Original subtitles

COME AND GO

Pigeons don't eat liver.

Don't stick your nose in other peoples business or it may be pecked oft.

Can I have a cigarette?

Is this where someone put an ad?

I put an ad.

Cleaning lady needed.

You don't look like a cleaning lady.

Depends what you mean by a cleaning lady.

According to popular belief it is...

A human being.

A human being

who, in exchange for wages,

rather low, I may add,

agrees to do housework.

Do you want references?

It's usual. However,

the best reference is the impression you cause.

You needn't give me references.

Only a blind man could fail to see

the purity of your heart.

The only obstacle I can see,

a small one I might add right away

is that you...

What's your name?

Adriana.

"Imagine!

I had a Rhode Island Red called Adriana.

She was a devil, always cackling for no reason at all,

but what a fine layer!

Magnificent.

Poor thing!

Even an arsehole has the right to rest.

That's true.

The ruling classes

may hold onto their ancient rights.

But I can't see you washing sheets

or cleaning windows.

I'm not one of the old guard

it that's what you're implying.

I don't allow familiarities.

But it you think you can try it on, you'll get as good as you give.

I'm a bit contused, that's all.

The house

isn't a palace as you can see.

Of course

I'm retired

and live alone without causing talk.

The feminine touch

here and there

would bring some joy

into my dismal life. I have little to look forward to

and nothing to tear.

To tell the truth

I expected someone older

with hands roughened by years of housework.

The days are past when Lenin

laid low empirical attitudes and chauvinistic idealism.

That was before he, in his turn, was brought low.

The flame of communism is immortal.

I'm a red

through

and through.

I'm a widower.

There is no death. Let's sing.

- When do we start work? - For my part right away.

Sir, or is it comrade?

Sir. While the lands still have lords.

We must pay respect where it's due

but it you like

you can call me J. V.

Spell that out.

- João Vuvu. - Vuvu?

What sort of name is that?

It's the name

of an ancient family of African origin.

But you aren't black.

I only began to be insulted very late.

Talking of insults,

we haven't discussed terms.

I pay badly

so as to keep your revolutionary conscience alive.

I give my all to the Party

and I shall know how to wear the shackles of slavery,

suffer the rack.

It I bow down to worldly events,

tough, tyrannical and pressing,

I will put at risk what I have achieved in the great book of life,

and taking up

the holy lyre capable of the highest inspiration,

quieten this confusion,

and sing for a vision of peace.

Is that a quote from Comrade Saramago'?

It's from Camões.

Super flumina Babylonia.

Rivers that flow to Babylon.

I've heard that sung at communist rallies.

Can you darn socks with a mushroom?

The poisonous kind?

Rather the needle and thimble kind,

the old-fashioned way.

There is no death.

Let's sing.

Wink, wink,

eyes of the pied wagtail.

With our lack of skill

it would be easier for a camel to pass through.

Right down to the bottom.

I'm trying.

Hold this.

For the kids of the neighborhood

I predict great fun and games.

Some days later.

Vuvu, Vuvu...

I'm bleeding.

I need honey to soothe my cunt.

Come bees,

give her honey for her sweet lips.

Good morning Mr. João.

Are you day-dreaming?

I'm pleased to see you Miss Custodial

I hadn't noticed you.

I was in cloud, cuckoo land.

Such a lovely morning and you're blind to it.

Without eyes I can see evil and follow it with my eyes.

Eyeless faces see eyes which cost dear.

No mention is made of eyes

because you wish they weren't there.

Blindfold yourselves, eyes unneeded

I won't cover you, eyes you are not.

Good to see you.

Are you off to Big Sfores'?

I have to go.

I've been on holiday in Paris.

Yes ma'am.

Paris is always Paris.

I went up the Eiffel Tower

and saw the lights stretching away into the distance

but nobody recognized me.

The ladder to fame is hard and steep!

You must persevere.

They made fun of me when I said

I'd won the crown of Miss Swimming Pool.

And without thorns. You were the loveliest.

That's true. I was generously applauded.

What is good in Clapham,

is good in the Champs Elysees.

Lets agree on this:

wrapped in a sequined mantle

shining ruby red

you reign over them with great spirituality.

I, Custodia,

will cover the cost of a promotional video clip.

Fausta!

It's been years!

Always on the alert. Always the same.

Someone told me, that you'd gone to Ethiopia.

I didn't go in the end. What about you?

I'm off to the House.

- Are you a member? - I give lessons in sucking pricks.

But that was never your style.

It's better than working in Intendente.

No comparison.

It's so much cleaner.

Without forgetting the perks and good government.

I had good teachers.

The an consists in passing

the foreskin test, remember?

I think I've forgotten.

Now, I'm a widower.

I'm in mourning and don't tuck.

Don't make me laugh! I believe you had a high old time at the funeral.

What funeral? Don't make me laugh.

My Hortense wasn't dead,

she was sleeping.

It was all a show

put on by the family.

Burning with excitement,

the fountain of life dripped into the coffin

eager for fun and games

and naughty wiggles.

What! Did you fiddle with her cunt?

Is that a place one should fiddle with lightly?

No, I never stick my finger

in other peoples pies.

All I wish for now

is a comfortable widowhood

worthy of the best waltzes.

You must have made her lite hell.

Blacker than it already is?

You had a child, didn't you?

