All language subtitles for Sostiene.Pereira.AKA.According.to.Pereira.1995.DVDRip.x264-HANDJOB.eng

According to Pereira

From the homonymous novel by

Antonio Tabucchi

Pereira claims that it was a beautiful
summer day, sunny and breezy.

Lisbon glowed.

And, like every morning,
he had gotten up early.

Pereira claims he had
found that day in a magazine

an essay that had impressed him:

Death, to understand
the meaning of life.

The essay started from the cult of
the dead in ancient Egypt, and ended

with the disinterest for
the death of modern world.

Signing the essay, an unknown name,

who however seemed
to really know the matter,

a certain Monteiro Rossi.

Pereira claims that since some
time, he too was thinking about death.

Why?

Maybe because his poor
father, when he was a child,

had a funeral parlor named
'Pereira the Sorrowful'.

Maybe because his wife, whom
he remembered with poignant regret,

had died of tisi a
few years earlier.

Maybe yet because he was
overweight, had a heart condition,

and the doctor had said he had not
long to live, if not treated properly.

In short, Pereira claims that, if
death was an unavoidable event,

and as such it concerned everyone,

he, the manager of the
cultural page of the "Lisboa",

had a duty to deal with not only
his own, but also with that of others.

At least as long as he
was alive, Pereira claims.

- Oh! What's happening?
- I don't know.

Freedom! Freedom and Justice!

Go ahead!

I grant you two minutes.

What else, today?

It is that… all I do
is think about death.

It seems the whole world
is dead, or about to die.

And then…

I believe in the soul,
and in its resurrection,

but not in that of the flesh!

This fat that's with me, my sweat,
why should they too resurrect?

You don't expect me to stay
here and listen to such heresies!

But padre Antonio…

the two minutes are not over yet!

Pereira claims that the curt ways
of Father Antonio towards him

whenever he posed certain
questions, disturbed him.

In what world I live, he wondered.

And he had the bizarre idea
that perhaps he didn't live,

but it was as if he
had already died.

That's why, he thought. It would do him
good to talk to the unknown essayist.

Mr. Monteiro Rossi?

I'm Mr. Pereira, I'm in charge of
the cultural editorial of the "Lisboa".

I just read your
article. I find it very…

in…

No, no, no. I called you

because I'm looking for an assistant
for the Saturday's cultural page,

and I was wondering if you…

You've just graduated?

Tonight?

Very well, yes!

A Neapolitan song?

I understand. Culture
doesn't provide food!

Well. Thanks, I'll see you tonight.

Pereira claims that not even this
call was for him of great consolation.

He would have imagined a more mature
interlocutor, perhaps, given the topic.

However, he prepared to meet him.

Not suspecting the importance…

that this appointment would
have later assumed for his life.

- Mr. Pereira, you're going already?
- Yes, see you tomorrow.

You forgot your hat.

Why not give me a little
smile? Can't you smile?

Here, this is for you.

Now make a little smile.

- Come on!
- Smile, smile!

See that you know how to smile?

Lemonade.

- Everything all right, Mr. Pereira?
- Fine. Fine, Manuel.

Come on, what's wrong today?

The police do what they do, and all that
is on the front page in your newspaper

is the departure of
a luxurious yacht.

What are you talking about?

In short, you don't know what
happened this morning at the market?

No.

They slaughtered a canter,
only because he dared to protest.

These are the news that
newspapers should publish!

Teresa goes on vacation…
I'll have to cook by myself!

♪ Lua que brilha branca na manhã

♪ Sobre o mercado dos melões de Ouro

♪ Curiosa espreita
as casas cor de rosa

♪ À procura do nosso tesouro

♪ O segredo a descobrir
está fechado em nós… ♪

I'll be a bit late tonight. I
have a business appointment.

And now…

in honor of the Italian
comrades fighting in Spain…

the young Monteiro Rossi…

will sing for us the
most beautiful song…

of his wonderful homeland.

Thank you.

Did you like it?

- Forgive me!
- Come with me!

Excuse me.

Mr. Pereira?

- Good evening!
- Good evening.

- Sit down.
- After you.

- Thank you. Good evening.
- Good evening.

You belong to the nationalist youth?

Me? I'm a graduate in philosophy!

I'm asking because the "Lisboa" is
a free and independent newspaper,

and we… we don't
want to deal with politics.

But I'm not interested
at all in politics.

They paid me to sing
because I'm of Italian origin.

That's all.

Perfect!

So, tell me about your
article about death.

Tell me…

but death, does it interest you?

Not a bit! I'm interested in life!

Sorry, but I'm tired of death!

Eight years ago my mother died,

last year was my father's turn.

But, how come this question?

You know, in a newspaper, every time
that dies an important intellectual…

we have to write the eulogy.

But a good obituary
cannot be improvised.

I'm looking for someone who can
write a nice obituary, in advance!

As I said, I love life, it is true, but,
if you want me to talk about death,

and you pay me, just as they've
paid me to sing tonight, I'm ready.

Well… As a singer… uhm!

But perhaps, as a journalist,
you'll be much better!

You said to be Italian, as origin.

Yes, exactly.

So, prepare me a nice obituary
in memory of Rapagnetta.

Rapa…?

Come now, don't tell me you
don't know who's the most…

the most important Italian poet!

Oh yes, sure! By tomorrow
you'll have the obituary of… Rapa…

…gnetta.

Ah! Rapagnetta! Of course.

Marta!

I introduce you Marta. Mr. Pereira.

He directs the cultural
page of the "Lisboa".

He just hired me. From
tonight I'm a journalist!

- Yes.
- As you see, I found a job.

That's wonderful!

Let's celebrate,
then. Come, darling.

Excuse us, Mr. Pereira. Come.

Mr. Pereira, I'd like to
dance this waltz with you.

- But I don't dance for years…
- Come, come…

- I beg you…
- Come.

Tell me, you too are
interested in journalism?

A little.

Today your paper
doesn't speak of the carter

that the police
massacred at the market.

Don't you find it a bit strange?

Unfortunately the editor is on vacation,
and I deal only with literature.

But from next Saturday,

our newspaper will have a
whole page devoted to culture!

- Really interesting!
- Oh, yes, yes.

