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Doctor!

Doctor!

Let's go. This way.

Stop.

Doctor!

Let me see.

She's alright.

She'll be healthy.

Come on, bring the motorcycle. Come on, come on.

Mama?

Did you forget I was coming? Why are you still in your nightgown?

We have to go.

It's 11 AM.

The ceremony is in 30 minutes.

I didn't sleep all night. I heard you screaming.

What?

You screamed, then you both just left.

When?

When many of you were here, along with the child.

I was making coffee. Jonas wasn't here.

You just said I was here with Jonas.

Well...

Is everything OK? You're not telling me...

Mama, what year is it and where do I live?

In Berlin, right?

You left after your husband...

I escaped from him. My ex-husband.

So how could I have been here with my child?

Well, you're here now.

You used to be here.

Listen.

I wake up at least ten times a night,

so when I woke up the eleventh time, it was strange...

I have a headache.

I saw something so strange,

I felt like I was really there. It was all so real.

What was it? Reality or a dream?

Well, I'm confused as to whether I was here or there.

Here, where? I'm here now, but I wasn't here yesterday.

No, I just came from the airport.

It's 11 AM.

I'm in the living room and you scared me to death.

Listen, Léna, don't be angry with me. I love you so very much. Come here.

Mama, it was only a dream.

Only a dream.

It's diabetic.

You like this.

Yes, I like that. Thanks so much.

How's your stomach?

It's kind of alright.

Have you taken your meds?

Léna, for God's sake, don't talk to me like that.

I'm not a child. I take my meds and that's that.

Yes, they turned off the water.

- Again? - Yes, again.

You have nightmares sometimes, don't you?

I never dream.

That's not good.

Which shirt do you want to wear?

The blue or the pink one?

The other one.

- The Jews wrote again. - What did they write?

- They don't believe we're Jewish. - Ha, all the better!

Where is Grandma's birth certificate?

Which one? She had like five.

- Five? - Yes, five.

Here.

Help me take this out.

Careful.

It's in here, let's see.

Hold this.

Here she's a Christian from Budapest.

As Sára Blanz.

Interesting.

Another Budapest-born Christian, but with a different name.

So that's no good, either.

Here she's Jewish.

- With ISR? - Yes, Israelite.

But Dad made a note that it's a fake.

It's forged?

Forgers will be forging...

- This is mine, it's not important. - Can I see?

No, this can't be yours.

- It is! - There were no streets there, Mama.

- "Kasernenstrasse." - Of course, that's the SS joke.

They wrote "Kasernenstrasse" for every newborn.

So this is real?

As real as it is fake.

That's the Bratislava-born Jew...

Right, then I'll take that one.

Wait. You want to take it?

- Yeah, why? - You can't, Léna.

I'll never get it back.

Mama, this is my 25th letter to the German Council of Jews.

The documents from the synagogue, birth certificates,

proof of support from the Jewish Claims Conference...

All officially translated into German,

it cost me a shitload of money.

Passport, photographs of your grave...

- Thanks a lot! - Sorry, of your mother's grave.

- Blasphemy! - Yes, I found Grandma's grave.

I stepped in dogshit, took the photo, scanned and sent it...

- Fantastic! - No, it wasn't fantastic.

- Why not? - Her maiden name isn't on the grave.

So give me this document or my life was about the Holocaust for nothing.

Your life wasn't about the Holocaust, Léna, I made sure of that.

Mama, what four-year-old had to shop on her own

or put dry crust in plastic bags and hide them in drawers?

Had to wear long hair, when short hair was in fashion?

Or when I had an open fracture?

I couldn't cry or complain. A fracture isn't pain, right?

My life was about the Holocaust and I still can't prove I'm Jewish.

- Give me that. - And why would you?

Prove it to whom?

To people who forced us to spend our lives hiding the fact?

People who made us have to deny it?

Those who want us to prove it are idiots.

And they don't know history! And you know what else?

- What? - They're Germans.

I don't care what you think.

I want to get my child out of the country,

- just like your mama got you out. - I won't give it to you.