Jorge, he's in clink, watching the world go by.

But he didn't commit a crime.

That's what you think!

And a masterly one by all accounts.

Poor thing!

Poor thing?

His old dad has stood by him,

and as he didn't get a hundred years one of these days

when he's paid his debt to society

he'll be out and be able to live like a king.

I just hope he won't let me down,

he's a lovely chap

level-headed

takes after me.

He won't be ungrateful,

I'm sure he'll appreciate

the sacrifices of his old man.

As I always say:

"Son you are now, father you'll be".

As you sow so shall you reap.

Oh dear son!

Oh lovely lad!

I want to enjoy

I want to enjoy All the lovely lolly.

I'm feeling a bit dicky.

I'm too old for these jollifications.

A small man is always a crook or a dancer.

Ah my girl,

it's sweltering.

Mysterious

and vague after the rain.

Come on,

I'll invite you to a nice cup of tea

freshly made.

It will tune up your voice

and you'll trill like a warbler.

I've got a date. I don't like being late.

Whatever time you arrive,

you cause a sensation.

Make them beg.

Let them twirl,

let them howl.

Let them melt their fat in the dust of their offices,

let the liqueurs spill

over the caryatids in palace corridors.

Whichever way they turn

these people will never know where they're at.

However often they say of the republics

what Mafoma never said about the bacon,

that is not,

figuratively

or in any sense of the word,

a distillery.

I can't believe my eyes.

The places you take me to!

There's nothing extraordinary about it.

The building belongs to the brotherhood of St Vincent de Paul

and thanks to the voluntary work of devout ladies

raises money for charity.

The priests twisted everything:

centuries of intolerance taught by Torquemada

all that is left to them now is paedophilia,

the Archbishop of Milwaukee

and so on.

I don't know where I am.

You have this feeling of non-reality

because you have in fact

been in another world but don't worry,

you returned alive from the land of the dead.

It smelled musty.

That's the smell of non-reality.

"Saluté y deputációnes".

Cheers.

At least they served alcoholic drinks.

A small concession to these modern times.

The only one in fact.

It's just as well there are people who care about the poor.

They've done it for centuries.

For lack of something better

they even cobbled together a religion to comfort them.

Life has always been hard for the poor.

That's why

they hung a whopping fib on the horns of a carpenter

whose wife, a Jewish tart, turned out to be in the club.

They wouldn't listen, refused to be disconcerted,

the story was not to be refuted on the contrary,

it was divine intervention

work of a dove

but it was all "comme il taut",

in a state of grace.

But it gets better.

While the villagers split their sides laughing,

they convinced the tool

that the good tidings should be spread worldwide.

At last wonder of wonders

the son of God was born!

I missed the boat,

Joseph lamented, struck by the light.

Oh, Maria!

We discovered the Immaculate Fornication

and I forgot to write down the formula.

He glanced at the village idiots,

packed up his bundle and made off with his wife on a donkey.

Maybe he thought it over and came to the conclusion

that enough was enough.

The blessed fruit became a man

and like any good pantomime actor...

only preached

what everyone already knew,

that this lite is a vale of tears.

- He died on the cross. - That's true,

and with a lot of fuss.

It took them three days to get out of that one

and find a way to resurrect him

so that the farce had a happy ending.

Happy for him and better still for us.

It only needed a few prayers and a couple of blessings

to glorify the afterlife

he knew so well...

because he'd been there in the company of his father.

This is where

we would be happy ever after:

a bed of roses, a celebration

and why not?

An eternal teas! "per secula seculorum".

What's the solution?

There isn't one.

Is suicide the solution?

It so,

I'm not interested.

But it's the problem which is interesting, never the solution.

Man, or what is left of him,

has to live with the insoluble problem of life.

Some time ago

when I was full of

the Ethiopian trip...

I went into a chemist's

to get a long list of things

anti-inflammatory cream,

camphorated alcohol,

poultices,

ammonia, alkali volatile,

Mustard powder, extract of saturn,

painkillers,

antipyrine,

soothing balsam,

sydenham laudanum,

tartar emetic,

ipécacuanha,

laxatives,

manna,

Epsom salts,

oil oi ricin,

sodium sulphate,

rhubarb, styptics,

napthol beta,

bismuth (sub-nitrate),

anti-fever pills,

quinine,

sleeping pills,

chloral am,

antiseptics,

iodine, peroxide, sundries,

cotton wool, bandages,

plasters, silver hydrate,

alcohol, ether,

linseed oil, bicarbonate oi soda,

Vaseline, talc, glycerine.

You must have spent a fortune!

I spared no effort.

The horn of Africa is no joke,

I prepared the expedition meticulously,

nothing left to chance.

You thought of everything, you take good care of yourself.

It wasn't for myself.

It was to impress the natives.

I wanted to be greeted

in a party atmosphere.

"Just skin and bone,

"when its burnt black its a pure Ethiopian".

As a sign of gratitude for my welcome

I opened my bag...

distributed the medicine among the natives

and set about healing sores.

I'm trying to imagine you

imbued with missionary spirit

but God forgive me, I can only see you grabbing the nearest pair of tits.

They are supposed to be very pretty and to your liking.

Really?

- I didn't hear them crying. - They prefer singing.

Those who cry with others, cry for ever.