Tell me, Mr. Pereira,

don't you think that the massacre of an
innocent should worry a little you too?

Please, lower your voice, aren't
you aware of the place where we are?

Exactly, this place is unnerving me.

You'll see that in a moment
they'll intone military marches.

I'd better leave you with your
recruit. I need some clean air.

Marta. Marta!

Guy de Maupassant inherits
from his father a venereal disease

that will lead him first to madness,
and then to an early death.

His works… Come in.

Good morning!

- Good morning, Mr. Pereira.
- Good morning.

I brought you the
article you required.

- I worked at it all night long.
- Fine, good!

And Marta wanted…

I want to apologize
for how I left last night.

Oh, nonsense!

And then, we wanted to celebrate
his entrance in the world of journalism.

Sure.

Are there any glasses?

Well, no, here… just a moment.

Here they are! I found them.

This is true Italian wine.

Actually, I shouldn't
drink or eat sweets.

But, given the occasion, I'll
make an exception. Thank you.

I didn't know a newspaper
office was like this.

But this is not the newspaper.

It's just a quiet place to work.

- Shall I read it?
- Yes, sure.

Well, I let you work.

- Goodbye, Mr. Pereira.
- Goodbye, miss. Goodbye.

Bye, love.

- Gabriele D'Annunzio.
- Yes.

May I sit down?

- Use my desk.
- Thank you.

Gabriele D'Annunzio.

His admirers know him by this name,

but in fact his real name is Rapagnetta,
changed because not enough bombastic.

Was he really a great poet?

If we were to describe him bluntly, we
would not hesitate to call him braggart.

In fact, D'Annunzio was a warmonger,

a character not to be
taken as an example,

for the unbearable
vulgarity of his ideas.

Overpraised by fascism,

he exalted the bloody
colonial conquests.

With him disappears a shady
character, capable of the worst…

Young man!

You're either irresponsible,

or a provocateur.

And journalism done today in our country
needs neither the one nor the other.

Why?

But you know that D'Annunzio
is the bard of Italian Fascism?

That the Italian soldiers are
fighting with our volunteers in Spain,

at General Franco's side?

And you deem it right?

I don't know. And I
don't want to know.

I simply commissioned an
obituary from you, and you bring me…

I can rewrite it.

I can write a totally
different article.

I beg you. I need to earn.

But how can you believe
that a newspaper could pay a…

a thing like that? But really
you must… Do you realize?

I know you demand professionality,
I know I should work with my brains.

But if I must tell the truth…

Which one?

The truth is that I followed
the reasons of the heart.

I don't understand you.

The article on D'Annunzio.

I swear that I could have written
a good obituary with my head.

But my heart was stronger.

- And then…
- And then?

I'm in love with Marta.

Well, I don't see the relation.

Sure there is a relation!
It's a reason of the heart!

My mind is elsewhere.

Pereira claims that
he wanted to tell him:

if you write with the
reasons of the heart, my dear,

you will face serious
problems, I can assure you this.

But he said nothing of this.

On the contrary…

Listen, young man.

Sit down.

The ten commandments do
not say it, but I say it myself.

The reasons of the heart…

are the most important.

But you must find a
balance. With the heart, yes…

but with eyes always wide open.

Sure, I know.

My next obituary will be
up to your expectations.

I hope so.

Mr. Pereira…

you must know that I need money.

So what?

I'd like to ask you an advance.

- But, you didn't write anything!
- I know, but…

- How much do you need?
- Whatever you want.

Thank you.

♪ …está fechado em nós…

That boy, I should
have fired him, I know.

If we had had a son,
he would be his age.

Remember? I always
had a lock that drooped.

Him too.

Yes. He reminds me
of when I was young.

Pereira claims that, that
day, he pondered for long.

If he'd had a son,
now he'd be grown-up.

He would have liked to sit at
the table with him, and let him talk.

Pereira claims that if he'd had
a son, now he wouldn't need

to talk to a portrait.

Mr. Pereira, there is
an express letter for you.

I took the responsibility to sign.

But I wouldn't want any nuisance,

as the name of the
sender doesn't appear.

Strange, no?

Ms Celeste, you're
paid to do your job.

Instead you always stick your nose
in things that don't concern you, huh?

Next time don't sign it. And
don't look if there's or not a sender.

Simply tell the postman to come
again, and deliver it to me personally.

Mr. Pereira…

I'm just a porter…

but my husband, he's a policeman.

And has connections in high places.

I know it well.

And it is just what I don't like.

Oh, yes?

Yes, ma'am!

Today we commemorate
Vladimir Mayakovsky,

who committed suicide in
Moscow for a disappointment in love.

After having joined the
Bolshevik party very young,

he was arrested three times and
tortured by the infamous czarist police.

We celebrate him as the great
revolutionary, the fervent… No, no…

Hello. This is Pereira.

Yes, I was reading your article.

Maybe you're a great novelist, only…

that my newspaper is not the
right place to publish novels.

Mayakovsky was a subversive!

Do you think that the cultural page

has an interest in
celebrating his demise?

The reasons of the heart?

But I never told you to
write only with the heart.

I said rather to open your eyes!

No, I can't meet you.
No, today I have to leave.

You want another advance?

But how can you think that

I'm willing to give you another
advance, with what you wrote?

Well. I bid you farewell.

"Absent until Monday." And
where the hell is he going?

- Do you mind if I smoke?
- Not at all, please do.

Lunch! Dining car!

Lunch! Dining car!

Thank you.

May I, madam?

- Please.
- My name is Pereira.

Manager of the cultural
page of the "Lisboa".

- Pleased. Ingeborg Delgado.
- Thank you.

I am German.

But of Portuguese origin.

And you live here in Portugal?

No.

I'm just looking for
my roots, as they say.

A tea and a toast, please.

A very Portuguese choice!

A herb omelette
and… a lemonade, yes.

Forgive me madam, but
when I eat I always stain myself.

The cleaning lady says
that I'm worse than children.

- Do you like Portugal?
- Yes, and very.

But it's a country that's
no longer fit for me.

I'm waiting the visa
to the United States.

- You are Jewish.
- Yes.

And today's Europe is not an
ideal place, least of all Germany.