Only the Jews can get Jonas into kindergarten.

You don't know what Berlin's like, pure hell.

It's a six-month waiting list or you pay.

- I need the document. - I can't do that.

- Yes, you can. - No...

Mama, it's my right. Help me for once in my life.

- You're a bully! - Unbelievable.

I'm only protecting you.

By keeping Jonas out of kindergarten?

Where are you taking it? To the synagogue?

- Yes! - See?

That's precisely the problem.

They'll copy all the data onto a list

and round them up to be slaughtered.

- They won't be slaughtered! - They will!

My mother once made a very bad decision.

She let them register her family in 1942

and was taken by the Hlinka Guard.

Léna, don't be where they make the list.

Unbelievable.

We'll discuss this later.

Let's go.

I'm not going anywhere, nowhere at all!

Why?

I won't accept a ribbon from the mustached.

- What mustached? - None of them!

- Why? - It's shameful.

Your shame?

No, I'd be ashamed to accept it.

Then accept it and feel ashamed!

I won't take advantage of the tragedy.

Mama, for once in your life, you should.

Léna, listen to me:

We're the lucky ones, aren't we?

And we don't brag about the deaths of the unfortunate ones, right?

Or accept money for it.

We could finally have some money.

Think about Jonas.

Think about me. I just got divorced.

It wasn't just now, for God's sake. When was it?

January or April,

I wrote it down, let me find it.

You wrote that down?

- I write down everything. - Fine, then I'll accept it.

- What? - "What?" The prize!

I'll tell them you're sick!

We were Jewish when we couldn't be,

and now that we can be, we aren't Jewish.

Unbelievable!

We agreed to go to the ceremony. That's why I flew home.

I've been thinking of that all morning.

Why am I getting this award? Why?

- For your life achievements. - No, no!

No, they're using me as a badge.

They'll glorify themselves and smear me in the process.

What do you care?

Fine.

Let's face up to it, OK, Léna.

They were in on it. Every single one of them.

Why do you care after all these years?

Why? Just because. It's quite intriguing.

Listen. Remain desperate and be miserable,

but I'm not sitting down with those devils.

I'm still going to take the money. I deserve it.

I'm tired of feeling ashamed.

You can stay here, but I'm gone. I don't care what you think about me.

You win, Mama.

You win. I'm not going anywhere.

So Grandma was never on Orsó Street?

You said you were deported from there, right?

Not really.

Only my father made it to Orsó Street.

Mama never forgave him for "vacationing" in Budapest

while we were in a living hell.

That isn't what you told me.

You said Grandma was pregnant and that's why they went there.

That she was pregnant? I'm not sure.

I'm not sure she knew by then.

But you know Mama's charisma was legendary.

She had aquamarine blue eyes,

beautiful blond hair. No one took her for a Jew.

In the camp during the separation, they didn't realize she was pregnant.

She was taken there on the last Slovak transport.

The old and ill were gassed immediately.

Mama was strong and worked as if in the trenches,

physical work.

She was given scraps of bread that she kept for the Kapos.

After collecting them every day for a month, she used them

to bribe the Kapos and become a seamstress.

Bread was her currency, Léna.

You know? That's why we hoarded bread crust.

Why did we have to remind ourselves of the suffering?

Gnawing away like rats.

I found it revolting.

She found it revolting, too.

Like everything else in her life.

In the 50s, when there was nothing to eat,

she couldn't eat. Her patients brought her slices of boiled ham.

She said it was typhus from the camp that ruined her stomach.

But then she would've died with me in her belly, so that can't be true.

The miracle is that I was born at all.

Everyone told her to abort or she'd go to hell.

Or give birth and drown me in a bucket

or strangle me with her bare hands.

- Why are you telling me this? - I'm sorry.

Do you think you should tell your daughter this about her own mother?

No, no.

- It's the truth. - It's your truth, Mama. Your truth.

It's all you talk about. All our books are about this.

- It's your obsession. - Sure.

Instead of playing in the park, I was reading books about all these freaks.

Because I was one of those freaks, Léna.

