Saro!
It's a male!
And he's sitting on eggs!
It's warm.
You're a male.
What are you doing?
Are you sitting on eggs?
This is a job for. . . .
Don't let him go!
He's biting me!
Emanuele! Liseo!
What are you guys doing?
Look at this.
A male bird that sits on eggs!
Shame on you!
Shame on you!
What kind of a male are you?
Oh, look at this male sitting on eggs!
A male sitting on eggs!
Shame on you!
Wait!
He who hits him, can keep him.
Shoot!
Shoot!
Missed!
I want to try.
Let me try.
Now it's my turn.
Oh, come on.
You're blind.
Shoot!
-What are you doing?
-Hey, Salvatore!
-What's wrong with you?
-What the heck is he doing?
Music!
Go.
"...therefore I am son of Chaos;
and not allegorically,
but in true reality,
because I was born
in our countryside,
located nearby entangled woods,
named Cavusu
by the inhabitants of Girgenti:
dialectaI corruption of the genuine
and antique Greek term Kaos"
First tale
THE OTHER SON
Second tale
MOONSICKNESS
Third tale
THE JAR
Fourth tale
REQUIEM
Epilogue
DIALOGUE WITH THE MOTHER
First Tale
THE OTHER SON
"My dear sons,
it is your mom that is writing to you,
in your fair golden country,
from our weeping country.
Today, it's been 14 years
since you left.
And for 14 years your mother
has been aIone and waiting for you."
Did you write that?
Tomorrow, another group
of wretched people
will Ieave for the Americas.
And to one of them, the quickest,
the most Christian,
I will entrust this letter, my sons,
so that he can deliver it
to your hands.
From his eyes,
I will choose the letter-bearer.
Because it's from the eyes
that you recognize a man's heart.
I'm not someone
who can be fooled by words.
Maybe that's why they told you
that I went mad.
Do not believe them.
Believe, instead, in the words
that this good woman
is writing to you for me.
My dear sons."
You old mad woman! What do you
want to do to me? Take my eyes out?
No, for God's sake!
I envy your eyes
that will see my sons in Santa Fe.
Santa Fe?
I'm going to Boston.
It's better that way.
I wouldn't have trusted you.
Your eyes are too wily.
Good day.
Listen to everyone,
but talk to a few people.
Don't spend more than haIf
of what you earn.
Don't allow yourself to lend money.
Don't drink more
than two glasses of wine a day.
Be a man when it comes to women ,
but don't marry a foreigner.
When you wake up in the morning,
pray.
Let the dog go, Turiddu,
before I do it myself.
No!
Leave him alone.
It's the last day we spend together.
In American you say, "Women".
What?
I have been in America.
Donne, "women".
Bacio, "kiss".
Amore, "love".
That crow is a bad omen.
Stop it. Don't cry.
I'll be back.
I'll be back soon.
Stop it.
Salvatore, let her cry!
Because you won't come back.
Old man ,
don't believe your sons.
Mine have been gone for 14 years.
And they have forgotten about me
for 14 years.
I keep sending letters, calls.
And from them, not even one word.
Those who are leaving ,
please come over here for the count.
Oh, Doctor.
Are you leaving, too?
No, no. I wish!
Here. These are the last certificates
for those who are leaving.
Please give them to Antonio.
All right.
So, you have to be 10.
Let's see.
One, two...
...three, four, five, six...
Wait!
He's number six.
He's coming with us.
He only has the clothes he's wearing.
And the money.
Here it is.
No!
Not him!
Not him!
You are the right one.
I'll give it to you.
If I were a king,
here's what I'd do with these letters.
Those that go or those
that come from over there,
I wouldn't have them delivered.
This is in vain. You said it yourself,
you old mad woman.
And those that get over there,
they are cursed!
They never tell about the trouble
that you can find over there.
And like many hens, they call,
"Pio, pio, pio, pio,"
the chicks like you.
And they take them away.
Don't you ever write to me.
And all of you.