Make a fist

and grasp

the peniary gland tightly

so that the blood

gathers round the top.

When it becomes

red and swollen

hold the foreskin

between your thumb

and forefinger

and blow,

keeping it well stretched

and hermetically sealed, glued to the lips,

at the same time spitting into it

quickly, till it's as full as a wineskin.

Keep it well closed

and then let the whole thing go limp in sweet evanescence.

What about the member of parliament?

He will present a protest.

It's a question of time.

Then he'll lose

his manly urges

he won't be able to control his eagerness, and end up by saying

"Well my dear, aren't you going to suck it?

- And should I? - Never.

Don't think of it.

You explain sweetly

that nobody does that in China

it's only done by leeches,

not in refined civilizations.

At that moment,

the M.P. will waver,

his voice tremble

he wants to call for his mummy but can't.

He has the worm at its mercy

on show in a public place.

Democracy is sate,

or at least

what's left of it in its most grotesque theatrical expression.

After a lively debate,

and a tough battle in the commons, the law is passed.

The Chinese blow-job,

also known as the "blowee"

due to its Asiatic origin

and especially recommended

for ladies and girls

who are not inspired to do charity work.

Thus confirming the incentives

which should be facilitated in the E.U.

together with a rigorous policy of development

in the leisure and recreational industries,

where this practice

should be taught

by qualified professionals

and stringent tests set

in such an intricate and difficult new technology.

The old whores

can smile at last.

- When will we see each other again? - When we are old enough.

At the moment we hesitate like everyone else.

Between ourselves,

and it is rather amusing,

the "blowee" is the super blow-job

but the rift-raft will never realize that

for the rabble not even a sniff.

I can't get these creases out.

The iron is cold.

So now what?

- Wait for it to warm up. - With this heat?

Only if I take my clothes off.

That may not be necessary.

Your overall is cool,

and as you have to dampen the material before you iron,

you can refresh the most affected parts.

My armpits are the worst.

They are covered with beads of sweat.

- What are you doing? - I'm taking my clothes off.

- You will have your own way. - What's wrong with it?

Nothing.

That's what makes it a shameful act.

The Ethiopian painters

showed Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden,

wearing sumptuous robes.

After they had partaken of the forbidden fruit

God took away all he'd given them

and banished them from Paradise.

Left naked,

they were reduced

to ignominious misery.

He put a bitter taste in their mouths, and not even a drop to drink?

No.

Gad was never a game-game.

It would have been better to have finished them off, once for all,

eradicate the poison at it's root.

God is a bit naive

and didn't foresee that Adam and Eve's action

would make them equal and one with Him!

To kill them would be to sign his own death warrant.

The harm was done and couldn't be undone.

The only way out was to condemn them to lite.

Some lemonade?

Come and see what I've done.

You gave me a fright.

I thought something dreadful had happened.

Antigone with the wind.

I'm fired!

No,

stop working

and let's have some lemonade.

Nan-Asa, Nan-Asa,

countess of shrimp.

Always barefoot,

not even clogs.

She was a joy to see weaving her way through the fish market,

one hand steadying the shallow basket on her head,

the other on her hips.

"Pricks for sale"

she cried in her hoarse vofce

from deep in her throat.

Good heavens, and were there children about?

I was one.

And didn't anyone do anything about it'?

Because of the "pricks"?

Where I come from that's what they call the shrimps of the Mondego River.

The humble crustacean disappeared

and for some reason or other

the word tell into disuse.

So what did they call the them then?

"Pricks", but nobody choked on them.

Maybe because nobody ate them any more.

Maybe.

Nan-Asa, Nan-Asa,

countess of shrimp

perhaps the mother prick got fed up

and went to lay her eggs in calmer waters.

They opened the privy early. What a stench!

I can't smell anything.

That's impossible with a nose like yours.

Can't you hear the clamor of popular indignation?

It the blacks in accordance with the sentiment here expressed

deserve to die, be sent back to their huts,

penal law considers the existence

of an adjacent principle already expressed

automatically confirms without impediments

the legality of punitive law.

It substitutes once and for all

the old maxim "nulla poena sine lege"

which is obsolete, for the maxim "no crime should go unpunished"

we are substituting once and for all

the concept of formal delict for factual delict.

He's black and that's it.

Only thus can we help justice to prevail.

I don't understand the reason for your nostalgic lament.

It's true that

your tub-thumping tirade is all laid down

in the penal code of the Third Reich,

but even today the so-called social communication

permits its usage freely.

Those who play football

with the heads of terrorists or such.

Remember Nathaniel who played for Benfica?

We formed a formidable wing.

We faced the team from Congo and were unbeatable.

Nathaniel, no buts, headed the head of the black

and scored a goal!

Those who force coconuts into black vaginas

so that their seed won't germinate

knew that their motherland

was being burnt in the hands of unscrupulous wheeler-dealers.

Even you, Mr. Vuvu, for whom I have great respect,

sold your ideals for a miserable pension

and a plate of beans.

I have no pension

and as for beans, not even in tomato sauce.

One thing is certain.

Acts of barbarity always precede the fall of empires.

Sit down.

Too late.

Bless you.

I suffer from allergies.

The mites are implacable

and the pituitary gives way at once.

I must get you one of those Arabic veils

to muffle your sneezes.

Why so many books? Have you read them all?

No way.