But here also…

there isn't much liking for
us. I realize from the papers.

This is a catholic Country,
we've had the Inquisition.

Which doesn't do us honor.

I too am catholic.

Although, my own way.

I don't believe in the
resurrection of the flesh. No!

Thank you.

I noticed you were
reading Thomas Mann.

He too applied for a visa to leave.

Perhaps not even I, not even I
am happy for what happens here.

Then do something!

But what you want me to do?

You who can write on a newspaper…

tell what happens. Let it
be known that you disagree.

Madam, I'm not Thomas Mann.

I translate stories from French.

I wouldn't know to do more.

You really believe so?

Perhaps everything can
be done. Just having the will.

Hey, Mister! Looking for a ride?

What luxury!

Wow!

- Put the suitcase behind.
- Yes.

But… is it yours?

Why? What's so strange?

What do you want, at our
age, if one has a bit of brain,

he'd better to enjoy life.

- Of what happens, what do you think?
- What happens where?

In Europe. In Germany, in Italy…

Of these fanatics, who want to
put the world to fire and sword.

They're far away countries.

Yeah! And Spain?

It was a democratically
elected republic.

General Franco overturned it,

and not a day goes
by without a massacre!

Also Spain is far away!

Even here things start to go wrong.

- Public opinion no longer counts!
- Public opinion?

You're a journalist and you
believe in public opinion?

The suitcase!

I'll have it brought to you.
See you at the restaurant.

Okay.

It isn't much fun, here.

Later, I'll take you to
a place more… lively!

Look, your editor is here.

Don't tell me! Tonight he's alone.

- Good evening, Mr. Director.
- Ah, Mr. Pereira!

I did not expect to see you here.

You left the office?

The cultural page came out today.
I took the liberty to bring it to you.

Here it is.

There is a story by Maupassant, and
a column that I called "Recurrences".

Mr. Pereira, one of my assistants.

Miss Maria do Vale Santares.

Please forgive me, lady.

You see, director…

I wanted to communicate
my decision to hire a trainee

just to prepare
obituaries in advance

of the great writers who
may die at any moment.

You know, with death,
it's best to be prepared.

Mr. Pereira, I'm here for dinner,
with the agreeable company

of a lady by the sensible soul,

and you can only talk
of… moribund people!

Forgive me, director.

Do you recall Pirandello?
When he disappeared,

there wasn't a single newspaper
ready to celebrate his death!

I'd like to know what
will cost me this trainee.

Oh no, he's young, he'll adapt!
No! Furthermore, I'll tell you,

he graduated with a
thesis on death, indeed!

Please…

don't speak more of… of… Do
as you wish. Alright, huh? Okay?

Yes, yes, alright! So, I leave you the
paper, I wish you a pleasant stay, and…

take good care of
yourself, please, director!

I pay my respects, Miss!

Pereira claims that, that night,
a strange anxiety had taken him.

It could be his fault,

but he really didn't like staying
at the spa with his friend Silva.

He felt he should return
as soon as possible,

although knowing that nothing or
no one, in Lisbon, was expecting him.

Welcome back, Mr. Pereira.

I gave your instructions to the postman,
but he says he cannot pass twice.

I had to sign again myself.

Missing sender's name
again, and I don't like that at all.

Give, give it here. Thanks.

Distinguished Mr. Pereira,

I urgently need to see
you, as soon as you're back.

With devotion.
Francesco Monteiro Rossi.

Monteiro Rossi.

Not there?

He's no longer at this number?

But I called him just
a few days ago, and…

Please forgive me.

Good morning!

Good morning, Manuel.
So, what's the news?

You work in a newspaper
and you ask me the news?

Precisely for this!

I understood that the best way to
know the truth, is to listen to people.

Really?

Did you hear about
the Jewish butchery?

No, what happened?

Stormed! Flooded with obscenities!
No newspaper has written a line.

I hope the police
intervened immediately!

The police?

The police always have
other things to do, Mr. Pereira.

Pereira claims that the news made him
flow a trickle of sweat down the spine.

He thought of the Jewish
lady he had met on the train,

and hoped she had reached safety.

Maybe it was true that 'odd things'
were happening, as Manuel said.

Maybe he didn't see them.

But maybe that anxiety, that
sweat, made him foresee them.

♪ No brilho azul do ar uma gaivota ♪

♪ No mar branco de espuma sonoro ♪

♪ Curiosa espreita
as velas cor de rosa ♪

♪ A procurado nosso tesouro ♪

♪ O segredo a descobrir ♪

♪ está fechado… ♪

Oh, it's you!

Mr. Pereira, I'm in
trouble. I need your help.

Well, calm down. What
do you mean, in trouble?

- My cousin arrived.
- So what?

He comes from Spain. He
fights on the side of Republicans.

He's here to recruit
volunteers willing to follow him.

Okay but, what have
I to do with all this?

The problem is…

is that he needs to
hide, for some time.

- I don't have a house anymore.
- Yes, I know! I tried to call you.

- Marta thought that you might…
- I might what?

For sure, you're a person
that no one suspects.

- One moment. Sit down and explain.
- Thanks.

You must find him a safe place.

I'm amazed at your impudence!

When we first met…

you told me you were not
involved in politics at all!

- You lied to me!
- But…

But it's for my cousin,
to help my cousin!

- I can count on you only.
- On me?

You can't abandon us this way.

- Anyway, he's here already.
- Here where?

- My cousin, Bruno Rossi.
- Mr. Pereira, I… I wanted…

Yes, yes. Come with me. Come.

Mr. Pereira, I promise
you it's only for a few days.

You're both irresponsible!

Soldiers everywhere!

We're besieged!

No, no, stay calm!

We're not in Spain
here, there is no civil war!

Let's go.

Now listen to me well.

I side with neither the monarchic
cause, nor the republican cause.

I don't know if I can
find an accommodation,

but in any case, be very
careful not to seek me again,

because I don't want anything
to do with such matters.

- But I was expecting a comrade!
- Shut up.

- What?
- Don't get mad, Mr. Pereira, please.

Listen…

Wait here, I'll be right.

I feel sorry for that boy.

Can you explain why?

In my opinion it's Marta
that puts him into trouble.

- What's he doing?
- What?

Don't you think I should warn him?

