All language subtitles for ravens.end.1963.1080p.bluray.x264-usury_track3_eng

Raven's End (1963)

was digitally restored by
The Swedish Film Institute in 2018.

Starting materials

Video: 35 mm original negatives
& 35 mm duplicate negatives

Audio: 35 mm optic sound-track negative

RAVEN'S END
A Bo Widerberg Film

Run! Run!

... to ruthlessly take action
against the Jews in Germany!

I never thought he was rotten.

That's how much booze we get.

- May I help?
- Sorry?

May I help you?

Sure.

- No more.
- Can't handle any more?

- Go ahead.
- They're so big.

Well, they're supposed to be big.

That's too many!

Good thing
summer made its mind up at last.

Well, the bright light really shows up
what a mess there is.

I heard a lark sing yesterday.

Wonder what the woods are like now?

Know what I'd love to do?

Take the bus to Beech Wood
and have a nap outdoors.

What a treat to rest during the day.

It would be nice
to get away from all this.

- Good morning!
- Crikey.

No mail?

No.

- Hurry up with those jerseys, Mum.
- I had to darn a hole on one.

- What are they marching for this year?
- Same old empty slogans.

They're all so upstanding on May Day,

but by tomorrow they'll be hung over.

Nothing about Spain.

What about Spain?

They're fighting. Civil war.

What about our Christmas oranges?

No one demonstrating
for better laundry facilities?

Every time I see protesters I ask them:

"Were you there back in 1909,
during the Great Strike?"

There's no point in making a fuss.

Better to simply wait and see
how things improve.

They had to give in, didn't they?

They held out for quite some time.

Thanks to their women.

They were left to explain
why there was no food.

Your grandfather was one of the toughest.

But they licked him in the end.

- I'd better be getting back.
- Give the others our best.

Goodbye.

That wasn't very nice of you.

I can't stand the woman.

She was good to you when you were a boy.

You often sat on her lap.

Too bad I didn't bite off her nose.

Where's Dad?

He might have work at Tuvesson's.

- Doing what?
- Something to do with advertising.

Those flyers they put in the mail?

I expect he needed money to pay a deposit.

According to the stars,
this is a good week for business.

Maybe this time will be the charm.

Will you be changing clubs?

They're going on about team spirit.

"Team spirit," what the blazes is that?

You just kick that old ball.

"Team spirit"
won't pay for any cinema tickets.

And working is a beast.

Remember when I worked at the yard?

I was completely knackered!
I couldn't play.

Want to join us and go out dancing?

You won't be writing tonight, will you?

Out at the park?

It's getting nice and warm out.

I bet the ladies won't be wearing
any blasted girdles.

Twenty years ago,
I would have put it away.

Just boot it right in!

No, I'd boot it right in.

Bang! A goal.

Just like that.

- Hello, Mum.
- Hello.

What's for dinner?

Diced bacon and green salad.

It doesn't matter what you say,
he should have gone for a goal.

- Oh, is Dad with you?
- He was at the game.

What about your flyers?

Done. What's for dinner?

All of them? Really?

I expect to be believed.

All right, we'll drop the subject.
It's diced bacon and salad for dinner.

Hear that, Anders?

"Pork noisette jardinière."

What was that?

"Pork noisette jardinière."

Whatever you call it,
it's the same old tired sow.

Yes, that's true. Very true.

But "pork noisette jardinière"
makes it taste better.

At least to me.

Where's my serviette, Anna?

It needed washing.

There are clean ones in the cupboard.

That's all right.

You've been on your feet all day.

Nilsson, Statt, the Railway hotel
in Kristianstad.

Which would you like?

The Railway Hotel in Kristianstad? No.

May Day calls for something more festive.

How about Grand?

I had a seafood crepe there once.

Sorry, that's been reduced to a rag.

Was it really that long ago?

Then let's have Mollberg.

I'm a stickler for a serviette.

It distinguishes man from beast.

Both feed off dead flesh,
but man wipes his mouth afterwards.

This is the finest tree in the world.

But if you want to put pretty lilacs
in a vase,

this one is fit for the muck heap,
it's no good.

You need to dig a pit around it,

and put 200 liters of blood
in there for the tree.

Then you'd see some mighty fine lilacs!

♪ Oh come, my dear to me ♪

♪ My love will set you free ♪

Yes, indeedy.

Are you asleep?

It is a holiday, after all.

It's my gut, you know it bothers me.