- Books are not for reading. - So?

They keep me company

and don't give as much work as a dog.

It you don't count the dust.

Dust is everywhere, it has nowhere to go.

Books keep the secrets they don't trust us with.

Go down to the working classes

and eat your corn flour.

Sprinkle some sugar on it.

Food of the poor.

Cornflour diluted with water,

a pinch of salt,

a drop of ofl.

Ten minutes on a slow heat, stirring with a wooden spoon

till it starts to boil.

Nothing easier,

even it it's not very nutritious.

It's good.

Yes, if it tells the story of poverty.

- A drop of milk? - Thanks.

I'm full up.

Don't you think I'm very old?

I don't even know your age.

Twenty-three.

It's some age, but don't worry I'm not interested in age.

You are 20 and you are 3.

Are you satisfied with my work?

Satisfied? In what way?

Pleased with me?

You are polite

and cheerful

that helps a lot.

But I feel this is not my vocation.

I wasn't born to be a cleaning lady.

Nobody is.

Before slavery was abolished

it was enough for slaves

to be well-treated for them to be happy.

Then, their freedom made them painfully aware of their condition

and they became more and more unhappy.

Today it you want to make them happy

give them a slave of their own.

My dream is to be a film star.

Difficult.

You'll have to win the good graces of the Jew boys.

That's for "Kung-fu"; I want to play the pan of an ingénue.

I was referring to the money-lenders of the holocaust,

the incense-wavers of horror. - Who are they?

Those who've made a lot of money.

I only know one called God.

Don't know him. Can't recall the name.

He's a great con man.

With a name like that what did you expect?

But at first it was all "salaams",

sweet talk to take us in

all he wanted was to suck up to us.

He's not alone in that.

Strange as it may seem,

these people spend their lives

boot-licking, and cry for more.

- More on the line of cunt-licking. - Did you let them?

What could I do about it?

Complain.

But I loved it. It was lovely.

Opinions are divided.

Some say it is good for you

and some say it isn't.

It makes no difference to me.

It's up to the individual.

- Haven't you ever done it? - Me?

I'm a respectable man.

I'd never stoop so low.

But you said you were married.

I was married to a virgin.

In 23 years,

in every 23 days of marriage

I never had animal-like relations with my wife.

I lie.

I remember

once,

just once,

my Hortensia took to her bed with flu

and I begged her to allow me, blind folded,

to put a suppository up her rectum.

"Not there",

she exclaimed with a moan.

In the throes of my great affliction

I had made a mistake,

but my error was soon corrected and all ended well.

At the end of two days her fever went down.

Except for this slip, provoked by her illness,

we maintained our virginity

and were sublimely happy

until one day.

My Frankie has a permanent hard-on.

How do you manage?

I give him a good thrashing. That's what women are for.

He doesn't get anything from me unless he behaves himself.

Get off me, Chico, I say.

He becomes like a lamb right away.

Look here Jacinta,

we'd go to the green meadows and listen to the song of the birds

breathe in the scent of the flowers.

Oh, the flowers.

Gather shells on the shore

or play in the wavelets.

We'd welcome you royally into our modest home,

we'd shell peas

and, in love, exchange embraces.

Did good indiscriminately.

You're kidding me.

I don't kid people.

And it I did I would be a despot.

But you can't force people to give up their pleasures.

What pleases some may not please others.

I'm a real man and tolerant,

but nothing can shake my convictions.

It you've never tried it you can't know

I was born like baby Jesus and like him I wish to die.

My instincts prevent me

from satisfying brutal passing appetites.

Right. That's the end of the conversation.

I can see you're a cold fish.

Right. We'll say no more.

God licked even when we had our period.

The beast!

Besides being a pig he took advantage of women

when they are at their weakest.

He thought that was when the clitoris was at it's tastiest,

ready for the dances,

that which he described as the great Dionysian celebration.

"Christ follows Dionysus,

"Phallic and ambrosial made way for macerations."

I'm pleased to see you are well-versed.

These ancient cults are a thing of the past, it's true.

However, the poet who wrote this verse

must be around somewhere.

Submerged in dust,

submerged in tears.

After the cunt-licking we were made to read poems.

Hour after hour,

spouting poetry "with banners unfurled."

What a bore!

But worst of all was when he started pacing backwards and forwards,

pompous and opinionated.

"All they do is roll their eyes And flutter their eyelashes,

"Thinking they beautiful.

"That's one reason why the cinema is in the state it is."

We start with a sulk and getting nervous

we lost it completely.

That resulted in fury.

He lost his temper,

his eyes became bloodshot.

He lost his head and told us off loud and clear.

"You'll never have the class of Garbo nor even the cunt of Greta".

An uninspiring little tyrant, in short. Did you at least get paid?

Not a "sou".

I was to play the pan of Camões mother.

What! You play that pan!

He said the pan was made for me,

because of my name.

"In Freixo de Espada à Cinta, Luis de Camões was born.

"His mother Jacinta sold melons there".

But Camões wasn't born in Freixo de Espada à Cinta.

That was Junqueiro.

I don't give a shit about historical accuracy,

he raved.

What counts in this film is not where he was born,

but where he did business.

And has this rubbish been shown? Did it get to the screen?

It was never made. Later they discovered

that the cunt-licker had escaped from a loony bin.