Forget us old peopIe who will sow
the fields on our own.
And forget your women
who will go bad.
Make way, Mose!
With this wheel, it's no use.
It's not possibIe to leave.
So? What's going on?
It will take at least three hours
to fix it.
Three hours!
Three more hours to spend together!
Three hours!
I will write it down again , wait.
Now it's illegible.
But there's nothing written in here.
There are only scrawls.
Nothing?
What do you mean , nothing?
I dictated it word by word myself.
I saw her writing it myself.
Can you read it?
There's nothing written
in Maria Grazia's letter!
Nothing!
What do you mean, nothing?
Just four scrawls.
Excuse me, Doctor,
but the ignorant one here is you.
It's you who can't read.
What are you talking about?
Maria Grazia wrote the letter
in "Americanese".
I'm happy.
My sons never forgot me.
My sons, Doctor, never forgot me.
Now I know why
they never wrote back.
They never wrote back because
they never received anything from me.
You hit me.
It's her who's been writing
my letters.
But I forgive her
because now I'm happy.
It's because you'll do me the favor
of writing a real one, sir.
I got it.
How do you dance it?
But I told you yesterday.
Like that.
-Is it really Iike that?
-Go on, go on.
In these years, I must have written
about 50 letters for her.
And half of them were real letters,
from her dictation
and with the right address
in Santa Fe.
It's all in vain.
They are rascals, those two sons.
Handsome.
If I remember them well,
really handsome.
Here, they were two lazybones,
and over there they've disappeared.
If that was my mother,
I'd drown you in your own water.
Why? Was I supposed
to force her eyes open?
You shouldn't have taken advantage
of a poor wretched woman
who doesn't even have air to breathe.
That woman,
she could live like a queen.
Comfortably seated and nursed.
At the hospice.
In her son's house.
If she wanted to.
But she doesn't want to.
What do you mean?
Has she another son?
That one.
There's no grass for grazing
over there.
But he brought his cows here
because he knew that his mother
would come here
for the caravan's departure.
Like he always does.
He follows her.
Why have you always hid
this other son from me?
You have to drink.
You need to.
Can't you see?
I'm in a cold sweat because
you mentioned that son, sir.
But why?
What has he done to you?
Oh, nothing.
He's good, respectful, honest.
Then I don't understand why
you don't want to live at his place.
Because I gave birth to him.
But he's not my son.
Do you really want me to believe
that you are truly mad?
Certain things,
you can't even imagine them, sir.
Because you're still a young boy, sir.
Drink. Drink.
It's good for you at your age.
What you mean, young boy?
If you don't tell me about this son of
yours, I won't write a letter for you.
Tie up a handkerchief
on top of the reed.
This way we'll be able to greet them
even when they are far away.
You weren't even in God's mind, sir.
And I saw them with my own eyes.
Dark things. Dark things.
Have you ever heard
of a certain Cunebardo, sir?
-Cunebardo?
-Cunebardo, Cunebardo.
Who used to say he would
have brought freedom.
Garibaldi! Garibaldi!
Yes, him.
He came by our land
and made the villages and the cities
rebel against the unjust laws.
Cunebardo ordered
that all the prisons be opened.
Good people were released,
but bad peopIe, too.
Bloodthirsty beasts,
enraged by too many years
spent in captivity.
There was a particularly
ferocious one.
Comizzi.
He killed human beings
just like that.
And one like him.
His assistant,
Rocco Trupia.
Comizzi and Trupia
stormed the countryside.
And those farmers who didn't want
to follow them, they killed them.
Comizzi and Trupia
took him away, too.
My husband.
I already had those two little kids
who are in America now.
Two days later,
I saw him come back.
He wasn't himself anymore.
He couldn't speak with his eyes
filled with the things he had seen.
-Nino, are you injured?
-No.
You ran away then.
They will kill you.
I can walk on my own.
He hid his hands
in a miserable way
because of the disgust
for what he had been forced to do.
He stayed in hiding for three days.