I have a bloody gasworks.

You don't need to fall asleep though.

We could go see the fireworks
over at the park tonight.

Fireworks?

Nothing but an illusion.

Hi.

Hi.

Know who's playing tonight?

Olle Karlsson's band.

Well, too bad I can't go.

I have to get some writing done.

Not work, not on May Day.

Doesn't matter if it's Christmas,
as long as it's quiet here.

Your dad wouldn't like me lumping
Christmas and May Day together.

I barely remember him, though it's only
been two years since he died.

I remember him.

If he'd had a bit more schooling
we might all be better off.

What do you mean?

He could barely pay the rent.

I heard him speak one Saturday,
over at the square.

The Nazis had been demonstrating.

He was standing on the counter
of a vegetable stall. Carrots all around,

and the police took him away.

Yes.

My mother told me about that.

Have you tried the escalator
over at the EPA department store?

What do you write about?

Isn't anyone allowed to read it?

No.

Yes, of course.

As many as possible.

After it's published.
If anyone will publish it.

Then I won't disturb you.

You've missed out on some words.

Bye.

That poor coat!

What's the point in pressing it?

What's this?

- What's this?
- What?

It's the flyer.

Didn't I show you what it looked like?

There are hundreds.

Some were left over.

Let me sleep.

My stomach.

I need to rest after eating.

The second pocket is full too.

For goodness sakes.

Look at all these!

Listen to me!

Here.

I figured I'd split it up,

take the rest after the game.

I wanted to see Sixten play.

He's practically part of the family.

- Karlbom gave us a swig for every goal.
- The score was 5-1.

Hardly my fault that they were in form.

I'll do it tomorrow.

How many walk-ups are left?

There's enough time tomorrow.
Let me sleep, it'll be fine.

- How many are left?
- I don't remember. I'll do it tomorrow.

You can't deliver these
tomorrow afternoon,

when the shops open at 8:30
with free coffee and biscuits!

How many walk-ups are left?

From number four on down.

Thank you, that's all I need to know.

Mum?

Mum?

My mouth is so bloody dry,
I need a good gargle.

The problem was that I didn't check
the names on the sign downstairs.

Guess who I saw halfway between
the second and third floors.

Franzén, David Franzén.

The man who did me more harm
than anyone else on Earth.

Picture running into Franzén...

clutching a bunch of flyers
from a fruit shop!

"Coffee and biscuits at 8:30. Welcome!"

So I went to the game
and washed my shame down.

I'm more ill-equipped to deal with shame
than most people.

It's like suddenly falling ill.

Those bloody flyers!

Mucking about with junk like that.

Look around.

Am I the only one to blame
for not getting my affairs off the ground?

Have I been able to bring
business contacts home?

Your mother is, well...

While Franzén has that big flat, a car,

a wife capable of representation.

Well, she's had practice.

Everyone knows she was a party girl.

Don't you understand that the Savoy...

It's establishments
like the Savoy and Kramer

where big fat business deals are made.

In the afternoon,

when lunch merges smoothly
into "à la carte."

The drapes are drawn.

You can look out, but not in.

Have you ever
walked on carpets like they have there?

Christ, it's like strolling barefoot
along a sandy beach.

And guess what's shimmering
in those glasses?

The rotgut I have to settle for?

Hardly.

They wouldn't even wash up in that.

No.

Hennessy.

Martell.

And the one with the ribbon cockade,

Cordon Bleu.

Le Petit Caporal.

Napoleon's on the label.

Fit for an emperor.

Courvoisier.

I think he's on that label too.

Not to mention Renault.

Gold lettering on a black label.

Mathusalem.

It's called Mathusalem
because it's so old.

I'll have you know that it's educational

to be interested in cognac.

But what have I got to show for it?

A shot of rotgut in some dive.

A lowly schnapps on the ferry,

surrounded by the dregs of humanity.

Last time, this man actually vomited
right in front of me.

That's how you wind up dealing
by the dozen, instead of by the gross.

I've got taste, that's my problem.

I can't make do with the second-rate
or with poor service.

It's offensive to me.

But look around, Anders.

Am I the only one to blame?

Crawl on those bloody posh carpets
if you like.

But you must realize
that we'll never get out of here

if you trick Mum out of every penny
she manages to save.

We're two months behind
on the rent, you know.

Soon it will be three,

because it's the first of a new month.

Are you on again
about that east-side flat?

By the margarine factory?

Right by a smoke-stack.