He's speaking to someone!

Impossible. He lives alone.

Come. Trust him.

Listen well, young man.

I think you're getting into trouble…

because of Marta.

No, Marta would never
put me into trouble.

Yes, she's a smart girl, determined,
and I can even understand you.

But remember what I told you:

Eyes always wide open!

- Yes.
- Did you understand?

- Yes, I understand perfectly.
- Very well.

That's the address
of a small guesthouse.

Give the porter
this note on my part.

- Thanks.
- Thank you.

We would also need some money.

Let's say it's an
advance on next article.

More money?

You have yet to write
anything publishable!

I swear I have a multitude of ideas.

Tomorrow I leave
for certain treatments.

My cardiologist
insisted so much that,

if not satisfied, dies
of a broken heart.

I count to return in a
week. In the meantime…

try and not get into trouble, huh?

And write some good obituary, okay?

- Thanks.
- Come on, go now.

I'll take you with me.

So you can see if these
famous treatments really help.

Hi, little darling.

How are you?

Mr. Pereira.

I know you're leaving. I want to
thank you for what you did for us.

But I've done nothing. I…

Sure! You were of great help!
Without you, Monteiro's cousin…

Hush!

Don't make names! You
want us to be arrested maybe?

Mr. Pereira, I meant to
tell you something else.

I know you take me for a
fanatic, but you're wrong.

There's a great difference
between fanaticism and faith.

We may have ideals, believe that people
should be free, equal and even brothers.

- You're quoting the French Revolution.
- And Marx, and Engels, and…

Yes, I understood, they're great
personalities, famous, there's no doubt!

But as far as I'm concerned, they're
not among my favorite readings.

I'm not speaking of
literature, but of freedom.

It's for this reason that
you should be on our side.

Miss, I'm neither on
your side, nor on theirs.

Moreover, I don't know who is
your side, and I don't want to know.

Once, I dealt with the news. Now,
fortunately for me, not anymore.

You're mistaken again.

It's not the news that we
make today, it's the history.

The history!

It is a big word!

I have to leave now.

Don't follow me. And please,
don't seek me anymore.

Yes, yes, I know that
the doctor would forbid it!

But don't you agree
that it would be nice?

Do you remember the swims
I used to do at the Granja?

Stop! Stop here!

I go to the beach.

You bring my luggage to the
clinic. Tell them I'll be there shortly.

Good morning!

Good morning. I'd like to rent
a bathing suit. Is it possible?

I don't know if we
have a suit your size.

Anyway, here's the key. You can
look by yourself in the locker room.

Thanks.

Thank you.

One, two, one, two…

Come on! Don't slacken!

The suit fits you like a glove!

But, wouldn't you rather
need a lifesaver too?

I can swim very well.

Maybe better than you. Don't worry.

Water invigorates! Get to work!

- Energy! More energy!
- Pass the ball!

- Pass the ball!
- Okay!

Bravo!

Take it!

Bravo!

Launch!

Have you seen that… there
was no need for a lifesaver?

Thanks.

This way.

- The doctor is awaiting you. Follow me.
- Thank you.

Ah! Mr. Pereira. Thank you, Miss.

- I was expecting you. I'm Dr. Cardoso.
- Pleased.

I just read your doctor's notes.

You have a coronary
insufficiency, but this…

you know already, and
there's no need for alarm.

I heard you're an expert
in French literature.

- I studied in France.
- Really?

If you don't mind, I'd be
pleased to have a chat.

Shall we take a walk?

- Sure, with pleasure.
- Well!

Let's go.

Well then, let's start from your
eating habits. What do you usually eat?

Practically, only herb omelettes.

- Well, don't you want to answer?
- Yes, yes!

I eat fish, meat…

I eat in a rational manner!

And your fatness, when
it began to manifest itself?

Some years ago,
after my wife's death.

- You eat many sweets?
- No, I only drink lemonades.

- How many a day?
- A dozen.

It seems madness!
And tell me, with sugar?

- Yes, I fill them with sugar.
- Well, but…

Half lemonade, half sugar.

From today,
non-carbonated mineral water.

But, if you prefer it carbonated,
we can make an exception.

It's really a beautiful place
here. Always so quiet?

I'm glad you like it.

Mr. Pereira, now I want to
ask you a private question.

Your sexual activity…

What did you say?

Women… you do
have a sexual activity?

Listen doctor, I'm a
widower, no longer young.

I have no time, nor
will, to find women.

But, not even some…
some loose woman?

- An affair, now and then.
- No, no, either.

- May I smoke?
- Well, if you can't do without,

- I'll do a second exception.
- Thank you, doctor.

I must confess that your
questions embarrass me.

But no! Why?

No… it's normal, it's
normal… Mr. Pereira…

- Yes?
- You have…

You have nocturnal pollutions?

- Excuse me?
- Yes…

if you have erotic dreams
that take you to ejaculation, or,

if you don't have erotic
dreams, what do you dream?

But, what have they to do,
my dreams with therapy?

Well, you see, your psyche
is in relation with your body,

and I must know what you dream of.

I often dream of the Granja.

Oh, good! There's a woman,
huh? And you wouldn't tell me!

The Granja is a beach near Oporto.

That's where I met my wife.

It was the best period of my life.

Good. I'd say that's all for today.

We can dine together, if you like.

Ah, yes, with pleasure.

- Want a cigar?
- No, no. Thank you.

A glass of mineral water before
eating is always a good hygienic rule.

I would prefer a nice
lemonade, ice cold.

As I said, I'm fond
of French literature.

What holds for us your
newspaper this week?

Honorine, a novel by
Balzac, about repentance.

I read it in an
autobiographical key.

I mean that I
recognized myself in it.

- In the repentance?
- Yes.

Since you usually eat fish, and
meat, tonight I propose a change.

Our cook makes excellent herb
omelettes. Would you like one?

Excellent choice!

- Well then, two herb omelettes.
- Well.

Thank you.

The repentance! Can
you be more explicit?

Yes.

On one side, I'm happy with my life.

I worked 30 years in the news…

and now I deal with
literature, which is my passion!

On the other hand, it's like I need to
repent, and I can't understand why.

In recent months, there has
been in your life a special event?

An event?