On the fourth day, he went out.
We were poor,
and we needed to work.
He went to work.
He didn't come back.
After three days,
I went to look for him.
Close the door!
Lock yourselves in!
Keep the score.
Shut up! Shut up!
Stop it! Stop it!
Go! Go!
Rocco Trupia dragged me along
with him to the mountain.
For three months, he kept me gagged
and tied because I was screaming.
And as soon as he came close to me,
I would bite.
Then, I was set free.
And after nine months,
a son was born.
But him, your son, what's his fault?
None.
But he looks just like his father.
What can I do if I start trembling
whenever I see him?
They left without my letter!
In a week, another group will leave.
We'll give it to them.
Are you sure you still want
to write that letter?
"My dear sons.
It's your mother,
that from this weeping country,
is writing to you ,
in your fair golden country.
Today, it's been 14 years
since you left,
and for 14 years your mother
has been alone waiting for you.
In a week, another group of wretched
peopIe will leave for the Americas.
And to one of them, the quickest,
the most Christian,
I will entrust this letter, my sons,
so that he can carry it
to your hands.
Second tale
MOONSICKNESS
Bata and Sidora have been married
for just 20 days.
Bata has brought his bride
to his property,
a house with a pigsty,
isolated,
a one hour's walk from the town.
The 20th day
is now coming to an end
but Bata, tonight,
is delaying walking back home.
Bata, did you hear that?
Bata, did you hear that now?
Bata, what's the matter?
Don't get closer.
Don't be scared.
Don't get closer.
Bata, what's wrong with you?
Go home.
Lock the doors.
Close the windows.
Go home.
Don't be scared
if I pound against the door.
If I scratch it.
If I scream.
Do not open.
Do not open.
Do not open the door.
What's the matter?
I am sick.
I am very sick.
Now you tell me.
Now you tell me.
Don't do that.
I'm scared, too, you know?
Help.
Help.
What sickness?
What sickness?
The moon!
Be good.
Be good.
You had me marry him!
You had me marry him!
Everybody knows about it now, Tita.
Ours is the blame.
Ours be the punishment.
I...
I am to blame.
Because I hid my sickness.
I hid it because nobody
would have wanted me
had I confessed it
before getting married.
Now I am here before all of you,
and I will tell you
how my misfortune was born.
My mother, when I was young,
used to go harvesting.
That one time, the day wasn't enough,
and she kept working all night long.
Me...
She had left me among the ears
on a clear night,
exposed to the moon.
And I did play with that fair moon.
And the moon put a spell on me.
On every full moon,
the sickness overcomes me.
But it's a sickness
that affects only me,
the others have just to beware of it.
Just one night and that's it.
I, myself, forget everything
the next morning.
I hoped my wife
would be more fearIess.
But she is not.
We can arrange it like this.
On every full moon, her mother
will come up to stay with her
while I shut myself
out of my house.
Stop it.
Stop it now.
Stay calm.
Stay calm.
On the next full moon,
I'll come to your place.
You'll scream more than me.
I won't come alone.
I'll come with Saro.
With Saro?
It was he who told you?
We'll tell him together
tomorrow morning.
We don't have other men
in our family...
I couldn't give him to you as husband
because he doesn't own anything.
But as a cousin and protector,
that dumbhead will know what to do.
You think that Saro and me...
You talk too much.
I'll go ahead and wait for you.
Your mother is right.
Next full moon , I'll come
to your husband's place.
And you call someone like that
a husband?
Sidora, who doesn't have faults?
Bata is sick.
What about me?
I have an even bigger fault.
You, Saro?
I didn't have the strength to recover
my wits and have you marry me.
You cut yourself?
It was the barber.
It's sweet.
I can't stand to wait a month
for the next full moon.
Don't worry.
There's still time.
The probIem will come
when the moon's horns are gone.
It's the first time we have guests
up here at Roba's.
This party is a little special.
Come here.
I want your mother and Saro
to be treated like special guests.