It would be better than this.

We could afford the rent.

That was when you had
that cream puff scheme.

Selling them at the IFK vs MFF game.

Cream puffs.

- Could I help that it rained?
- Sun wouldn't have made a difference.

Ever heard of anyone up in the stands

snacking on cream puffs?

"The IFK cream puff"
it said on the wrapper.

And IFK lost.

You could have had the sense
to call it something else.

Remember that?

How we ate those cream puffs

morning, noon, and night for a week.

And fed the surplus to Hanell's dog.

Poor thing died.

Go ahead and laugh. We'll never get out
of here as long as we're in arrears.

It's the same thing
for the Perssons and the Pålmans.

Which flats are in the worst shape? Ours.

God damn it, Dad. We're stuck here.

Don't you understand?

Stuck.

Hey!

I've got Nina, you know!

They fell down!

That's enough ice cream, Kjell-Åke.

- There you are!
- Come on.

Maybe they need to nap out in the sun.

Put them out in the sun.

Nina?

Where's Kjell-Åke?

At home.

Really? At home?

Why isn't he out playing with you?

He has a tummy ache.

- What?
- A tummy ache.

A tummy ache!

Tummy ache!

Tummy ache!

Why is that?

Too much ice cream.

From yesterday?

Yes.

So he's sick?

But not you.

Only Kjell-Åke.

- What?
- Only Kjell-Åke.

Watch out! Don't fall.

No.

So you want to dance?

Swing around in a waltz

Feast your eyes on my neck

Kjell-Åke, I'm going to write about you.

How's Strandberg doing in Berlin?

It says here
that he was down to 10.6 yesterday.

"You always run into someone you know
at the Café de la Paix.

The whole world strolls by."

Christ, if I had the dough
to get me to Paris...

I wouldn't go to some bloody café!

Jonne told me 60 francs
would buy you a girl in furs.

That's only 15 kronor.
And 30 francs for one without a fur coat.

Well, it's like foxes, isn't it?

The fur is the whole point.

- A fox without fur would be pitiful.
- You have to be careful.

You need to check their cards.

What cards?

They have these health cards.
Didn't you know?

Jonne's pal caught the clap.

Didn't he check the card?

Sure, but he doesn't speak French.

So you have to be a professor
to get laid in Paris?

Well, the one he went to was Spanish.

Those Spanish dames
are supposed to be hot, right?

- Do you know what they do?
- Not a clue.

It really bugs me
that I can't find out what they do!

Come here, honey-bunny!

May the Lord have mercy on me.

Poor old tree.

I'm sure you understand.

Olsson?

Olsson!

- Mother!
- What is it, Anders?

Dad?

Dad.

They are going to publish my book!
Take a look at this.

My novel, they're going to publish it!

Both of you, listen.

- What the hell is going on?
- I'm a real author.

A letter came from Stockholm.
They'll pay for my trip to go there.

They want to talk to me.
Don't you get it, Dad?

It's fantastic!

Why didn't you wake me sooner?

Dad's been dead to the world while his
son's been famous for all of 15 minutes.

You know that I wrote a novel.

They want me to come to Stockholm.

- They're paying for the trip.
- They want to talk to him.

One at a time.
Let your father attend to this.

Of course they should pay for your ticket.

Let me see that.

Does it say anything about the hotel?

No.

Don't forget to ask for a per diem.

They will treat you, but they should
take care of your expenses as well.

Christ, I need a gargle.

Well, Anders,
they'll be wanting you to sign a contract.

Better be careful.

You hardly know what a document like that
looks like, do you?

No.

Maybe I should come along.

They probably just meant me.

Right.

We'll have to go through it
carefully at home, clause by clause.

You see, a business contract,
which is what this is,

is a labyrinth,

and many lose their way.

The contract is just a formality.

Just a formality?

No, it's meant to fool you.

Do you understand what I'm saying?

It's common practice to refuse to sign
the first draft of a contract.

They might think you're a simpleton
if you do sign it.

And then they'll hand you a cigar,
like for all important deals.

Hang on, I think I have one
in my breast pocket.

Oh, damn it. It's broken!

The boy gets the Nobel Prize
and his old man's last cigar is kaput.

They'll offer you a cigar cutter,
but I'll make do with my teeth.

There.

Now it's lit.

Here.

That's what I thought,
you used your right hand.

That's a mistake.
It's all wrong. Move over.

You see, a business cigar
is always held in the left hand.