Yes. In psychoanalysis it indicates
a fact that can upset our balance.

Oh, yes! Sure! Recently,
yes, there was an event.

I met a person, rather, two persons.

Two poor youngsters,
romantic, with no future.

With no future?

Thank you.

Tell me about them.

Well…

I hired a young apprentice, who
seemed gifted to write the obituaries.

I paid him out of my own pocket,
not to weigh on the newspaper.

But he hasn't written
anything publishable yet.

Why don't you seek another trainee?

It's the same question
I asked my wife.

But how! You told
me you're a widower.

Yes, but…

But you speak with your wife.

With her picture, yes.

This is a detail that we'll
have to study in depth.

But, let's get back to your trainee.

Yes. Well…

That boy writes the
obituaries, but always…

from a political standpoint!

I think it is Marta, to put
in his mind those ideas.

Who is Marta?

His girlfriend.

Apart from the fact
of losing your money,

it doesn't seem to be very serious.

But it is… it's me who's
beginning to have some doubts.

And if those two were right?

What do you think would happen?

If they were right, my life…
would no longer make sense.

I've always believed that it was
literature, the most important thing.

Nothing would make sense anymore.

Maybe that's why I
feel the need to repent.

Two fruit salads.

And with no sugar!

Allow me a question.

You're obligated to adapt
to the menu of your patients?

What you told me
is very interesting.

I propose, when finished, to
continue our chat elsewhere. OK?

Yes, sure!

Do you know the
philosophers doctors?

- No.
- No?

They're French doctors and
psychologists, but also philosophers,

who sustain the theory
of the souls confederation.

- The confederation of souls?
- Yes.

While in the Christian tradition one
believes in one soul, in our theory,

human personality is viewed rather
as… as a confederation of more souls,

that are put under control
of a dominating ego.

A dominating ego?

Yes, uh, you have
one of your fine cigars?

Yes, gladly.

Thank you.

Ah, no no! You
should not, Mr. Pereira!

But this is your first night,
so I'll do another exception.

Thanks! And…

the dominating ego… go on.

Exactly!

Our balance depends upon
the control of a dominating ego,

which rules the
confederation of souls.

In case it emerges a stronger ego,

this one overthrows the
weaker ego, taking its place.

But in my case, you think it has
supervened… a new dominant ego?

Well, from what you told me, I
think that the conquest by a new ego…

has not yet occurred.

But soon… soon it may occur.

In this case, what should I do?

Wait.

After so many years spent believing that
literature was the most important thing,

maybe a new dominant ego
is taking the lead of your souls,

to prove that there are other
things even more important.

Don't look so distressed.

Let your new dominant
ego come afloat.

Help him win his battle.

But, those two youngsters, what
have they got to do with all this?

Well, if you think
those two are right,

step forward, and
don't try to compensate

your torment by drinking
ten lemonades a day.

Maybe it's true.

Even some weeks ago, in the train…

a lady that I didn't know at all,
told me that I could do a lot more.

By the way, at what time shall
I wake up tomorrow morning?

Here the wake-up is at six.

But since tomorrow is your first
morning, we can do another exception.

The last one, eh?

Dr. Cardoso, I'll tell you the
truth: this clinic is not bad at all!

Pereira claims that he lay awake
a long time thinking that night.

He didn't believe in the resurrection of
the flesh, but in that of the soul, yes.

But now he was embarrassed
by the idea of resurrection of

an entire confederation of souls!

At the first opportunity he'd speak
with Father Antonio, definitely!

- Good morning, doctor.
- Dear friend!

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

How are you today? Slept well?

Yes, I'd say so, thank you.

I only have a small problem.

Could you find me one…
of those bathing suits mat…

cover the belly up to
the shoulders? No, no…

You need to overcome your modesty,
since the effect of algae and sea water

is exerted precisely
in contact with skin.

So, you'll have to
wear shorts. Come on.

Come on, breathe.

Deeply, thoroughly deep.

Move your arms.

Again. Again… that way.

That's it, keep it up.
Again, breathe deeply,

move your arms, then massage
belly and chest with algae.

Right, that's how.

Keep it up. On the belly, on
the chest… Yes, on the chest!

Keep it up. Harder. Harder, harder.

Meanwhile, tell me
about your next translation.

It's a short novel:
"The Last Class".

Do you know it?

Alphonse Daudet.

Bravo.

I know it, I know it! It's
a very touching story.

But…

if I remember correctly, it ends with
an ode to France against Germany!

And I'm not quite sure that today,
here, this story will be appreciated.

Why?

Germany is once again against France,
and our country has sided with it, so…

But my newspaper is
free and independent.

- Are you really sure?
- Yes.

I hope you're not the only one
to believe it. Your editor is always

in the forefront in all
regime events, and how…

he tends his arm, all the time…

Well, I'm not at all sure that
he won't censor you someday.

- Until today, it never happened.
- It may happen, though.

It also depends on the dominant ego that
prevails in your confederation of souls!

May I get out?

No. No, wait still…
ten more minutes.

Because remember that, besides
literature, we have another common goal.

Lose weight. Lose
at least ten kilos.

Ten kilos?

Good morning, Celeste. I'm back.

Is there anything for me?

There is also a letter addressed
to a certain Monteiro Rossi,

C, dot, dot, Mr. Pereira. Strange!
It's the first time I see such a thing.

There's nothing strange! C dot
dot means "at" the newspaper.

- Oh, yes?
- Yes!

- Mr. Pereira…
- Huh?

- But you've lost weight!
- Yes, I know!

I just wanted to
point it out to you.

Hello?

Editor of the cultural
page of Lisboa.

Yes, it's me.

Has something happened?

At the cafe Orchidea,
tonight? Yes, but… listen…

Here I am…

No, no! Starting today, only
mineral water, and not carbonated!

Seriously?

I see you in great shape,
and slimmed too! Am I wrong?

You aware of the incredible
scandal erupted in the Vatican?

What scandal?

Apparently a great
catholic French writer

has denounced the
francoist repression.

And what's his name?

Ber… Bernand… Bernadette!

- Bernanos, is his name Bernanos?
- Yes, that's it! I think it's him, yes.

So! You sure, non-carbonated water?