-Get the trousseau's table cloth.
-Yes!
I love you, Bata.
Do you believe me?
Forgive me.
Me? Forgive you?
Here they come.
What about having dinner outside?
Madonna, help me!
I am dying. I am dying.
I'll never ask you for anything again.
Never again.
Make me happy, just for one time.
Just once.
Just for tonight.
Would you like more?
I do.
She won't come out from over there.
The moon is whimsical.
She never comes out
where you expect her to.
But she and I
know each other pretty well.
And I know that tonight she'll
come out from behind the mountain.
There's still time for some grappa.
I distilled it with my own hands.
It's illegal.
So I keep it buried in the garden.
I tied this iron wire on its top,
and when I go to take it,
I can find it
by groping my way in the dark.
And if there is the moon,
I can see it with my eyes.
When there is a full moon, too?
No.
I am afraid.
Sidora, you already know
what it's like.
And Saro is a man.
But I'm an old woman,
and I'm afraid of everyone.
Hide me in the pigsty.
I'll lock myself in.
And he can be a wolf outside.
Mom.
Mom.
I'll go and take the pig in.
If I let it run away,
I'll be in big trouble.
No, no.
Water, water.
My throat is dry.
Where are you going?
Cool down, Tita.
We're lucky tonight.
The moon won't find us.
Is that him?
Saro!
Shut up.
Don't worry.
Don't worry.
I can't.
Are you scared?
Are you scared?
He's in pain.
Where are you going?
He needs help.
He's going to stop.
He's going to stop.
Don't listen to him!
Don't listen to him!
Go away! Go away!
Come away. Come away.
THE JAR
That year was great
for the olives,
despite the fog that had oppressed
them during the blossoming.
Someone had expected it
and had ordered for his crop
a jar as big as an abbess
because the old enameled ones
were no longer sufficient for him.
Whose is this?
Don Lollo's.
Oh, we have arrived then.
I brought him this new jar.
You still have a long way to go.
But I don't know the directions.
Get back on the cart.
I'll show it to you.
Go, go.
You see that hill over there?
It's Don Lollo's.
If you go past that hill
and you'll get to the farm ,
it's Don Lollo's.
Then you go past the farm,
all the way down to the riverbed.
It's Don Lollo's.
Then you cross the riverbed,
and you go up the other hill.
Then you go down to the plane land,
and there you'll find Don Lollo
waiting for you.
What a great year!
Clean it then.
Stop it.
They're looking at us.
They're looking at you.
You're their Charlemagne.
Honestly, it makes me sad, Sara.
Why, what's the matter?
That God is unjust.
Do not swear.
Look at that kid.
He doesn't have anything,
yet he still has 60 years of life
ahead of him.
And I, who have all this,
how many years left might I have?
So, you don't like working for me?
I like it, Don Lollo, I like it.
Sing, then.
There it is!
There it is!
It's here, it's here!
It's here, it's here!
No, no, a little bit farther.
Here, here.
Listen, it sounds
like the Easter's bell.
Who did this?
Who did this?
Don Lollo!
Don Lollo, for Heaven's sake!
Let me go.
My poor jar,
what have they done to you?
Envy.
It was envy or infamy.
Where shall I find one like this?
Where?
It's my fault.
It's my fault.
Had I not left you alone,
you would still be healthy.
But now you're gone for good.
What am I going to do now?
Come on, look.
It can be repaired.
Only one piece came off.
It's a clean cut.
Maybe it was cracked.
It wasn't cracked.
It sounded like a bell.
And now I'll never hear it again.
Yes, you will.
You want me to believe in miracles?
There's still someone who does them.
Who?
The best potter in Sicily.
What, he's got magic hands?
No, not the hands,
but he's got a miraculous lute.
When it sets,
even a hammer can't break it.
And what kind of lute is it?
He knows the secret.
And where does he live?
Close by.
Very close.
Right in front of you.
We sent someone to call him.
If you turn around,
it's Zi Dima.