In case you need to shake hands
or sign something,

then you don't lose any time.

Things move fast in the business world.

May I try, Dad?

Right.

Remember this:

Business cigar in your left hand.
Look alert.

Just for pleasure, either hand will do.

Take a drag and bite down
so you don't drop it. Inhale.

Again.

What next, Dad? Do you stub it out?

Stub it out?

A cigar?

You never stub out a cigar.

It is meant to die in peace.

To slowly extinguish itself
in the ashtray.

Lie there, in state,
its band like a shroud,

until it is removed by the help.

You're amazing, Dad.

You make it sound as magnificent
as the burial of King Karl XII.

"Cigars shall be my music!"

"The glorious smoke of battle!"

I'm an author, Dad!

I'm an author!

I'm an author!

Mum, press the trousers
I need for Stockholm.

Are we in such a hurry?

That's the end of that chair.

You won't be wearing those, will you?
You have a good suit.

Now I can tell you what the book's about.

What is it about?

Us.

About us?

About your mother and me?

No, not only you. The entire neighborhood.

I'm telling it like it is.
How will anyone know if we don't?

We don't get good education
or decent housing.

But as long as peritonitis
is dismissed as "indigestion,"

we need to raise our voices,
be heard by those who can afford

to call a doctor
when their kids fart out of key.

Kjell-Åke's parents couldn't even afford
a cheap thermometer.

Aren't our innards
worth as much as theirs?

I knew they would listen. I just knew it.

Who are you here to see?

Mr. Olofsson.

Please come in.

There was no cigar, Dad.

The smell of singed hair
means going to the circus.

Singed hair and sawdust, they go together.

You're not still moping over
what happened in Stockholm?

Damn it!

They snapped their fingers
and I came running!

Then they snapped them again
and I was sent home.

Bloody snobs! And me, in my Sunday best.

I wasn't there
as part of some bloody fashion show!

"Are you planning to publish it?"

"No, that's not what we had in mind."

There was something there
that they wanted to encourage, apparently.

In his words: "An inarticulate cry".

Inarticulate? What does that mean?

That's when you...

When you shout so loud
no one can hear what you're saying.

It says in the paper
that one of the elephants had a baby.

Think the sea lions are still there?

Bloody hell.

You know what?

I don't think it's the animals
or the music, really.

I think the best part is —
Well, that it actually happens.

All those other things we talk about,
like going to the seashore,

they never happen, it's all just talk.

But ever since you were five,
we've gone to the circus once a year.

What the hell?

I can handle this.

Let go of him!

Let him go, and I will.

Go on in.

Is he that dear to you?

- Goodbye.
- He needed to get home.

Go! Goodbye.

Well, so much for the circus.

We'll go tomorrow.

Who will scrub Elektra's steps?
Is he going to do it, you think?

It doesn't matter, we'll go next year.

That's not what really upsets me.

What makes me sad is...

It's that I never got a chance
to take care of you properly as a child.

The best time.

When you're so very helpless.

But that's what it's always been like
for people like us.

"Making babies
is a poor man's pleasure," they say.

Only it's no pleasure
if you can't afford to be with them.

I remember it all so well.

Right when you were born,
came the armistice.

You are almost the same age as peace.

I knew there'd be peace
when you were born.

There won't be any wars in your lifetime,
I'm sure of that.

When I'm no longer strong,
who will take care of us?

Imagine growing old here, Anders.

I'll get you out of here, Mum.

You'll have a family of your own.

Mother-in-laws
are not all that popular, you know.

I try not to complain.

But I'm frightened of what will happen
when I can no longer manage.

"Wünscht du'n stuhl, Madame?"
Remember that, Mum?

They sit there with the curtains drawn.

As if they're afraid of the light.

Mum?

And there's this smell.

- Remember that?
- Growing old is terrible.

Gallery tickets cost 35 öre.

We were in line and I found 25 öre.

So I ran on down to the box seats.
Remember that?

All the spangles
and the colors made you dizzy.

The German chap.

Remember him? "Ein stuhl?"

Mum?

Not chair, "stol." But "ein stuhl."

He thought he had given our seat away.

Mum.

Good thing he didn't check.

Imagine that,

box seats for 35 öre.

Ten öre.

Ten if you count the 25 öre coin I found.

"Madame."

Very fancy.

I asked you to call me Mum.

The others around here say "Mother,"

but I prefer Mum.

It sounds better to me.