- Eh, yes!
- Right away.

Manuel. If they seek me, say that I
waited for over an hour and I went home.

No doubt, Mr. Pereira.

- Good evening, see you tomorrow.
- See you tomorrow.

Mr. Pereira…

Don't you recognize me?

But it's you, Marta!

I waited at the cafe.

I was there. But
I'm no longer Marta.

I'm Lise Delaunay, paintress on travel
in Portugal. I've a French passport.

You're unrecognizable!
What happened to you?

In certain circumstances, you
must become another person.

And Monteiro Rossi?

This arrived for him
at the newspaper.

It's something extremely wrong!

I wrote this letter. I was hoping
he would get in touch with you.

- But he, where is he?
- I don't know.

He left with his cousin to
recruit some volunteers.

I would like to be
wrong, but I smell trouble.

It's true. We're really in
trouble, and we need money.

- What kind of trouble?
- Trouble that I sought myself.

After all, ifs the life I chose.

For him, it's different.

Without me, he would have
never dealt with these things.

Follow me. I must
show you something.

This is not a fictional
story. This is a true story.

Antonio is the leader
of a subversive group.

He has just escaped from the police.

The subversives are arming
themselves to overthrow our government.

They claim that all goes
wrong in the country,

and are developing a secret
plan to assassinate our president.

They are now discussing when
to trigger hour X of the secret plan.

Antonio's mother, learned that
her son is a dangerous subversive,

dies of heartbreak, and the village
women reproach to the evil son

the responsibility for this
unfair and premature death.

Antonio goes to the
tomb of the poor mother.

Is he harboring
repentance in his heart?

Teresa, his sweet fiancee,
has her heart distraught.

But she doesn't lose courage, and
starts with him a work of redemption,

opening his eyes on
the country's reality.

Here's how babies are
raised in our country.

With care and love that
are unmatched in the world!

Here's how our kids grow up.

With care and love that
are unmatched in the world!

What about our elderly?

They feel cared for and protected
like in no other country in the world!

What about our houses?

They are built in their thousands
to give a home to all citizens!

And what about our young people?

Everyone can find a job because, in
our country, there is work for everyone!

Teresa's work pays off.

Antonio understood his tragic
mistakes and now wants to remedy.

Here he is in front of our flag, a flag
that we all need to love and to respect.

And here is the crowd
of the many brave patriots

who huddle around our President.

Antonio now knows what
to do. Let us repeat it, us too:

Everything for the Nation,
nothing against the Nation!

Everything you saw is fake, but
people don't know. They must know it.

We need people like you to
let everyone know the truth.

But what can I do, myself?

I deal with literature,
as you well know!

And what did you do?

I told her again that I don't
want to meddle with their stories!

And the money? Did you give her any?

You know what?

You did well.

Well!

Let's get to this story of
the congregation of souls.

The soul is indivisible. It's
God who gave it to us. Period!

- But, the French philosopher doctors…
- Another heresy! Enough now!

Bring out the other thing you want
to talk about. I'll give you 3 minutes!

- Three minutes?
- Three minutes.

I think I am a good Catholic.

I heard of the controversy
between the Vatican and Bernanos.

I want to know how I should behave!

Now, you just want me to have a fit!

Yes!

You know that I must
obey my hierarchies.

I must obey…

not you!

- I don't…?
- No.

Well…

listen… After the
bombing of Guernica…

the Basque clergy, since ever
the most Christian people in Spain,

took sides with the Republicans.

Come, I'll explain
everything better.

A French writer, François Mauriac,
has taken the defense of the Basque.

Mauriac. What a great man!

I must tell Monteiro Rossi
to prepare his obituary.

But, why must you do an obituary?

Let him live! We need him!

I don't want to make him die.

But, in a newspaper,
you must foresee.

- Let him live in peace!
- Sure!

Everything got complicated when the
Vatican openly supported General Franco.

And declared that the
Basques are "Red Christians",

that must be excommunicated.

Another writer, Paul Claudel…

took sides with the Vatican,
publishing a fascist pamphlet,

worthy of a hangman!

But how's it possible?

How would you define someone
who does such an action?

- Well…
- Son of a bitch!

Here is, how I define
him: A son of a bitch!

- And, Bernanos?
- Bernanos revealed to the world that

in Spain, Franco, has
done a real military coup!

He denounced the
francoist massacres.

Franco is a criminal!

And the Vatican is
wrong! The Vatican…

Oh my God! What do you make me say?

I should publish some passages of
"Diary of a Country Priest" by Bernanos.

- What do you think?
- A splendid idea!

Your three minutes are up.

Come back soon to
see me. But next time…

commit some sins first.

Otherwise I can't even confess you!

A sin?

Good morning,
Mr. Pereira. How are you?

I'm fine! Thank you, Celeste.

No mail this morning.
And no phone calls either.

But… But what do you know, please?

It's come a commissioner,

and made connect your
phone with the porter's house.

So there! So, from now on…

here there's… a switchboard.

But…

If I have to call?

You have to pass by the
switchboard, that is, by me.

I wouldn't have
wanted the switchboard.

I already have to fix dinner for my
husband, and he's so demanding!

Yes, yes! You can tell by the stink
of fried food wafting up the stairs!

Hello?

Yes, one moment.

Hello?

Mr. Pereira, there's a call for you.
Do I pass it, or do I say you're not in?

Why should you say
I'm not in, if I'm in?

What do I know of what you
want? I'm a porter, not an operator!

However, the call is from
the thalasso-pyric clinic.

Thalasso-therapeutic!

Thalasso what? Yes,
something like that.

By the way! It's in this thalasso-thing
that you went to lose weight?

Will you pass this call, or not?

Dr. Cardoso, what a pleasure!

This afternoon? Excellent!

We can meet at cafe Orchidea.

Alright.

The Prussians had
invaded the country.

The whole populace had
gathered in the school.

The teacher got up, went to
the chalkboard, in the silence

that reigned among boys and
parents, and wrote in big block letters:

LONG LIVE FRANCE!

Then he left, tears in his eyes, leaving
a great emotion in the classroom.

- My compliments!
- Thanks!

Congratulations, you made it!

I toast to your new dominating ego…

that emerges in the
congregation of souls.