They say you...
They say you have a miraculous lute.
Let me see it.
If you talk like that,
you won't get nothing.
He doesn't show it to anyone.
He is jealous of it.
What do you say,
can my jar be fixed?
Can it be fixed?
-The lute.
-What?
The lute.
The court has passed the sentence.
But I warn you ,
even if your lute is miraculous,
I don't trust it.
I want it stitched.
Sir, are these your manners?
What is this Charlemagne's attitude?
I have to put oil into the jar.
Do you understand?
And I want stitches.
Lute and stitches.
I am the boss here.
No, not on my hunch, please.
Please.
What are you looking at?
Go to work, go to work!
See?
If you want it stitched, I need help.
If you want it stitched, I need help.
Hat!
Is it true that you saw
the lute's recipe in a dream?
In a dream, yes.
And what did you see in the dream?
My father.
-And he told you how to make it?
-Fool.
Why?
Do you know who my father was?
He was the devil who eats you up.
So you're the son of the devil?
Yes.
What I have here in my rucksack
is the pitch that will attack
all those who want to ruin jars
with these bad stitches.
Is the pitch black?
It's white.
My father taught me
how to make it white.
They'll acknowledge its power
when they'll be boiling inside it.
Down there, the pitch is black.
You understand?
If I smear it on your hand
and I clench it,
it will never come off.
Back to work.
Back off now.
Turn around.
Slowly.
Slowly.
Pull.
Pull.
Hit it.
Hit it.
And now, these bad stitches.
You, help me get out of here.
Help me get out of here!
Damn it!
Help me get out!
You stitched yourself in. Good.
You renovated it. Well done.
I see you didn't take the
measurements of your hunch, though.
Now you want to get out.
Fair enough.
By breaking my jar, you idiot!
This is my jar, and if it breaks
another time, who's going to pay?
So what?
You want to keep me closed in here?
No, no.
But before that, one has to see
what needs to be done.
What needs to be done?
What?
Help!
Help!
What are you doing?
If you don't want to break it,
I'll break it myself.
I'll make it roll down and break
against that wall, understand?
Wait, wait.
Let's think it over.
Let's think it over.
I'll help you get out of here.
Let's try slowly.
Like this.
This is worst.
It's worst!
It's the shoulder that's stuck.
And you have a lot of it on one side.
It's not my hunch that's big,
it's the mouth of your jar
that's narrow.
Down!
Down!
Stretch out your arm, like that.
You bit me!
You bit me!
Yes.
Go on biting.
Now I'll show you.
Turn around.
Turn around.
Like this.
No, no, please.
I am ticklish under my arms.
No! I said no!
Then you'll come inside with me.
Calash!
Hey, can you hear me?
For your own good,
I'm going to go see my lawyer.
But before that,
I want to do my duty.
I'll pay you for your work.
Everyone is a witness!
Five lire!
And the lawyer will say
how to get him out.
You don't love me, Don Lollo.
I've just been operated
for appendicitis five days ago.
If I laugh, my wound will open again.
Excuse me, sir.
What's so funny?
You have no worries
because the jar is mine.
And you, to avoid loosing it,
you want to keep him inside?
Stop it, stop it.
Do you know what this is called?
Kidnapping.
Who kidnapped him?
He kidnapped himself.
Actually, I could sue him
for illegaI lodging.
Why don't you send
the bailiff there for the eviction?
Help! It's reopening!
Please, Don Lollo,
come back another time.
I told you that it was not
the right moment.
Please.
No, no, Nunzia.
Let him stay.
I can give him my opinion.
Don Lollo, on your part, you have to
free the prisoner immediately.
The potter, on his part,
will have to answer
for the damage caused
because of his foolishness.
By paying me for the jar.
Come closer.
I have to speak softly.
Not as if it were new, mind you.
Why?
Because it was broken.
No way. Now it's new.
Better than new.
He says it himself.
Let him be the one to value it then.
In front of everyone.
I ought to pay you, sir?