- I don't even know if you love me. - How could you? You're my mother.

Do you feel that you love me, Léna?

Or am I just a freak to you?

All my childhood, I was waiting for a proper hug.

For you to play with me.

You never let me get close.

I remember

reading alone in my room while you were reading in the living room.

As if we were afraid of each other.

You vaccinated me with distrust of the world.

I don't...

remember being calm or letting go.

I was your little angel, not a real child.

My clothes were never dirty. I never got bad grades,

but if I did, you didn't get angry.

You congratulated me with a cold handshake.

I was lying in wait, just like you.

I remember you trying to fit in, your unnatural voice on the phone.

An octave higher than your usual one.

But I did once hear your real voice.

When Dad took off with his luggage.

You were sitting on that...

Yes, on the red stool.

And you were crying...

Every single day after that, you said we could survive on an iceberg

But what child wants to live on a damned iceberg?

You call that a proper childhood?

I don't know what...

"A proper childhood, a proper childhood..."

I don't even know what that is.

I was born during a roll call.

My mother was gnawing at her fists while the others covered her,

so the SS wouldn't see.

I was so tiny, I just slipped out of her

and they took me to the barracks.

I was too weak to cry, thank God.

But an SS woman's dog sniffed me out anyway.

They hauled me in my rags to the roll call area.

All the Germans kept screaming, "Whose baby is this?"

They held Mama back.

But she stood up and claimed me. She was that brave.

A nice looking guy came, he was quite a "celeb."

His name was Mengele.

He picked me up out of the dust

and approached my mother.

He stared into her beautiful blue eyes and said,

"You don't look Jewish at all."

He took the two of us to the hospital.

My mother was hoping he would spare us, but she was wrong.

He strapped her chest so she couldn't breastfeed me.

He wanted to see how long I could survive without it.

On the third day, I was gray. Mengele came and told her,

"I'll come for you in the morning."

Everyone knew what that meant.

Mama didn't sleep that night, she just kept looking at me.

With her beautiful blue eyes.

She knew she could get away with strangling me.

But what kind of person would she then be?

It was her third chance, but she still didn't do it.

She was that tough.

Morning came, but Mengele didn't appear.

A Krakow transport arrived that he had to deal with.

That was July 26th. I was given a number, stamped on my thigh.

Léna, it was my second birthday.

I wasn't a real child,

I was more like a little wild animal.

I entertained the SS by pulling worms out of the soil

and eating them while they laughed at me.

- You can't possibly remember that. - No.

I learned it all from Mama.

All those conversations with her friends.

In this apartment?

I was always hiding and listening under the table.

All those stories about who didn't come home and who was killed.

Their friends, their family...

"Died," "killed," "died" and "killed..."

I heard it all the time.

"Died," "killed," "died," "killed..."

But I did learn to stay quiet.

I just kept quiet and took it all in. You know, the wise are quiet.

And what do the stupid do, Léna? What?

- I don't know. - The stupid argue.

I'm starting to forget things. What was I going to say?

You think it's OK I never had a proper childhood

because you didn't have one.

No, no. I did have a childhood. A lousy one.

- I used to play with Gizi Szabó. - Gizi from the basement.

Gizi from the basement. She was my classmate.

Her mother once said,

"No need to worry, children.

"That wicked old Jew is still around who chops up Christian children,

"puts the pieces into his bag and grinds them down."

I don't know if he eats them, too.

But I, who was born in Auschwitz

and found by Polish medics,

knew I shouldn't listen to that. Just keep quiet.

I went back under the table to cry.

- Those people always hated us. - Yes, the caretaker...

Her husband called me a filthy Jew on the street.

How did you react?

I just crossed the road.

The hatred was significant but there was always envy mixed in with it:

Mama and I both survived the camp! She came back for me!

She has nice clothes and a medical practice again!

Where did she get the Chinese vase from?

Why is she getting presents from her patients?

"Childhood, childhood, childhood."

It should be liberating, right?

But that's not how I remember it.

What depressed me most was being asked,

"Where were you born, little girl?"

