All language subtitles for [cinemacoon.site]La flor [2018] [3.3] [Английские субтитры] [55 Гб]

A DAY IN THE COUNTRY

Excuse me.

Excuse me.

Uhh, well.

Well.

Well.

That's it.

Now comes "Une Partie de
Campagne" (A Day in the Country),

then the "Captives"...

and that's it.

It's over.

It's all over.

Oh, one thing. In episode five,
the girls don't appear.

They come back in
the Captives.

The truth is that it's a bit strange,

but well,

at the time we thought
it was interesting.

Well, I'm off now.

Well, it's been a pleasure to
have had you with us for...

Well, all those hours...

There it is.

Well,

see you around,

as they say in Mexico,

"Chau".

Episode V

Episode VI

...We spent a long while watching her.

She didn't look like anything
we had seen before.

The little mestizo girl
breathes heavily,

as if she were looking at the devil.

The Girl's mother looked at
me in terror: What was that?

Where did it come from, that strange
machine resembling a giant metal insect?

Never again, in all those years
following this adventure,

did I come across anything like that.

Finally, the machine seemed to move.

Slowly, some of the chimneys started
to release a dark, dense steam.

Then came a long, opaque buzz,
like that of a train engine.

In a few minutes, the machine
was covered in smoke,

until the chimneys, the rigging and its
complex hoist system disappeared.

When the smoke cleared,
the machine was no longer there.

My comrades and I stayed
for a long while in silence.

Finally, the creole one, as if she
were a croag... (illegible)

encouraged us to continue.

Come on, she said, I don't
like these mountains.

I'd like to reach the
river before sunset.

Around six in the evening,
we stopped to eat.

The mestizo girl and her mother said it
was a sacred place, a sort of sanctuary.

It reminded me of the megalithic
monuments I had seen in my childhood,

on the coast of Cornwall, in the south.

We decided to spend
the night right there.

The mestizo girl's mother kept a
fretful face, of concern and alarm.

That night, I barely slept.

The girl's mother didn't either.

She kept that vigilant attitude
throughout the night,

alert to the smallest whisper, hearing
things none of us could even perceive.

No doubt her ear had
adapted to silence

in the countless nights
spent in that solitude,

waiting, fearing the
arrival of the savages.

Finally, while the others were sleeping,
she told me in a whisper:

"I hear the water.
The river is not far".

At around midday,
the river finally appeared.

A remarkable episode took place then:

As soon as we crossed, as if they
were a welcoming committee,

two, three, four horses appeared.

They came to receive us, friendly,

and we couldn't help but
regard them as a good omen.

They walked alongside us,
silent, for a long while.

There it is, the young creole
told me, We have crossed.

We are saved.
It's over.

We walked for one or two hours. A while
later, we found a pond and we bathed.

The little creole didn't want to,

shy, as if she feared
being naked in front of us.

Finally, joy overcame fear, and the four
of us swam together, for a long while.

At sunset we reached the last hill.

In front of us appeared
the immense flatland,

the first villages, the cultivated
fields, the known world.

Behind us, the mountains, and
behind them, the terrible Desert.

The time had come to say good-bye.

Mother and Daughter continued Eastward
together, towards the Headquarters.

I saw them walk away
like two small white dots.

What may have become
of them and their sad lives?

And those little ones in their wombs,
daughters to the same father?

One of the many stories we'll keep seeing
for years to come in these cruel lands.

The creole one seemed terrified.

She said she would try
to reach Pergamino

where, according to her,
she still had family left.

I heard that some years later,

she went back to the Desert,
this time of her own free will.

I stayed for a long while
staring at the horizon.

A strange melancholy started to grow
and, though I tried to scare it away,

it remained there,
like a storm cloud, for months.

Ten years I had spent in
the Desert, among savages,

far from all the things
I loved and believed in.

"You never forget the Desert",
one of the old ladies had told me

back in the camp site, during the
first days of my captivity.

After a while, I also left.

Fragments from “Memoirs of an
Englishwoman Taken Prisoner

in the South American Flatlands"
by Sarah S. Evans, rural teacher.

Thomas Stone & Co. Exeter,
United Kingdom, 1900.