And had this mania for either making films or pretending to be a dog.

Sometimes, I've been told, he even pretended to be barmy.

The two are not incompatible,

but it seems he was neither,

which makes it incompatible with both.

What you got out of!

It's an incredible story,

the son one tells one's grandchildren.

Look, Jacinta,

I don't know a thing about cinema

but, with due modesty,

perhaps we could dance

a "zarzuela".

I'd love to try.

So you shall and without further delay,

we shall begin a conceded "habanera".

I'm in heaven.

Let yourself float.

At this point

mad with jealousy; the young typist tried

to prevent Susana

from gofng to bed

with the old lecher, Dom Hilarión.

He stands in from of them

grabs her round the waist

but is repelled.

You'll have to repel me more roughly

so that I tall back on the ottoman.

Don't forget Susana is a bad lot,

her pride is hurt and she's capable of anything.

Don't be afraid of hurting me.

My nose is as hard as a ship's prow

and I'm used to

"sailing uncharted waters".

Now foam at the mouth and overcome me.

Jump on top of me

with your backside straddling my face

and manacle my wrists.

I don't offer resistance.

I say:

"Susana of my heart,

"pity me and forgive me all the wrongs I've done you".

What do I do?

You don't forgive me.

You are thirsty for revenge.

You want the bastard to eat din,

you have a murderous

gleam in your eye.

You laugh a diabolical laugh

and fan right in his face.

Is that part of the Zarzuela?

No, but this is now burlesque.

I don't know it I can do it, I'm shy.

Don't be.

You're doing well.

Full of tragic feeling.

Divine!

- The cornflour should get the credit. - Don't be modest Jacinta,

you have talent,

you're a natural.

- I just want a little more music. - What?

A noisier fan will do.

One of those long reverberating ones result of a large plate of beans.

Just to get a bit of festive spirit.

Sublime!

And perfumed,

quite flagrant too.

As this is theatre,

I'm gofng to pretend it was a stinker,

hold my nose and say,

what a pong! - Then what?

The bombardment continues.

Your revenge is implacable,

the air is thick.

Oh, wicked woman, with what fetid stink,

have you slain me in the flower of my youth!

So goes the world,

I say "Rosebud,

"and breathe, my last".

I don't understand. What do you say?

Rosebud.

Little rosebud, Jacinta.

Rosebud.

Highborn Jorgey.

He was fat as a badger,

and had a fine constitution.

He drank pints of milk

from the local cows.

He was polite and correct

in the traditional style.

From that lovely mouth

came only sweet words.

Before he could walk,

one could see he was gifted.

He knew his catechism

from cover to cover.

He didn't need to work hard

to get into University.

Everyone agreed,

unanimously,

that Jorge was without doubt,

a genius.

He was such a sensible boy.

He had only one weakness.

He spat out little snails

and crushed them on the ground.

His parent were delighted

with their promising offspring.

Jorge didn't read at all but was soon qualified.

As soon as the eldest daughter of a Jew saw him, she tell for him.

She was a lovely girl

and kept her hymen

very carefully guarded.

All the girls fell under the spell

of this God-given gem.

Marriage was discussed and a date fixed

for the day of "Kippour",

the day of forgiveness.

But the bride's father, a money-leader got suspicious.

When on his sixtieth anniversary

he got an idea

and he spied on the youngsters

before the holy alliance.

The conduct of the newly-weds seemed irreproachable

Until the curate

split the beans.

God only knows how on earth

the mishap occurred.

It's the work of the devil,

that turns a wise man into an idiot.

Jorge was caught

red-handed in the Mass

fornicating with a judge.

Right under the nose of a irate God, furious at this carnal corruption,

the faithful threw themselves, in a mad frenzy,

towards the magistrate's buttocks.

Which the sacristan was sprinkling

with an aspergillum.

At last the whole shameful truth came to light.

All was revealed.

The pofson of perversion

had been injected into Jorge,

by a rich fascist who was

noble when Waltzing

low when his prick was in his hand.

The arrogant misshapen monster

politician of "anything goes"

the censor of depravation

realized that jollification, anything goes

was a lucrative business

with unlimited opportunities.

He didn't strain his brain calls

and got right to the point.

I have the world in my grasp,

a goldmine in my hand.

Take a bit here, add a bit there,

with elegance and sophistication.

The ogre thought things over

and rolled on the floor with glee.

He who has everything in his hand can call the tune.

To have a good time

it's enough to open a low dive or a TV channel:

nor do we need a dictatorship to cause a good impression.

There is no better sinecure than pushing the button on a TV set,

to see, live,

a manicurist eating a peacock.

Faced with Salazar the chap shat in his pants,

fled down a sewer,

and sniveled.

Now he has everything,

he's on top as they say

and can be seen, scratching his crotch

among the local highlife.

The moron is proud of himself.

Oh, moron go on, dream!

The unpleasant itch is a passing fancy,

a light passing cloud,

the work of parasites, without rhyme or reason.

Crabs, nits, lice?

There is an instant cure for the plague.

I've found the solution in a trice

to eliminate these pesky lice.

Nor do they stand a chance

in this era of globalization.

True, but the "Crabbies",

because they are crabbies,

are always with us,

have plenty of reason.

It seems we won't get rid of them

with demagogues.

The "crabbies" are fed up

with hollow democracy.