Because I had to answer, "Kasernenstrasse in Auschwitz."

I loathed it.

Mama came back for me, but brought me to Budapest in vain.

We pretended we were liberated, but I still knew that...

deep down, it was still really all about that.

This was the beginning and end of everything.

But there's always someone who helps out, Léna.

And I had a funny man, too: my father.

A funny guy.

He always joked...

about the women looking for their husbands

who had died in labor camps. They held hands with their new men.

He claimed Mama wasn't so lucky because he survived.

Dad found that amusing.

All they wanted was a new life. A life.

Dad couldn't joke for long,

because he was against the Soviet Occupation.

They accused him of Zionist conspiracy.

He took Jewish kids up the Buda hills to sing.

What a great Zionist! They put him in prison...

Mama told me he went to Israel because he didn't want to live here.

One of my teachers, Miss Magdi, stopped me in the street

and told me my father was in prison, not Israel.

Who could I have talked to about that? Gizi? No.

Then we learned about the Soviet Pioneers. Zoya Kosmodemyanskaya!

She was tortured, but never confessed and I wanted to be the same.

I will be Zoya Kosmodemyanskaya!

Torture me, but I will confess nothing, nothing at all!

I had a photograph of her on the door of my locker.

Whenever I opened it, I said: "Hello, Zoya. Hello, hello."

In 1953 when Stalin died... I loved Stalin, by the way.

I wrote the most beautiful essay.

I can remember the first line:

"The whole world is shrouded in a veil."

You still remember that?

Of course, I'm a writer.

The next date was much more important: July 14, 1956.

Communist leadership gave amnesty to a lot of political prisoners,

including my father.

On July 14th, 1956, he was standing here with two suitcases.

He didn't even say ciao.

He took off and I never saw him again.

- That isn't true. - Excuse me?

That isn't true. You said you met him later.

You two ate Sacher cake.

That time in Vienna in the 60s? Big deal.

He refused to order food in German.

Our whole family spoke German.

Back then, Mama used to go to West Germany

to register the Socialist pharmaceutical products.

I already knew from reading their correspondence

that my father and his new family thought Europe was cursed.

I asked Mama about it and she confirmed.

So there I told my father: "Listen, Dad.

"It's easy to judge from Israel how things should be here.

"But we have to make do on this land. And we want to move on."

He was offended.

I then ordered the Sacher in English,

but the waiter didn't speak English.

I was sitting there, squeezing my father's hand,

and he was squeezing mine,

and I felt so deeply ashamed of him.

At the same time, I missed him terribly.

And I knew

he was going to leave me.

That was my father.

But Mama knew how to help me.

She told me nothing could ever happen to me.

That we could live on the iceberg and keep warm.

That's what I want to pass on to you, her toughness:

Nothing will ever happen to us.

How tough is it to give birth to a baby in Auschwitz?

Tough, right?

I was tough once, too. In the 70s, can you imagine

how tough I was with Gabi Szántó?

I was the head of the Petőfi Museum of Literature.

- They put us with Gábor Szántó. - Did he flirt with you?

Ah, don't ask. Now I'm scared.

You can tell me.

We never slept together.

Come on, Lena. Let's drop the subject.

Anyway, I was there as an interpreter.

Gábor took me to a meeting for a German fishing magazine.

The Germans wanted to change the image of the paper

and feature less...

What's the name of that fish people eat?

Sardines?

No, another one.

- Maybe carp? - Yes.

They couldn't feature carp anymore, because it's a Jewish fish.

Jewish.

And there I am, decades later,

wondering how a fish could be Jewish.

The German said, "Jews eat a lot of carp.

"That's why people hate it."

You're imagining this. This is your paranoia.

You know the saying, "A man with a hammer sees nails everywhere?"

I remember it clearly.

He said they had to eliminate Jewish carp from the paper.

They're bad for sales.

And I thought, "It's not my duty to speak out."

Perhaps other people felt the same back then.

When they didn't stand up for us "Jewish fish."

Because we belong to a different species.

I don't want to belong to a different species.