Are you kidding me?
If I had used my lute only, my lute,
I wouldn't be in here now.
And I'll rot in here.
The lawyer hasn't considered that.
You hate me, then!
But not as much as I hate you.
You can't even imagine it.
You lack the imagination.
Take it down from there
and place it in front of the barn.
And take down that canopy.
Get a move on!
You'll end up in jail.
You want to lodge in my jar?
I'll sue you.
Yes, I'll sue you for illegal lodging.
You want to stay in there?
Then stay there! Stay there!
You'll starve to death.
With this I'll eat,
and you will eat, too.
Go buy what you need.
Thanks.
Come here.
There's more light.
The moon came out.
The moon just came out.
Hey, guys, let's take this bench
and put it over here.
Come on, guys,
let's put it over here.
Why did you leave me alone?
I want to see the moon, too.
Let me see it.
Let me see it.
No, no, don't lift it.
Turn me around.
Slowly.
Like that.
Good.
Come on.
Slowly.
Lay me on my stomach on the slide.
Turn it.
-On my stomach, on my stomach.
-On your stomach, on your stomach.
What the hell are you doing?
On my stomach.
I can see it! Stop!
Go back.
How beautiful it is.
You know, I feel like I haven't
seen it for over a century.
Look at it.
Break your neck, you old devil!
He's dead!
You've broken it, and I've won!
My jar.
My poor jar.
Fourth tale
He's my son.
Don't think that since
you don't see his mother here,
that we didn't want this little child
who was our first.
But the birth was difficult.
But you can't bury him until tomorrow.
You should have informed me.
To get here from Margari,
I walked one day and one night.
And I have to be back up there
early tomorrow for the cattle.
I'll carry it.
For tonight,
I'll leave it in the crypt.
What's the best place?
You can place it here,
where there is light.
In the middle.
Here.
Pardon me.
I'd rather move it where the other
people of our town are buried.
Here in the middle, on his own,
he could be afraid.
How much is it?
Three coins.
Six months later,
a board of 20 Margaritans
came down the valley
to claim their own graveyard.
Until the prefect receives us,
we won't leave.
I'm their priest,
and I speak in the name of God,
who sent us on this Earth not
only to live, but to live and to die.
The graveyard!
Shut up!
If a bad human law
denies the living poor
the right to have a land
on which, laying his foot,
he can say, "This is mine,"
it cannot deny the dead
the right to have a grave.
To that man and to his sons...
Where are you?
Stand up.
There.
This man's father is dying.
And he's the father of us all,
the founder of our village.
And now he wants to rest in peace
in the grave that he dug
with his own hands.
60 years ago, this man, now dying,
went up for the first time
on the lands of Margari
and built with his own hands
the first house with canes and clay.
Now there are many houses up there.
The inhabitants are more than 100.
But one gentleman, the baron...
Don't go away, sir!
Don't go away!
Baron!
But the baron of Margari
savagely denies us
the permission to bury our dead,
to keep them under our eyes
and to guard them.
We have been tolerating this torment
without crying until now,
content with praying, entreating
with hands joined this savage man.
But now that the father of us all
is dying,
Oh Christians, our dear old man,
who is longing
to be buried over there...
When you light your pipe,
it's a bad sign.
You're worried, aren't you, Dad?
You really think that
your father is a savage,
like that sort of priest down there
is saying?
Yes.
He is the savage, Francesca,
that old man.
He's dying now,
and I don't like to badtalk him.
That man has built on our lands,
not only without paying the rent,
but without even asking
for permission.
I mean, we're no longer free
to go for a walk on our own property.
The last time was 10 years ago.
Do you remember him?
I'm the one with the rucksack.
Mom, Ermanno, Valentina.
And that's him, the old man!
Yes, it's him.
He had brought us some ricotta,
do you remember?
You can't imagine
what kind of a man he is.
Authoritative, malicious.
It was a great trip.
It was a great trip.
Come on, give them the permission
to have a graveyard.