As you can see, there
was no censorship.

It's true!

Manuel!

Oh, Mr. Pereira!

- My physician and friend, Dr. Cardoso.
- Good morning, doctor.

What news?

Contrasting news.

The nationalists took the north.
But the republicans win in the center.

The trouble is that
Mussolini sent to Franco

a lot of submarines
filled with arms.

And that is all.

I didn't tell you the news.

I'm moving to France,
at the clinic in Saint-Malo.

I leave in 15 days.

No, don't leave me… leave us, doctor.
This country needs people like you!

No. No, on the contrary, this
country doesn't need me anymore, no.

No, I can do nothing more here.

- I leave before the catastrophe.
- Which catastrophe?

I expect a general catastrophe.

But I'm not here to discourage you.

On the contrary, I'm
here to stimulate you!

By the way, tell me of your
guys. How are they doing?

I'm worried for them.

I've seen Marta the other
day, but no news about the boy.

I wish I could… do
something for him!

But you already did much for him!

But I wish I could do more!

If the new dominant ego will surface
entirely then you can do something more.

But if this new ego comes out,
and I change in whole, completely,

of me, me, of my
past, what will it be?

But… But it's this,
just this that you need!

You need to break up with the
past. You need to… to forget it!

To borrow an
expression dear to Freud,

you must mourn your past life, and
think about your life in the present.

For example…

by allowing yourself half a cigar,
and giving the other half to me.

Yeah!

And furthermore, Mr. Pereira, speak
no more with the picture of your wife.

If you have any problem
to solve, do it with the living.

Alright?

He says I must stop to
deal with the past. Alright.

Okay, for the congregation of souls…

Okay for the new dominant ego, but…

but with you, I will
continue to talk.

♪ O tesouro brilha aqui…

♪ embala o coração mas…

♪ …está escondido…

Hello?

Good evening, Mr editor.

You want to see me?

May I know…? No.

Tomorrow morning? Sure,
alright. Good evening Mr. editor.

Pereira claims that now the
police were on every corner.

At least, so it seemed to him.

Passing by, he heard an officer say:

"Eyes wide open! The
subversives can be anywhere."

And he didn't like this
thing at all, Pereira claims.

So, listen well, Pereira.

I'll address you familiarly,
so we'll be quicker.

You know you didn't
show up for over a month?

No, we met at the hotel of the
spa. Maybe you don't remember.

Please don't start to contradict me.

Sit down!

And, how was your
vacation at the spa?

I see you still tanned.

Me… 10 kilos.

Never mind the vacation!

Let's speak rather of the cultural
page. You always do as you want!

But sir, when you entrusted
me the editorial, you said:

"Pereira, I don't give
a damn about culture!

Do as you wish, it's your business."

- Did I say so?
- Yes, literally!

I changed my mind.

Let's get to the point. I must say
that this, from you, I didn't expect it.

Here you go.

But, what, you didn't
expect from me?

This panegyric of France. It aroused
a lot of discontent, in high places.

But what panegyric?

Oh, come on, Pereira, come on!

The story that ends with
the phrase "Long live France"!

Yes but, censorship
didn't say anything.

Censorship, censorship…
they're illiterate idiots!

The head censor, Major Lourengo,

is a friend of mine, but certainly he
can't read everything journalists write.

It's to us that it
pertains to be vigilant.

It's us who must keep
watch over ourselves,

us, who must censor
ourselves, when necessary.

But I had told you it
was a patriotic novel.

Yes, but I thought it was
Portuguese patriotism,

not French patriotism, come on!

You must talk about our
country, about our race!

But it exists no Portuguese race!

No, no. I… I meant to say that
the Portuguese are not a race, but

a mixture of different peoples!

There are Celts,
Romans, Arabs, Jews!

Listen well, Pereira.
From this moment on,

whatever you want to publish,
you must consult me first. Clear?

At your orders, sir. Sure.

I think our conversation is over.

I wish that our
relationship were marked…

by mutual trust and esteem…

and by faith. By faith
in the same ideals!

- You agree, don't you?
- Yes, yes, I…

- You agree?
- Yes, yes.

- Agreed!
- Yes!

What are you doing here?
Where are you coming from?

Then I'll explain everything.

Water. I would like
some water, please.

Come.

Drink slowly. This way you'll choke!

I didn't drink for two days.

- Here.
- Thanks.

Come on, sit down.

So… tell me.

My cousin was arrested while we
were recruiting volunteers, down south.

- And I…
- And you?

I escaped by a
miracle. I arrived on foot.

- Someone knows you're here?
- No one, not even Marta.

You won't send me
away, will you, Mr. Pereira?

No, no, here you're safe.

The porter and the tenants
upstairs are on vacation.

I need to sleep.

I can't stand upright.

Let's go.

- Here you go!
- I'll never forget what you've done.

Here are the passports
for the volunteers.

Hide them.

One last thing…

I must get in touch with Manta.

This is her number.

Tell her I'm safe.

Okay. Come on,

sleep now.

Good morning, Manuel.

Good morning.

It's the first time I see you
at this hour. Everything fine?

I need to make a phone
call. I can't call from home.

- Come with me.
- Thanks.

- Here no one can hear you.
- Thank you.

I leave you.

Hello. Please, I would
like Marta. Is she there?

Monteiro Rossi…

Monteiro Rossi, it's time to get up!

- How long did I sleep?
- A lot.

I called Marta.

They hung up.

It was an imprudence.

Someone now knows we're seeking her.

Marta knows her
business. Do not worry.

- May I wash up?
- Sure, come.

I'll give you a clean shirt.

If you stop being a journalist,
you have another career assured.

- The chef!
- Ah! Thanks.

I brought you another article.

Good! Let's hear it.

The great Spanish poet Garcia Lorca,
left us under obscure circumstances.

He donated to the people his passion
for the theater, culture, freedom.

We know who murdered him:
the henchmen of General Franco.

We loved Garcia
Lorca for his poetry.

We weep him today for his courage.

His sacrifice…

I know, this too isn't good.

I must confess something.

I didn't write all of
these obituaries.

Largely, Marta suggested them.

I wrote only this one
entirely by myself.

I had guessed it.

And I don't think it's proper.