Just because they are crabby

they want to stop being crabby

but they can only stop bothering us when the robber-state disappears.

It on prime time

my lyre wanders

what do I care it pity

doesn't pity those to whom it is offered.

I didn't turn my back on perversion. I carried my cross.

Fate doesn't want

the beam of redeeming light

to guide the psychopath

along the paths of love.

Oh, sad "desdechado"!

You need the winged protection of a police angel who

with lance carried high

delivers us from evil.

Jorge wouldn't listen.

Instead of calling a halt

he went along with it.

The bride, the beautiful Jewess,

was the innocent victim of the story.

She tell ill with jaundice

and saw everything in tones of yellow.

She was tended with care

and without alerting the police

a tragedy was avoided

and the nightmare ended.

The cretin followed the path of vice

undermined by social canker

from there on, on the path of crime,

just one step was enough.

The bank was robbed

and terror spread.

I'm almost at the end

of this infernal ballad.

Oh, Barbara, I'm sorry

for this rigmarole of complaints,

this long-suffered confession

I've subjected you to.

And having done their duty as their uniform demands,

at the hands of a vile layabout

some might say,

good policemen were blown away

riddled with bullets.

What can I say? I'm like Mary Magdalene.

Tears wash the soul,

purify the conscience.

I really liked it.

It has feeling.

Good.

Nothing equals the pain of a father

except mother love.

There's just something I don't understand but I don't know whether.

Spit it out.

It was when you called the state a thief.

- Did I say that? - Yes.

It you say so, then I did.

I belong to the forces of order and we are not paid

like the private secfor, to work for the security of the powerful

but to treat all equally. - Of course.

Talking of sallies,

we hear a piece of nonsense, and it goes round in our brain

and suddenly, there it is, worming its way in,

spoiling everything-.

Now he's going to sulk.

I'm disgusted.

Poetry is not an act of savagery.

It's no use crying over split milk.

Portuguese is a tricky language,

we have to be patient.

And without seeming to care,

wait for the muse to come

and eat from our hand.

What a lot of trouble I've stirred up!

Not at all.

It would be a free for all

it everyone said

the first thing that came in to their head.

It would be anarchy,

every man for himself.

Without meaning to, I interrupted his train of thought,

his inspiration.

God gives,

God takes away,

but he spread some magic dust,

waved his magic wand

and he broke the spell.

A bit more magic dust

and it's done.

Tell the robber-state to go to hell

and sing the praises of the police-state.

It doesn't rhyme,

but so what.

Won't the remedy be worse than the illness?

- Child of my heart! - Father!

- The prodigal son returns. - The terror of the police force!

The human beast!

Don't fret, my children.

Let me mediate the discord that keeps you apart,

with the wisdom of Solomon.

Miss Barbara was kind enough to visit me

which warmed the cockles of my heart.

Jorge paid his dues to society.

He learned that crime doesn't pay.

I'm sure he won't repeat the sins of his past.

Cast out the rancour in your hearts

it you wish to see your old dad dance with joy.

She tenured me with refinement.

To be tenured by Miss Barbara

is the dream of every greenhorn.

In the lower regions?

That is one of life's ironies.

Poofters don't enjoy it.

What has this got to do with me?

Everyone says it's current practice in prisons

like it or not. - People say a lot of things.

I'm gob-smacked!

You beat up two of her colleagues.

It was in self-defense.

They shot to kill

and hit a child who was playing football in the street.

Playing in the street is dangerous.

They could have been run over.

- It was an accident. - Don't play with guns.

It they couldn't shoot straight they shouldn't have moved!

You bloody murderer!

Your mother used to call me that when she got mad.

Psychopath!

Jorge is a fine shot.

It must be his Calvinistic infallibility that inspires him.

It's just a shame he chose the wrong target.

I received an ovation!

That's only natural.

Two policemen lying dead on the pavement

doesn't happen every day.

I'm leaving before I lay hands on him.

Like father, like son, and I was stupid enough to be taken in.

I'm still not fully in control of myself.

You are puzzled, Barbara.

We are good honest folk:

brave and frank.

Everyone has their troubles.

I'm sure we'll meet again, Mr Vuvu.

I hope so.

You must know

children always cause grief to their parents.

- Did you see a woman-policeman pass? - Yes.

- Which way did she go? - Up.

“N?

What was that story about queers?

Has no-one ever told you a tall story?

You can't catch flies with vinegar.

I'm rather more inclined to sprees

than great deeds.

You can keep both. I don't like either.

For someone who hasn't had it off for so long

it might do you good to have a tuck.

I'm not interested.

Nobody is forcing you.

It you don't want it, you don't want it.

It was all I could get at the time.

The good ones were all busy

and these didn't come cheap.

You always did throw your money about.

The policewoman was tree.

She is enough for two

truncheon thrown in.

I recall a French song I used lo sing when I was small.

The belly-button of a cop's wife

is certainly not a pretty sight...

From an aesthetic point oi view,

you can't put her on pedestal

But this one isn't the wife of a policeman.

She is a real Valkyrie and well worth having.

She's abusing her authority,

practicing cruelties,

of course I can't approve.

I've always condemned acts of brutality.

You should have known the famous Guilhermina

who with the palm of her hand

gave me a ju-jitsu blow to the liver

that made me go green.

- What had you done? - Nothing.