Everything would get quieter.
I'd like to, Francesca...
...but I can't.
I can't because, you see, Francesca,
the usurpation would take root
underground, with their dead.
I really think I'm on the right side.
You'll see, they'll be gone by now.
If the police don't escort them,
that old man is capable of having
himself buried alive in the grave,
as soon as they will announce
my refusal.
If you want to stay on our land
while you're alive, stay there.
But the abuse of having you
even after you're dead,
that I'll never allow.
Never!
I'm sorry.
I wanted to water him,
not you, Madam.
There's no more.
Come down!
Take him down!
Come down!
The gun.
Let's go.
Let's bury it first.
There is no time.
We have to be in Margari
before night.
We'll never make it, Captain!
Besides, you can't leave
an animal corpse unburied.
Sergeant?
Where are you?
I wonder if the father is still alive.
I hope he's dead.
Our father? Why?
It's better for him if he died
hoping to be buried in his land.
Be quiet!
If he's dead, he'll hear us.
I'm scared.
How will I get through the night
scared as I am?
And now, when it's trotting.
You're good.
But you can't do this.
The wind.
And the rain.
Are you sleeping?
Was it you again?
No.
But I heard...
Maybe you imagined it.
Come on, guys, let's go.
Come on, let's go.
Run, go call the Captain.
-Anybody there?
-No.
Then go look around the house,
behind the mountain.
No one's in here either.
Captain.
There he is, our father.
He had himself carried
in the land that he had chosen,
where our graveyard
was supposed to rise
in front of his grave.
He wants to die in the open air,
among his people
and be buried underneath its grass.
Slowly, slowly, slowly.
The police.
The police.
Help me get down in the grave.
Help me get down in the grave.
Throw me down.
Throw me down.
Throw me down.
Let him sit.
A chair.
A chair, come on!
All traitors.
Have someone take you back
to your bed, farmer.
-Traitors.
-Take him back home.
In your bed, farmer, it's much better.
Go give a hand to the guy
with the stakes.
You betrayed me, too, my son.
Stop standing around! Let go of those
stakes, take down the other ones!
You too! Come on, come on!
The cross and the plough over there.
You, go and pull down the walls.
Actually, no. Come here, you two.
Yes, you and you!
Follow the procession
up to the village.
But with respect and at a distance.
Macaluso, bring here the camera
that the baron gave us.
Stop, stop.
From there.
Give it to me.
Set the tripod.
I hope we'll know how to use it.
What's the matter?
What's going on?
The father is dead!
In front of similar demonstrations,
I demand a written order.
Come on, guys, go.
The father said that
now we can all wait together.
Epilogue
DIALOGUE WITH THE MOTHER
l had slept during the entire
two days of travel to Sicily,
where l had not been
since the death of my mother.
Somebody sent someone
to look for me.
l hadn't been able to understand
who that was,
but l had gladly left
my home in Rome,
where the sorrow of living
had become too unbearable
in the last period.
My job, my children, my age.
l don't know.
l don't want to explain
what you can't explain.
And now, pulled out of my sleep,
I was wondering if, by any chance,
I was still sleeping.
Sir, this way.
The coach, please.
I saw him before you, the American.
What American?
Luigi!
Luigi.
I'll take you home.
Get on.
Do you recognize me?
I didn't care to go across the city.
Don't worry!
I know where I'm taking you.
You see, I know what your job is.
I know about you.
You bring great honor to our Sicily.
Yes, yes.
Let's just go now.
How many dancers have you
slept with in Rome, Luigi?
Are they easy?
Damn.
You don't recognize me.
Are you kidding me?
Then tell me what my name is.
I'm sorry.
But you're Saro!
Saro!
Since I entered my home,
I didn't feel lonely.
Something was seething
in the shade of the rooms' corners.
Shadows in the shadows
were looking at me,
spying on me.
They were staring at me
with such an insistence
that in the end,
I was forced to turn around.
But of course, Mom,
it is you who sent for me.