Yes. But in short,

you know what the Spanish
nationalists cry? "Viva la muerte"!

And I like life!

I told you the first time.

Remember?

Alone, I would have never
been able to… to speak of death.

After all, you're right.
Even I can't take anymore.

It's a beautiful article.
Written with the heart.

Come with me.

Coming!

Who is it?

- Open up. Police!
- One moment.

- Open up. Police!
- One moment!

Open up, or we'll
break down the door!

Political police.

- We must proceed to search the house.
- But, show me your documents!

Did you hear him?

- You want what documents?
- Eh, yes.

The commander's
word isn't good for you?

You prefer this as a document?

Listen, Pereira,

we know you're a good person.

You simply didn't understand
who you were dealing with, did you?

But you can't do a
search without a warrant!

He says that we can't
search without a warrant.

Fonseca? What shall
we do to convince him?

What are you doing?

That's not the way
to treat an intellectual!

Otherwise he'll piss in his pants.

Right, Mr. Pereira?

Try and understand.

We're not against you,

we just came to give a
lesson to a young man

who studied much but
lost the sense of homeland.

We're here to make him regain it, and
to know where is a girlfriend of his.

Oh! Very interesting!

An intimate dinner.

How romantic!

We know you're widowed, you
don't hang out with women. But…

if you like young boys,
we won't be shocked.

You are ignoble!
All this is ignoble!

Enough! Enough, you understand?

Pull him out, or I'll
break everything!

I'll break your hoe, got it?

I'm here!

Lima! He's yours.

Let go of me!

Hold still. Sit down!

Don't touch me. Don't touch me!

We won't harm him.

He tells on his girlfriend
and we let him go.

I want to call the police.

But the police is me!

Here, what're you waiting for?
Call me. Where's the phone?

Hello, police?

Yes, this is the police.
It's the police, yes, yes.

How good!

One of these evenings I'll come
here, and you cook them like that, eh?

What are you doing to
him? I want to go see.

Stop, you piece of shit!

- Well?
- He didn't speak.

We'd better scram.

Listen to me well.

You never saw us.

Don't try and be smart, because
next time we might come for you.

Let's go.

Monteiro Rossi!

They went away!

They went away!

It's over.

They went…

Monteiro…

Manuel…

- What happened to you?
- Nothing. I need your help.

Please forward this message
to my friend Dr. Cardoso.

- Please, it's urgent.
- Sure. Trust me.

His name was
Francesco Monteiro Rossi.

He was of Italian origin.

He collaborated with our newspaper.

He has written texts on
the great writers of our time,

from Garcia Lorca to Mayakovsky.

They haven't been published yet,
but maybe someday they will be.

He was a nice guy…

who loved life.

He was beaten to a pulp, his skull…

smashed with the butt of a gun!

His corpse is lying at the 2nd
floor of Rua da Saudade, number 22.

He was murdered by
three vile individuals.

The first one, skinny,
calling himself 'commander'.

The other two, big as cupboards,

respond to the names
of Fonseca and Lima.

We invite all
citizens to be vigilant

and to report these
incidents of brutal violence

being perpetrated in our country,
with the complicity of someone.

Monteiro Rossi was in love with a
girl, young and brave, lover of freedom.

To this girl, if she reads
our article, we offer our…

most sincere condolences…

and our most loving greetings.

Monteiro Rossi, this newspaper
remembers you, and bids farewell.

Signed Pereira.

Monteiro Rossi, this newspaper
remembers you, and bids farewell.

Signed Pereira.

But…

you really want to sign this?

It's a very serious matter. You bring
such an article without censorship visa!

We've known for over 30 years.
Have I ever created a problem?

- 'limes were different!
- No! This article must come out today!

I spoke with the head of the
censure and got his verbal consent.

- The head of the censure?
- Yes, Major Lourengo.

He was my schoolmate. It was I
who introduced him to our editor.

You're a friend of Major Lourengo?

Listen,

I'll call him up, and you
speak to him yourself, directly.

You do it, ask for the Major.

Hello? Here the
typography of the "Lisboa".

Yes. Major Lourengo, please.

Hold on, please.

Major Lourengo is in a meeting.

Hold on. The operator
says he's in a meeting.

Give me.

- I'm Pereira.
- It's you, Mr. Pereira!

Tell the Major that I
absolutely need to talk to him.

Yes, yes, the Major is here.
I'll put him on right away.

Hello, Pereira, what's up?

I'm in the typography.
It's for the article

that I read you a while ago, yes.
The visa! The printer's worried.

I said the country must know!

I know, that the country must know.

Yes, I'll put him on.

Major Lourengo?

Yes, Major!

What's your name, my friend?

Listen well, Pedro, you must be proud
to publish Pereira's exclusive article!

I'm amazed that as a citizen,

before than typographer,
you make some resistance.

I apologize, Major.

By the way, on which
page you think of putting it?

On the cultural page? No, my
friend, no dice! On the front page!

Thank you, Mr. Major.

It will be done. Yessir.

The front page! He ordered
me to put it on the front page!

If the Major so ordered…

Gosh, Pereira!

You've come a long way!

Yes.

What I'm doing?

I'll explain later.

♪ O segredo a descobrir
está fechado em nós… ♪

Silly one! You thought
I'd leave you alone, eh?

Shortly the paper will be out,
and we can't waste a minute.

♪ …embala o coração mas ♪

♪ Está escondido nas… ♪

Journalist brutally assassinated!

Young journalist
brutally assassinated!

Give me one.

Pereira claims that, as he
walked away through the crowd,

he felt as if his age no
longer weighed on him.

As if he were a boy again,
agile, swift, with a great will to live.

And then he thought
of the Granja beach,

and a fragile girl, who had
given him the best years of his life.

And, to remember all this, he
had the wish to make a dream,

a beautiful dream with open eyes.

But of this dream he
doesn't want to talk, Pereira,

because he would tell it personally

to the one who has
narrated you this story.

♪ O segredo a descobrir…

♪ está fechado em nós

♪ O tesouro brilha aqui

♪ embala o coração mas

♪ Está escondido nas palavras

♪ e nas mãos ardentes

♪ Na doçura de chorar

♪ nas carícias quentes ♪

English subs by edam17@KG March 2015