I was as drunk as a skunk

and only said I'd never seen such an ugly woman.

She really was a hag.

Barbara is different.

Have you ever thought

what a nightmare it is for a girl just come from the cabbage patch

to fall among a crowd of cops?

So as not to be segregated

and fight for female equality, women's rights

there's only one way out:

go along with them,

be a super-cop.

It is said, once a policeman, always a policeman.

That is a quote from a gangster film with Jack Palance.

'A cop is always a cop'.

So what?

You know a lot.

The slammer

is a good school.

But now we are on the subject,

you're not leaving here without knowing something else:

Never...

Tell me.

When you go with a punter does he wear a breastplate?

No. In fact I'm very gentle.

We'll have to get you a new pair of legs.

I've heard you can get some made in Germany that are so good

you can dance a tango.

They may not be as good as those of Marlene

but you can lead a normal lite.

The problem is money.

Have a word with Jorge. He understands high finance.

We don't need the cripple to make us rich.

There are plenty of generous gents.

Just curiosity:

How can you be sure

you are giving full satisfaction?

You can work up to high speeds.

Don't you get dizzy?

Sometimes, but it soon passes off if I roll over.

That's how you turn deficiency into efficiency.

There's nothing like the laws of physics to give body to carnal acts.

We have got rid of tarantulas

but my head is still full of the Portuguese.

Anyway, no-one is born Portuguese.

One becomes Portuguese.

It's atavism. Pure atavism!

For someone just out of hell, it's paradise.

Prisons are dreadful.

With the proliferation of petty crime

the teachings of the masters are dead.

Today you can go to prison for nothing at all, it's tragic.

The cells, where in the olden days the sages ruled

are now full of a mob of rats and petty thieves.

Crime no longer pays.

I learned one thing

I want to be honest, I want to go straight.

Nor would I allow you to stray.

The wounds remain.

There are always dogs who bark,

but lite must go on.

Making a world tour

we make a tour of lite

the scars become invisible

with time.

It Dostoevsky had been director of a Swiss bank,

it may have been a great loss for humanity,

but he would have had a good laugh.

Anyway,

you have your future before you

just as I have my past full of smiles.

Don't worry.

While I'm alive you will want for nothing.

There are comfortable homes where you can live out the rest of your days

playing dominos and backgammon.

Can you imagine me living off your handouts in an asylum?

Putting up with decrepit old men pinching nurses bottoms?

Should I snigger or laugh out loud?

There are people who die in the gutter like dogs.

I know.

That's not in my plans.

I'm sure you mean well,

but just where do you get

these Christian ideas?

I'm serious. You refuse to listen.

Really? So much the better.

I'm trembling like a leaf at your threats.

Meanwhile

perhaps you could hang yourself with the dosh you stole.

However, I'll give you some fatherly advice:

Run from society

like the devil from the cross.

The only society you should cultivate is your own.

All you think of is money. You should be ashamed of yourself.

You're quite wrong.

I've never wished to live like a nabob.

I know you can live on a small stipend but don't give me

those fibs about urban guerrilla warfare and such other rubbish.

I've given that up. It wasn't getting me anywhere.

Now I'm involved with financing ethnic minorities

here and there

so as to mine things from the inside.

Against all fires,

my fire.

Bullshit!

You are the most conservative and reactionary person I know.

When your contradictions are exposed they'll raise a laugh,

but I must admit you tooled them all

and so well you even fooled yourself.

'Voici le temps des assassins'.

- I'm amazed. - It's not a recrimination.

In your own way you are an artist.

You take human beings and transform them into 'objets d'art'.

You despise everything around you that you don't create yourself.

Money is essential to satisfy your monstrous vanity.

"Vanity, vanity all the way."

- Have you quite finished? - No.

To be frank I must confess I'm broke.

I donated my stolen loot to a cultural foundation.

That's the honest truth.

Honest truth?

Margaritas ante porous.

Can I believe my ears?

Have I generated a cretin?

You idiot!

Can't you see they've brain-washed you?

That crowd have coddled your brain cells.

I think we'd better get some sleep. Your problem is tiredness.

I'd like to visit the Oceanarium, but it's closed at this hour.

So many fishes, Jorge! Come and see the Oceanarium.

Father!

Go and call someone else "father".

The ad was clear.

- Cleaning lady required. - I can read.

My name is Urraka.

Really! I thought you were Assurbanipal.

That's what you thought!

Where do we begin?

Does hair cover your body

like an orangutan?

Only on the lace and the lower belly.

The rest is smooth as a baby's bottom.

These are regional differences,

probably due to a hormone imbalance.

I was forgetting

I have underarm hair too.

Lithe lice population covered the whole body

it could block the sweat glands

and cause difficulty in adapting to the environment

that not being the case,

new depilatory methods

eliminate uncontrolled outbreaks of pubescent radicles

without eliminating recourse

to the old pair of scissors

and open razors.

I didn't know.

Information about prophylactic precaution

is non-existent, as usual.

Now, lets take a trip into the blackest depths of the forest.

Take off your trousers.

Look, Mr. João,

I'm a Sapphic.

I only like women.

Me too,

I'm a seraphic.

It must be due to my religious tendencies.

My buttocks are white as snow.

The legs are smooth

and well-turned.

Can it be fixed?

Let me think.