Yes, it was me, Luigi.
And this is your music.
I recognize it.
I remember when you used to sing it.
I called you to tell you
what I couldn't tell you
since you were far away,
before departing from life.
You wanted to tell me to be strong,
Mom, right?
Today, like yesterday, like aIways.
You're laughing at me, huh?
On the contrary.
Say it to me, Mom. I need it.
That's why I came.
No, you have to relax.
To be strong doesn't mean that
you always have to live like this.
It means to be able
to live like this, too.
Oh, my God, Mom, your fingers.
You see, Luigi,
how my body was reduced?
That's why death has come.
It had to come.
No, don't cry, Luigi.
If you love me,
you have to think of me this way,
as you're seeing me right now, alive.
Mom, alive, yes, alive.
But I'm not crying because of that.
Of course, I think about you, Mom.
I'm seeing you as you are right here.
I'll always be able to imagine you
as I'm imagining you right now,
alive, sitting on you armchair.
But I'm crying
because of something else, Mom.
I'm crying because
you can't think about me anymore.
When you used to sit here
in this corner, I thought,
"If she's thinking about me
from so far away, I am alive for her."
And this thought supported me
and comforted me.
Now that you're dead
and don't think about me anymore,
I'm not alive for you anymore,
and I never will be.
I'm having a hard time, my son,
following what you're saying.
It's become too difficult for me.
But there's one thing I feel
I can still tell you.
Learn to look at things with the eyes
of those who can't see them anymore.
It will be painfuI, of course,
but that pain will make them
more sacred and more beautiful.
Maybe it's just to tell you this
that I had you come all the way here.
I know, Mom, what your eyes
are looking at right now.
The sail of that tartan, right?
You must have told us
about that trip of yours 100 times.
And I've tried to write it down
100 times.
But I've never managed.
There's something
that slips my mind.
Will you tell me one more time?
When I was 13...
You know this, right?
That we boarded with my mother,
my brothers, and my sisters,
one younger than me,
and a younger Iittle brother, too.
We boarded a big tartan
headed towards the unknown.
Malta.
My father, your grandfather,
was persecuted by the Borbons
after the 1848 revolution.
He was over there in exile.
We were going to meet him there.
You forgot something?
I forgot the cat.
Bella!
Be quiet! They'll find us.
Bella!
Bella, come here!
Bella!
Bella, come here!
Exile makes mothers cry like this,
and the dismay,
and taking away a home, toys, and
comfort from so many children...
...this is what exile meant,
but the sea trip
also meant something else,
with the tartan's red sail
and nothing else around us.
And that childish pride for misfortune
that makes a child
dressed in black say,
"I am in mourning, you know?"
As if it were a privilege.
And also the anxiety
of seeing so many new things.
That's what exile meant.
New things that we were expecting
to see with our fixed eyes.
The trip, you know,
lasted three days.
What you maybe can't remember
of my tale
is that halfway along our trip
we came upon an isle.
We stopped there for a few hours.
It was the isle of the pumice.
Were it not for that exile trip,
maybe l would never have seen it.
Madam, the wind is dropping
and the mistral won't rise until 3:00.
Let's go to the isle of the pumice.
Sit here, Mom.
Actually, no.
Lay your head here.
Madam , don't stay in the sun.
Today it's hot, and it can be harmful.
Thanks.
There you go.
The kids, why don't you send them
to cool off in the water today?
In the water?
What if there are sharks
in these waters?
No, in these months they move east.
Don't worry.
Okay.
Hey, there are the sailors.
Mom!
Well, make it quick.
Kids, climb up over that pumice.
It's good for the skin.
Then, run and throw yourselves
into the water.
Run, kids, run!
You want to go, too, don't you?
-Come on, come on!
-What, you can't do it?
Kids, grab the rows, come on!
Yes, you, you!
Come on, come on!
Row the boat.
Row the boat.
Row the boat!
Row, you're young!
Row your boat!
Come on, kids!