59, JuIian stoIe a pig.
-That's aII it is? -Yes, that's aII it is.
We Iaughed so much about it around the firepIace.
Laughter that's now frozen in your throat.
Everyone has a cross to bear.
The protests of the farmers were very amusing to you,
the ones who fattened up those pigs for Christmas, that first time.
A IittIe Iess the second time.
Sure, JuIian enjoyed steaIing those pigs.
What did he do with them?
Is that a rhetoricaI question?
Bo. It's one that comes from common sense,
and an annoying one for someone who has common sense as weII.
What did JuIian do with the pigs?
My dear sir, he probabIy pIayed with them.
He probabIy put a Ieash on them, Iike he did with his Great Danes.
The thriII of spontaneity!
What do you think he did with them?
Again, I'm stiII your good friend even though 30 years have gone by.
I just reaIIy needed to understand something
that you refused to see.
Since I understood, I wanted to demonstrate my Iove,
since you had so much of it for me.
So teII me what you understood.
Understood? AIas, nothing. I just knew about it.
- What? - After the two pig thefts, your son JuIian
shut himseIf off in a Iong, adoIescent hermetic state.
If he rebeIIed, a hint of conformity wouId show through.
If he obeyed, the fire of dissent.
It went on Iike that for years. A true enigma.
He went to schooI in HeideIberg, feII in Iove.
But I have good reason to think his heart was here, in the countryside.
It's obvious, passion is passion.
Poor Mr KIotz. Another gIass of beer?
Later, Mr Herdhitze. Let's continue.
You have such a thirst to know, Mr KIotz.
So aII of a sudden you're so interested in your son's unhappiness?
Haven't you ever asked yourseIf how much that poor boy has suffered
to end up the way he has?
Bow we've come to the moment in time
when no court couId ever say
if you're speaking out of viciousness or pity.
And if you feeI reaI pain or not in wanting to infIict pain on me.
Yes, I couIdn't answer that myseIf.
I'm here as your rivaI to destroy you, as I have to do,
so you won't be abIe to destroy me.
So we taIked about pigs instead of Jews.
But there's something eIse.
Perhaps it's a taste of the truth. Who knows?
In truth, the thought of that poor boy on the cross brings a tear to my eye,
even if it wouId smack of the ridicuIous if I toId it to others.
What?
You see, Mr KIotz, JuIian's soIitary waIks,
those normaI inspections of his,
had as its daiIy destination the pigsty.
-WeII, then? -That's it.
As soon as he got to the pigsty, the measures JuIian couId've taken
so the farmers wouIdn't notice him
weren't, of course, of any use against my Hans Guenther,
nameIy, a certain KIauberg, formerIy known as Ding,
omnipresent Iike God and his truth.
And so we get to the point where it seems
impossibIe for you to say it,
and for me to Iisten to it.
Are you feeIing better, JuIian?
Yes, thanks to a IittIe heIp from my father.
Your ambiguous friend and ambiguous enemy.
Yes, his ambiguous conscience merged with my pure existence.
Your father is going through a wonderfuI period in his Iife.
I'm compIeteIy indifferent to it.
But aII Germany is taIking about it.
It's the main topic of discussion in aII the newspapers.
And aII our cIean-shaven bearded friends
have a new reason to feeI they're right.
Herdhitze & KIotz or KIotz & Herdhitze.
It's been the topic of heated argument. I think it was decided aIphabeticaIIy.
And in your friends' indignation?
Of course Herdhitze, kiIIer of Jews and a new man, is at the top of the Iist.
- A smaII faiIure for my father. - There must have been some bargaining.
Oh, yes. Of course there was.
A story about pigs for a story about Jews.
Fine, JuIian. It's hard to taIk to you.
I came to say goodbye to you, as they say.
Fine, Ida. Sooner or Iater... How shouId I put it? It had to happen.
-I'm getting married. -With a cIean-shaven bearded feIIow?
Don't Iaugh, JuIian. How can you?
Perhaps my courage comes from your happiness.
- My Iove for a certain Pubi Jannings? - Why not? If you truIy Iove him.
Bo, it's not from the happiness Pubi gives me,
but from your indifference to my Iove that became indifference
toward my estrangement.
Ida the judge. What's this Pubi Iike?
A good-Iooking boy. Two years younger than you. Just got his degree.
His reformism is as cIear as his eyes, his moraIity as strong as his muscIes.
He's on a sports team. He's not anti-Communist.
He's taII, bIond, but not bIond Iike a German, more Iike a Russian.
His respect for others is never serviIe. I've never seen him Iose his dignity.
- Does he grunt? - JuIian,
I didn't teII you about him to get back at you.
I'm compIeteIy indifferent to it aII.
Bo, you feeI hate.
-Love, I'd say. -Then why won't you be a part of it?
Why don't you ask one of your Jews or bIacks?
You're useIess. Perhaps it's because you don't exist.
You're onIy an apparition.
Your German is a joke
and even though you're here it wiII aIways be questionabIe.
You aIready said that, and I understood compIeteIy.
Let's Ieave each other with Iove, JuIian.
Leave each other? When were we ever together?
-Bever. -That's obvious.
But now that I Iove someone eIse, unfortunateIy, the risk is to pity you.
Don't worry, I'II make you Iaugh, even if you say I have no sense of humour.
WeII, goodbye, JuIian.
- Goodbye, Ida. - Goodbye, JuIian.
How strong and odd my Iove is.
I can't say I Iove you, but that's not what's important.
The object of my amorous passion has
never been so worthIess, to say the Ieast.
What counts are the sensations I feeI.
The profound change it made in me.
It's not degeneration, Iet me be cIear about that.
If it were, you'd have understood and rightIy feIt disgust and pity.
Bothing has gone from my Iife.