I'm sure he has,

but that doesn't bother me.

I was married for 40 years.

- Hello.
- A name I'd never heard before.

He was a sergeant.

And his name was Struts, "ostrich".

Never heard of anyone
being called that before.

A nice fellow.
And one of the captains was named Brink.

All the officers were good.

But things could still be tough.

We earned 50 öre a day,

which wasn't much to write home about.

Why couldn't you let us go to the circus?

Once a year, Mum and I go to the circus.

Couldn't you have stayed away?

I went to the track to win some money.

Your old man knows a thing or two
about a hot tip.

I went there to get us some money.

Only you didn't bring any of it home.

As soon as you win,
you have too many friends.

I've been to Stockholm myself, Son.

Tables with white tablecloths.

And what a spread.

Special treatment, Son.

Special.

Everything lined up in advance.

No waiting, just straight down to it.

They treated me like a...

Not like a king, but...

A county governor?

Not a bad metaphor at all.

They were looking for someone
to be in charge of the whole country.

A governor of underwear, so to speak.

Then they gave the job to Franzén.

He's building a place out in Limhamn.

He wasn't a better salesman than me.

No, but he had the right sleeve length.

How the hell do you know that?

- Did I tell you?
- Of course you did.

Your sleeves were too long and you spilled
the brandy and it was all Mum's fault.

- That brandy really cost me.
- Let's go, all right?

Your mother never had faith in me.
She didn't believe I could make it.

And neither did I.

Why don't we go home?

You know what it's like when a product
starts selling itself, it just takes off.

Word gets around and softens people up.

You stand there
with your order book, all prepared.

You've got your approach down pat.

Nothing they can teach you.

The right touch
is something you're born with.

- All you need is the product.
- Right, all you need is the product.

But what kind of a product
do you have in mind, Dad?

- What kind?
- What would it be good for?

Good for?

I'm talking about
the Product with a capital P.

And you ask what it's good for?

That's right.

Sometimes you're as small-minded
as your mother.

What would it be good for?

Good for? How the hell should
I know what it's good for?

Am I supposed to be an inventor too?

Besides, after the bicycle,
what else is there to invent?

A device that allows you to sit
while you move. Sheer genius.

Did it ever occur to you
that if you brush your teeth carefully

and still have bad breath,
then the fault may lie further down?

There are certain items

that aren't good for
anything in particular,

yet we need them.

Things that add luster, you see.

- And you call yourself a writer.
- I know, you mean the moon.

It's not good for anything,
just for courting.

You need the sun if you want to see.

The sun...

That's what I was trying to write about.

I was too modest
when I claimed I wasn't an inventor.

Keep it down, Mum's asleep.

I invented the diving bell.

What the hell are you talking about?

Sit down, I get seasick looking at you.

I'm talking about the diving bell.

How can a sensitive soul like myself
survive in this setting?

Look around, Anders.

I'll tell you my secret.

I invented a diving bell.

- What are you talking about?
- Here's to Professor Picard!

- Dad?
- The diving bell! The diving bell!

That's it, you see.

Down I go.

And then,

when I'm in there...

in my diving bell...

I don't give a damn about you,
your mum and the circus.

And all your carrying on,

Anders and Anna.

Understand?

You're on the other side of the glass.

I'm submerged.

I don't give a damn.

I couldn't care less.

Watch out, I might shatter the glass.

You can't.

It's impossible.

It's too thick.

It's made of 20 years of boozing.

That's how it is.

I go down.

Down I go and then...

I no longer give a damn about you.

Shit.

I don't care at all.

I saw you, from my window.

Are you disappointed?

It wasn't good enough.

It wasn't good enough.

If you shout as loud as you can,

of course they'll hear you shout.

But no one will hear what you're saying.

I lied when I said...

those people in Stockholm were stuck-up.

They weren't.

They were pretty decent.

The man asked me to have a seat.

He wasn't much older than me.

And he started talking...

mentioned a name I'd never heard of.

Not to embarrass me at all, just...

just to help me out.

And then he said another name...

that was just as much of a blank to me.

That rattled me and...

well, we just sat there.

If he wanted to put me at ease,
he should have picked other subjects.

Like how Ulla has a bun in the oven.

The bedbugs in the Pålmans' flat.

Sixten's hookers in furs. Anything
to do with this stinking neighborhood.

Because that's all I know.

I never had a mother who played Mozart
while I was on the potty.