Covering the backside is OK for "sofrées"

with a border of pearls and high-heeled shoes.

But it is expensive and not very practical.

I would suggest

something lighter, more graceful like.

An overall

or a mini-skin.

What about the pigtail?

I don't know what to tell you.

That's the crux of it.

When I was a baby

my daddy laid me in my cradle

and caressed it softly, softly

till I slept.

Street urchins

pulled it like a cat's tail

or teased me:

"Urraka has a tail

"hanging from her bum.

"In the bum, she gets it.

"The shit of Beelzebub!"

I threw myself on them

and scratched them with rage.

"Don't cut the hair my father combed".

If you weren't a dyke,

I'd make you a lovely plait.

I'd turn it up

and thread it into your cunt.

Seeing you are

I believe that would be an impediment to frictional practices.

A bandeau?

I wouldn't say no

but it I were you I would not touch a single hair.

Memories of childhood

are sacred.

What should I do with all this hair?

Throw it away?

No way.

It would do to stuff a pillow

and you could die hugging it.

"Imagine!

I had a cleaning lady

called Adriana

and she was nothing more or less than you.

You won't make a living here.

Do you know "the King of the Alamos"?

No. I don't know that one.

When he was your age nor did Schubert.

- How old are you? - I will soon be eleven.

Maybe you will, maybe you won't.

For my pan you will.

I don't know what this is. Hold on.

There's a lot of blood.

Aspirator.

- Pulse and blood pressure OK? - Yes fine. The patient is stable.

- I don't know what this is. - The blood is flowing.

The longest forceps won't reach it.

It's huge.

We'll have to open up the sphincter.

Be careful of the blade. Scissors.

Keep well back.

Can you see anything?

Nothing can be seen. Forceps.

The patient's blood pressure is rising.

More blood.

Hold this end.

I can't see a thing. It's very large.

Pull.

Aspirator.

Something is here. It's big.

Pull hard.

It's stuck. Push here. That's right.

Forceps. Hurry up, it's coming out at last.

The guards and officers

threw the bodies, out into the street,

entered the temple of Baal,

seized the statue and broke it.

They overturned the stele of Baal and destroyed the temple,

reducing it to the rubble which can be seen today.

An Afghan is being interviewed

by a CNN journalist.

Journalist:

"What will you do when the Americans invade?"

Afghan: "We'll give thanks to Allah

"for sending us the sons of uncle Sam

"so good to eat!"

Journalist: "They may be a bit indigestible."

Afghan: "Maybe,

"but Allah didn't realize the meat was pork."

Said one Afghan to his wife:

"What will happen to you it I'm killed in the war?"

Wife: "Don't worry,

"I'll go to work in MacMamouds."

Lie back, I'm going to give you your medicine, OK?

It will calm you down.

Right.

Now you can sleep.

Put your leg in.

Can I put the light out?

Mr. Vuvu,

we're going to have to wait for the pill to take effect

before we can assess your condition.

At present the prognostic is reserved.

The anus, tolerates tropical fruit well.

Bananas, custard apples, kiwis

and vegetables such as turnips, carrots,

eggplants, cucumbers, endives

and radishes

but never, under any circumstances

a penis

of the size that was introduced.

"Pas de plaisir sans penis".

Good evening.

Is it good?

Good?

You have to eat to get better.

He eats it all up.

Leaves nothing.

Do you want a drop of water?

Drink it slowly, don't choke.

Oh, Emilia,

can you find me a scrap of chicken in this soup?

- There isn't any, is there? - There doesn't seem to be any.

I can't find any.

A drop more?

Do you want to stop for a bit?

You know the doctor hasn't given you permission to go home.

You're not in a fit state.

I paid my bill,

which I consider exorbitant for a health service

and assume full responsibility.

I don't owe anything to anyone.

But do you realize what you're doing? You're killing yourself.

I've never been more lucid in my lite.

It's a lovely day and I'm not wasting it lying in bed.

I'd rather die in the open air.

I can't bear the smell of enemas any more.

Have you got anyone to look after you? Family, friends?

I have no family

and, once and for all

I'm nobody's friend.

What a sad life!

It's an asshole of a lite.

Look, Emilia,

I've enjoyed meeting you,

but I'd enjoy it even more it you allowed me

to bless you with a fuck before I go.

Do you feel up to it'?

I wouldn't be the first patient to die of the cure.

- Good morning, Mr. João. - Good morning.

Where are you, I can't see you.

I'm sitting in a tree over your head.

Doing what?

It's forbidden to climb trees.

I've been picking berries but they are all dried up.

They're out of season. Who are you?

I'm Daphne.

I don't know you.

I know you. I see you every day coming and going.

I hadn't noticed.

I live on the corner and I'm still flirting.

Strange way to flirt.

You must be fresh.

I'm married. An ordinary marriage

and I have a daughter, Veronica.

Why didn't you bring her? I'm a devil for fun and games.

She's too small and I didn't want you to get emotional.

I came alone, for no special reason.

One hand full of nothing, the other empty.

I'd like to join you,

but with my arse in this state I can't move,

let alone climb a tree.

Why don't you come down and sit by my side?

I can only give you my shadow.

"When you meet your sweetheart, João, don't forget your whip".

Translation Pamela lneichen

Subtitling Pedro Pévoa/ CRISTBET, Lda.