- Then what do you want? - What do I want?

What?

To be young and beautiful. To leave all this behind.

To go and live in a warmer climate

and get fucked by 20 suntanned young men.

- If that's what makes you happy. - Yes, it would.

Or rather, I just don't know.

You talk as if everything were still possible for me,

but it isn't. Nothing is possible.

It's unbearable to be like this

or to be in denial of it all.

In the end, be anything but this.

I don't want to be a survivor. I want to be alive.

If God held everyone's hand in the gas chamber,

why won't He hold mine?

- He does, Léna. - How do you know?

I just know.

There's still no water.

Of course there isn't. They keep turning it off.

This house is hell.

It's a good thing you didn't bring Jonas.

- The trash is full. - What's with the trash?

Nothing. They fill it up. They stuffed it with 15 kg of raw chicken.

It'll soon be swarming with rats.

I was just downstairs. The rats aren't coming.

Can we go now?

We can go.

Go where?

Where to? To the award ceremony.

- Are you sure? - Sure.

I'll put your nightgown in the laundry basket.

- What are you taking? - Your nightgown to the basket.

Take this to the laundry basket.

That's what I just said.

Everything slips my mind these days.

- Mama, what is it? - I don't know.

Oh dear. Don't worry. I'll help.

- Oh my God. - It's OK, come.

- See? - Just step on these.

One foot at a time.

My way from the gas chamber to the stool chamber...

- You're not funny. - I'm not funny?

Well, you've got a lot of shit in your life,

and I do too, but mine is now literal.

It'd be silly to argue whose pile of shit is bigger.

I wasn't arguing. I'm just in a bad mood.

Too bad.

Head to the park, everyone.

Yasmin, you too. Head to the park.

- What's happened? - I don't know. Head to the park.

Come on, go to the park.

Don't post that.

Make way! Careful!

Everything's OK. Head to the park.

Someone still in there?

My class got out, but Mr. Heinrich's is still inside.

To the park, everyone, go, go...

Everything's OK.

Go to the park.

- Ms. Clausse, can we go home? - Yes, school's over for today.

- For real? - No school today.

- You hear that? School is over! - Is it gonna burn down?

- We can go home! - Have you seen Jonas?

Don't post that.

Nora, where is Jonas?

Over there.

Is school over?

You should all head home.

Jonas. Can you give me your father's phone number?

- What for? - I can't reach your mother.

Because of my lantern?

Yes, your lantern. But let's not discuss this now.

- I don't have it. - What?

- His number. - Why not?

He's gone.

Understood.

Cute bag you got there!

Nice color!

Nice lantern colors too, Jonas. Thanks for the day off, you wimp.

Where's your sister's hair gone? Now she's your little brother.

Where are you going, sweetheart? Come back.

Hey, can you give me a euro? I want a burger.

Come on, man.

- He won't even give me a euro! - He's gotta have one euro somewhere.

- It's just one euro, dude. - Come here.

Don't lie to me ever again, OK?

The bus!

I knew you had money.

Thanks.

- Why did you cut your hair? - I didn't, Dad did.

Why?

He doesn't like blue.

What does he like?

Dark brown...

I like blue.

- You coming this way? - If it's OK with you.

I used to like boys, but I don't anymore.

I'm not scared of them or anything.

- Are you scared of anything? - No.

Of zombies or the apocalypse?

No.

You don't talk much, right?

Because your voice is breaking, correct?

Yeah.

You wanna ask me anything?

Do you know "Rotten Person?"

- Who's that? - A zombie.

Do you have pets?

I do. A hamster.

Cool. What's his name?

Champion.

But he died.

I don't know what to do with him.

- You wanna see him sometime? - Yeah, sure.

My favorite café.

Blood orange, right?

- Thanks. - I'll get it.

They only had orange.

Thanks.

Want me to draw this on your hand?

Why not?

Over there.

You know,

I'm happy the school caught on fire.

Not that it caught on fire,

because we...

otherwise...

Oh, no. I have to go.

It was nice talking to you!

Yasmin, why are you later than your brother?