Having a mum who scrubs floors
doesn't make you "The Son of a Servant."

That's not what makes you.

Come here.

Come with me.

So how are the fur tarts?

Not great.

The tickets are so bloody expensive
that there's no use thinking about it.

The big clubs go there, though.

On tour.

So shut up and join one.

That's just what I was thinking.

Are you a mind reader?

If he writes for permission to marry
they can be wed within weeks.

It will look suspiciously fast, but...

Well, at least he can
put his writing skills to use.

- He'd better hurry up.
- Those little buds will give milk.

They're no bigger than eggs.

Keep it up, Team Sweden! You can do it.

The Japanese are tired,
but they are a determined lot!

Will they win? They are moving in!

- They've never seen a ball before.
- He runs like the wind

and scores!

Japan wins the game.
No, it can't be! It mustn't be!

Five minutes to go
and Japan is leading 3-2.

Japan's one and only advance this quarter
yielded a goal.

Josefsson up. The desperate Japanese
are pulling out all the stops.

They want to keep that advantage.
Now, Gran and two Japanese.

The Japanese are exhausted,
but they battle on.

- Hello.
- A pass towards the goal.

Sano kicks it out into the stands.
Do we really have to lose?

- Anders? I need to talk to you.
- A few Japanese are angling for the ball.

- Listen I have something to say.
- Lobbing it closer...

- We can't let the Japanese beat us.
- More and more Japanese.

Get to it, Perman!
It's just Japanese, Japanese, Japanese...

They may be small,
but they sure are tough.

Japanese all over the place,
Swedes battling away.

The Germans are going to win the Olympics.

- The Japanese aim to win.
- When they want something,

- they make it happen.
- An unbelievably odd game!

- So incredibly efficient.
- Gran shoots, the keeper gets it.

We can live with my mother at first,

the room facing the courtyard.

Just until we can afford
something of our own.

A flat on the other side of the courtyard
will be available soon.

And you say nothing.

I'm thinking.

We can keep food costs down.

I can use cheaper cuts
without compromising quality.

My mother's cousin works at Berglunds.

Or maybe it's her cousin's cousin.

What's it called
when you're a cousin to a cousin?

- What?
- What's a cousin's cousin?

No idea.

You haven't been around much.

Not exactly banging my door down.

No.

Have you been writing?

I've given up writing.

Christ, Dad, what should I do?

For God's sake, say something.

You're my father.

You've got to help me.

Listen.

Have a drink.

Step inside the diving bell.

There's room for one more.

Dad.

What should I do?

You've got to help me.

How old are you, Dad?

Thirty-nine?

You can't.

You're not even 40 yet, you can't give up.

I don't have anyone else to turn to.

Couldn't I at least
get the chance to respect you, Dad?

Couldn't I get that...

Is there nothing

I can be proud of when it comes to you?

Like when I was a boy.

Do you remember...

how you knew more about soccer
than the other dads?

Do you remember,

explaining to me
what offside was all about?

Down I go.

Down I go.

You're like a fish to me now, Anders.

Listen, sit down.

Bloody hell.

Sit down.

Let me tell you
how I became a deep-sea diver.

You were just a tyke.

Anders,

the mother you hold in such high esteem...

once behaved like a common whore.

Under my very nose.

Up on the second floor...

Torngren.

Back in 1923.

No.

A Social Democratic dictatorship.
That's what awaits Sweden

in case of a socialist communist majority
in the house.

The only way to stop this
is to support the Liberals.

We stand for security,
order and prosperity.

Vote for the Liberal Party.

Come here.

If I can't saw down this tree
because of them little bastards,

then my name isn't Hugo.

Here she goes!

There!

They've been out gallivanting.

- Hugo, your lilacs —
- Don't you call me Hugo!

Don't you call me Hugo ever again!

Thank you.

What's the matter, Anders?

What do you mean?

You've changed.

You never talk to me these days.

Is Dad going to be a sandwich man?

Yes.

That will kill him.

Don't you realize that?

Dad, a sandwich man.

What am I supposed to do?

I'm glad
if he can earn his own pocket money.

Let's play a game, Mum.

A game?

The "Year Game."

I'll say a year,

and you tell me what happened.

1923. What happened in 1923?

1923?

Well, you turned five.

And I made my winter coat
into an overcoat for you.

- Was that the year Dad took to drink?
- 1923?

- No, he'd been at it for some time.
- Are you sure?

Mum?