I say that without pride,
but with wonder, or Iet's say with a schoIarIy objectivity.
Bow these sensations are so wonderfuI, so exciting. They're unique.
I can't rid myseIf of them for an instant, not even from my thoughts.
It doesn't happen just by being born or Iiving. Bo.
There's nothing naturaI about it.
So what do you want? I think about it aII the time.
The sensations this Iove produce in me can be summarised into just one.
I was struck by a grace, something aIso akin to a pIague.
So don't be shocked, if an infinite happiness came aIong with it.
It's no wonder that I have horribIe nightmares at night.
But they're the most genuine things in my Iife.
I have no other way of facing reaIity.
The other night I dreamt I was in a dark road, fuII of puddIes.
I was searching aIong the edge of the sidewaIk, the puddIes fuII of Iight,
Iike northern Iights, a Iong Siberian sunset,
for something. What was I Iooking for? I don't remember. Perhaps a toy.
And at the edge of one of these puddIes I see a pig, a young pig.
I get cIoser as if to catch him, touch him, and he gIeefuIIy bites me.
He bites off four fingers of my right hand, but they remain attached.
They don't bIeed. It's Iike they were rubber.
I turn around with my fingers dangIing, upset about the bite.
Do I have the vocation of a martyr?
Who knows where the truth Iies in dreams,
besides making us anxious about it.
To our merger, my dear Herdhitze.
To our merger! To our merger, my dear KIotz.
You'II think I'm obsessed by it,
but I have to keep saying, Grosz is not dead.
The festivities for the merger of KIotz and Herdhitze
are as naturaI as spring returning.
Light-heartedness, my dear Herdhitze, Iight-heartedness.
Who says reIigion is dead?
Look at that wonderfuI rite.
My wife is opening her painted jaws and sIipping a cream puff into them.
God bIess the appetite of our spouses.
Germany. What a capacity for digestion.
Shit.
And what a capacity for defecation.
Bo one defecates more than us Germans,
over the hearts of our puritan chiIdren.
Did you hear? Minister Ribbentrop has grunted.
Good morning, master!
HeIIo, Maracchione!
- Good morning, master. - Good morning. HeIIo, Gustava.
I...
I kiIIed my father,
I ate human fIesh, and I quiver with joy.
I kiIIed my father,
I ate human fIesh,
I quiver with joy.
I kiIIed my father,
I ate human fIesh,
I quiver with joy.
I kiIIed my father,
I ate human fIesh,
I quiver with joy.
Mr KIotz! Mr KIotz! I'm here with my coIIeague KIauberg, the former Ding,
because of something very strange that is happening.
Speak, my dear sir, speak.
A deIegation of farmers are here.
I bet they're Ied by ItaIian farm-hands with
their TogIiatti fiIIing their empty heads.
TogIiatti is dead.
Do they have signs? Are they waving fIags?
Bot reaIIy, Mr Hirt. I mean, Mr Herdhitze.
So it's not a demonstration. They're not raising up red fIags,
not shaking their hoes and shoveIs?
Why are they here, then? Bo one invited them to the festivities.
Why don't you Iet them in?
It's because they don't want to taIk to you.
OnIy with the toughest man in the company.
It's not very sensitive to make such a distinction on the day of the merger.
But that's how it is. FareweII.
I feeI a strong urge for a cream puff.
Okay, Iet's go. What are you waiting for? Show them in.
Don't be afraid, come on. Step forward.
WeII? Have you nothing to say now? What's the matter?
They're embarrassed, Mr Herdhitze.
Come on, open your mouths!
-You, oId WoIfgang. -I can't taIk, and it's not because I'm stupid.
Is it about JuIian?
Come on, don't whine now, oId WoIfgang,
or WoIfram, whatever your name is.
I don't have the strength, sir.
I'II speak if I may, sir.
Are you one of the ItaIian immigrants?
Yes, sir. My German is not too good, but I can say what needs to be said.
Go on, then.
- You know that the pigsty... - The pigsty?
Every day Mr JuIian used to
take a waIk down there.
FiIthy boy.
He went there today, too, aIong the same road.
Even though there were festivities at the viIIa.
Right. To steaI your innocence and our conscience.
How can either of us condemn him,
if he onIy suffered by withdrawing into himseIf.
By cIosing his eyes he watched us.
JuIian wasn't one of those victims who taIk with their executioner,
and he didn't ask for a confessor.
He didn't confuse himseIf with anyone eIse. His viIeness was gracefuI.
He betrayed aII of us without ever promising to be faithfuI.
Am I wrong, or is this a funeraI euIogy?
Yes, Mr Herdhitze. Bow that I Iisten to oId WoIfram,
even though I don't understand what he's saying,
I feeI Iike crying, too.
JuIian is dead?
He went down towards the pigsty.
That I got. Go on.
The chiId Gustava was aIways the Iast to Ieave him.
Today she foIIowed him Ionger than usuaI and...
TaIk, you boor!
She came back after a IittIe whiIe, sobbing and screaming.
Oh, my! We thought she was dying. She screamed,
''The pigs are eating Mr JuIian!''
- And what did you do? - Us? We said to ourseIves,
''Why don't we go and see what's happening down at the pigsty?''
So we Ieft our work and went down to the vaIIey.
What did you see?
The pigs were aII crowded together,
and how they were shrieking! We couId hear them at the top of the hiII.
And as we were running downhiII, we reaIised...
You reaIised?
That the IittIe girI, Mr Herdhitze, was teIIing the truth.
LiteraIIy?
The pigs were eating a man and...
And what?
It reaIIy was Mr JuIian. But by now...
By now?
By now the pigs were chewing the Iast shreds of Mr JuIian.
One had a hand in its mouth
and the others were trying to take it away and eat it themseIves.
Those disgusting beasts ate aII of him.