Go upstairs.

- Is that your new chaperone? - None of your business.

You wanna live here or something?

Hey, brother!

Not even a rag, nothing at all.

It'll take a while until we're finished.

The edges are detailed work.

Who's that?

Listen, I almost had a heart attack.

I didn't know he was already home.

- Is he a freak or something? - He's my child.

Come on.

Come on.

Where's my shirt?

Over there.

Where?

Underneath.

- It's late already. - What?

I have to get back to a meeting.

Hurry up.

Daniel.

He's the restorer at the museum.

Jonas.

Yeah, well...

What a big boy you are.

What's that wound of yours?

- "Rotten Person." - Come again?

Rotten person.

Oh, rotten person.

And how do you make a wound like that?

With a sharp razor blade.

That's not funny!

Where's my scarf? I had a scarf.

Daniel, would you like some coffee?

I'd prefer a sedative.

I'll find the scarf.

Oh, it's not that important.

Take good care of your mother.

Who was that fat guy?

An acquaintance.

He had a ring.

What does that mean, he restares?

He restores.

He fixes things up.

- What are you doing here, anyway? - What are you doing here?

I'm hungry.

The school called.

What? What did they say?

I couldn't pick up. Did you do something?

Why?

- What did you do? - Why couldn't you answer?

What's up with your mouth?

- My tooth is loose. - Which tooth?

Your last baby tooth?

Show me.

- When is this finally coming out? - I'll pull it.

Why did the school call?

A lantern caught on fire.

What? Whose?

Did your lantern catch on fire?

- I think so. - What?

- Did you light it up? - No!

How did it catch on fire?

Don't know.

What do you mean?

During lunch, the fire alarm rang and we were sent home.

And why?

- The school caught on fire. - What? What?

And you're telling me this only now?

What did you do?

Look into my eyes. What did you do?

Leave me alone!

- What are you doing? - Leaving you alone.

- Who are you calling? - The school.

- Don't. - Then tell me what happened.

I don't know!

- They'll tell me. - Mama, please.

Tell me exactly what happened with the lantern

that I had the privilege to make for you.

- I took the lantern into school. - What next?

- The teacher praised me. - For what?

- She said I was brave. - Why brave?

- Because of the kind of lantern. - What kind?

What kind? You know that. A Hanukkah lamp!

Was she nice or spiteful?

Nice.

And you?

- I didn't say anything. - And her?

Nothing!

Man, you're really annoying!

She just told us to give the lanterns to the first graders after school.

- And? - Dress up warmly for the march.

Yeah, and?

How do you know it was your lantern?

- What? - That caught on fire!

The firefighters told me only mine caught on fire.

And that it was probably an accident.

Maybe a cigarette... It doesn't matter! Don't you understand?

Why do you always make such a drama?

Besides, I already get picked on all the time!

Ms. Clausse here.

Hello, I'm Jonas' mother.

Sorry for not being available earlier.

I heard about the incident and want to know what happened.

This year, the "Smiling Germany" initiative is supporting our school.

So it's in our common interest to preserve the school's good reputation

and prevent incidents like this from spreading.

Yeah, but what was the incident?

Obviously, that's a loaded question.

What do you mean?

We're of the opinion that it was merely a thoughtless act

committed by a few students and not...

- What was it? - ...with deep-rooted hostility.

Hostility? So you know who it was?

I wouldn't want to embarrass one of our students.

Embarrass? It was arson.

We should refrain from making assumptions

people might want us to make.

What kind of assumption?

Listen, neither of us will be able to resolve

Middle-Eastern conflicts so many students suffer from.

This is nonsense.

What does my son have to do with this?

He's never been to Israel.

He's not a soldier, just a stupid kid.

- Exactly. - I'm not stupid!

As are the rest of the children.

They don't even know what they're talking about...

Hang up.

...they act out of ignorance, not conviction.

Who cares why they did it? I sure don't.

The school could've burned down.

Someone should take responsibility.

- It's not about who's responsible... - Mama, hang up!

- ...the question is why they are. - Please!