Didn't a man by the name of Torngren
live around here?

I don't know what you're driving at.

Don't you, Mum?

Mum?

I'm so ashamed of you, Mum.

I can't look at you when I think about it.

Really.

So he told you about that, did he?

Look at me

and I'll tell you exactly what happened.

I'm sure
you've forgotten all about those cakes.

But Aggerborg made a cake
that everyone raved about.

It was very pricey, though.

And it was so hard to save any money.

So I hit on something else.

I would clean in exchange for a cake.

I'd go there first thing,
before all my other cleaning jobs.

Aggerborg was a Confectioner to the Court.

He delivered wares to our Princes.

This cake had chocolate,
whipped cream, and walnuts.

It was meant for a party in our walk-up.

Coffee for us, cordial for the kids.

Your gran's raspberry cordial.

Remember my mother's cordial?

Only, there was no party.

Dad came home, dead drunk.

So there was no party.

He sat on the cake.

Know what I did then?

I dashed the cups to the floor.
Our best china, one by one.

Then I went to see Torngren and said,

"I've seen how you look at me.

Do you want me?

Here I am."

Was he any good?

Yes, he was.

For heaven's sake.

A woman's got to feel
that she's not always the strong one.

I may as well tell you something else
while I'm at it...

You should have had
a baby brother or sister.

You couldn't tell by looking at
that little lump what it would have been.

This god-awful life.

Where you can't afford
to keep your babies.

I had to go see the old women.

Some people could make ends meet.

Could keep their babies,
because they had men they could depend on.

But what did I have?

Nothing.

He couldn't even say:

"Go have it taken care of."

And at least share the responsibility.

No, he said,

"It's up to you.

You're the one carrying it."

I could see it in his eyes, though,
what he wanted.

There was nothing.

Nothing to build on.

So I had to make that decision
all by myself too.

Go and vote, Mum.

Vote?

I stand in line too much as it is.

This is a very important election.

They all are, but this one...

One vote can't make a difference.

We can't let the Nazis get parliament
seats. And I don't have faith in Dad.

Your vote would balance out his.

When your father was your age,
people bought votes.

You have to help me out, I'm too young.

Go and vote for my sake.

Then go to the fortune teller
you've been saving up to see.

Have her read the cards,
tell you the future.

Our objective, common sense,
logic and mutual understanding.

We want peace.

Vote for us, the National Socialist Party.

When's your train?

Ten past six.

Did I tell you we'll be touring Europe
after the league matches?

Guess where.

France, that's where.

Then you'll get your fur tart.

Yes.

Unless it's the wrong time of the year,
this will be in June.

I'm sure they wear fur all year around.

It's probably a trademark.

Hey, did you hear that Astrid
has a bun in the oven?

It's like Olle
has baking powder in his pants.

Christ, it feels good
to leave this dump behind!

Never having to talk to
that old bat, Mrs. Pålman, again.

Never have to bring newspaper along
to the john.

When I'm playing for Sweden,
I bet they'll put a plaque on the door.

"This is where Sixten sat."

What's the matter with you?

Come on.

You haven't been the same since Elsie.

Sixten!

Sixten, can I go with you?

To Stockholm?

- Can I stay with you for a while?
- Sure, but —

Don't ask. But is it all right
if I stay with you for a while? Good!

- The train leaves at 6:10. See you at six.
- Sure, but —

Mum will pass here soon, and I don't
want her to see us. Six o'clock.

What terrible queues...

Do you think your marriage permit
will get here tomorrow?

I wonder if they've had a meeting.

Are you packing?

I don't care about that permit.

You don't care?

You don't understand. I can't
talk about it, but I have to move on.

What about Elsie?

Look around, Mum.

Are you ashamed of us?

Is that what happens
when you get educated?

Is that why we put in brighter bulbs?

All your talk about that Hitler person,

I was beginning to believe it.

But compared to leaving a girl
you made pregnant behind.

You don't understand, Mum.

I'm not leaving her.

You mustn't stop me now.
I have so little, let me hold on to it.

If I don't leave now, I won't...

Not even your father...

He took care of me when I was with child.

Maybe better if he hadn't...

Don't say that.

Don't say that.

Whatever he did or didn't do,

I've never been ashamed of him
the way I am of you right now.

I'd be ashamed to stay.

I'm ashamed of you, Anders.

You don't understand, Mum.

What is there to understand?

What is there to understand?

You don't understand, Mum.

Shame on you.

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