We're cautious, so no child can feel discriminated.

I'm not discriminating anybody. I'm asking if we were.

We both know this isn't about our children, but your school.

You're trying to politicize it to avoid responsibility

for what was done to my child at school.

It's your goddamn responsibility to figure out what happened.

All we're able to see is a childish prank.

Are you able or are you willing?

Because you're afraid it could hurt your school's reputation?

No, this would mainly hurt your child.

We both know incidents like this

mostly happen to kids with existing problems.

What problems? Jonas doesn't have any problems!

I hate you! I hate you!

What's wrong with you? Turn that music off.

You're angry at me.

- You're angry. - I'm not angry.

Yes, you're angry.

Yes, I'm angry because you said you hate me.

- I was angry. - For me doing your homework?

I didn't want to do the stupid homework, no one did.

That wasn't even the right lamp.

It's your fault, and now you're...

- How is this my fault? - You made it wrong. Get it?

Can't you write a fucking assignment down correctly?

You wrote down...

Look!

You wrote: "Homework:

"Symbols of the winter festival,

"first graders lantern!"

No, look! Look!

There's a comma! A comma!

It was supposed to be a fucking Martin's lamp, with a cross and...

Never in my life have I seen a goddamn Martin lamp!

How would I fucking know?

That's the problem! You can't even read!

You don't even know German! You don't understand anything!

- I really don't! - Exactly!

Tomorrow I'll go to the principal to finally understand!

No.

- Everyone will talk about it. - What?

What?

- You're ashamed of... - I'm not a Jew.

What are you then?

What are you then?

What are you?

- Hungarian? German? - You tell me. You brought me here.

You tell me what I am!

Why are you like this?

I still love you.

I love you, too. I'm sorry.

- Since Grandma died... - It's OK.

It's OK.

Don't come into school.

Don't.

- You promise? - I promise.

I'll bake you a flódni.

What's that?

The Jewish cake Grandma always made.

- Would you like that? - Sure.

I'll bake you a whole tray, for everyone,

so you can share at the St. Martin's parade. Alright?

Alright.

- Hey you, come over here! - Come over here, you coward!

Fuck off!

What are you doing there?

Nothing.

Look.

Champion?

Wanna bury him?

Yeah, why not?

- You should sing for him. - Sing what?

What did he like?

Ava Max.

- How about a prayer? - What kind?

What did he believe in?

No clue.

- Where is he from? - He was a Chinese dwarf hamster.

So he was Chinese.

But we bought him here.

So he's German?

No clue. Will you just say something?

No.

Give me your hand.

Dear Champion,

it was nice to know you,

although only for a short time.

May your god send you to rest.

I wish you lots of...

- What was his favorite food? - Chinese savoy cabbage.

Lots of Chinese savoy cabbage. And may your soul rest in peace

in the eternal hunting grounds

or cabbage grounds

or cabbage fields.

Let's get out of here.

- Jonas, what are you doing? Come on! - Fuck.

Come with us!

It's nice you came. I'm glad.

Yasmin, your class is back there.

It'll be alright, I've brought you a lantern, too.

A Martin's lantern.

- I made it for you. - Thanks.

Now you can hand it to your mentee.

Ah, Marie-Lou! Now you'll get your lantern. Jonas!

Hand it to her.

Now take her hand, like that.

Up there, the stars are glowing

Down here we're glowing, too

I'm walking with my lantern

My lantern walks with me

Up there the stars are glowing

Down here, we're glowing too

My light is out I'm going home

Rabimmel, rabammel, rabumm

Saint Martin, Saint Martin

Saint Martin rode through snow and wind

His horse, it carried him swiftly

Saint Martin rode with courage

His jacket kept him warm and well

In the snow, in the snow

In the snow sat a poor man

Had no clothes, only tattered rags

"Oh help me please in my time of need

"Or this frost will be the death of me"

Saint Martin pulled his reigns

His horse stands still by the poor man

Saint Martin draws his sword

And cuts in half his warm coat

Wait. Come with me.

Subtitles: Way Film Translation, Matthew Way