01x06 - Juicio a una zorra

[bunniefuu]

Good afternoon, nice to meet you.

Given the circumstances
that such a happy moment means,

Professor Héctor Rodolfo Flores
Scalese Balbuena Cucurullo

invites you to his birthday number...

ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD
BASED ON TRUE EVENTS

What day is it today?

What's the time?

I haven't slept for days. I can't.

It's as though time jumps and
the time for sleeping never comes.

Does it happen to you?

Yes, I'm talking to you,
looking at the screen.

Do you sleep well?

Sorry, I haven't introduced myself.

I'm Héctor Rodolfo Flores

and here I am,
trying shoes on some customers,

the day I began to realize
that things weren't as I had been told.

I think the next size would fit better.

-No. She has small feet like me.
-The size depends on the style.

All the shoes we've worn since we've
been a size 36 have been a size 36,

so it would be odd
to have to change now.

I's not odd.
It doesn't depend on the foot.

How can't it depend on the foot?

It depends on the shoe tree,
the instep.

-What would you know?
-I'm trying to say...

You never even knew
who your mother was!

-Pardon?
-We're leaving.

-What did you say?
-We're leaving!

Wait, madam.

-Madam.
-Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.
Flores, I'll be on my way.

Did you hear?
What's wrong with people?

-I don't know. What happened?
-Nothing.

Is it time already?

What a short day. Have a good evening.

-Are you all right?
-Yes, take no notice. Rest well.

-You too. I'll see you tomorrow, Flores.
-See you tomorrow.

People are mindless! Look at
the state of me. Shameless world!

-We're closed.
-I can see that but I need to dry off.

-Wait, I'll fetch you something.
-Thank you. These trousers.

My underpants, my shoes,
everything is soaking wet.

I'm absolutely drenched.
Everything is wet through.

It doesn't matter.

I was about to close.

We'll wait for this to dry off.
If you go out, you'll get soaked.

-I've got an umbrella.
-Two?

No. Only one.

It's cold.

It's winter and if you keep
taking your clothes off...

Can I have a pair of those
whilst we wait? My feet are freezing.

-They're women's shoes.
-Yes, don't worry.

I've got cold feet.
Just until all this dries out.

What size?

-Size 44.
-44...

This is all I have.
They're not very warm.

Better than nothing.

-They look fine.
-I can't stay for long, I'm sorry.

-Is someone expecting you?
-I don't know.

-If you don't know, then no.
-Take the shoes and...

You last saw your grandmother alive
in the clinic just before the end.

-What?
-In a white dressing gown.

With long white hair. She was no longer
your grandmother, with hair like that.

-What grandmother?
-You were with your brother.

You looked at her like someone looking
at a dying loved one, pretending.

She watched you for some time...

-What are you talking about?
-I'll say no more.

-Go on.
-Your brother...

-What brother?
-May I go on?

-Please, take the shoes...
-She was still.

Almost still. Almost dead.
Suddenly, she bent her legs.

She put her knees to her chest,
her arms outstretched towards you,

asking for something
no one could give her.

She opened her mouth to speak
and her eyes to cry.

The nurses entered
and went about their duties.

Your brother left the room.
You found him outside in tears.

-You'd never forget.
-Who are you?

Now shut up and wait!

After your grandmother's death,
your grandfather fell ill.

You are your grandfather. A fulminant
and brief cancer. Skin and bones too.

He couldn't eat.
You won't be able to eat.

-Who are you?
-The last time you saw him alive

he was drinking through a straw
from a glass Mabel was holding.

After a while,
you told him you were leaving.

Leaving was terrible.

Of all the things you could
have said, you chose, "I'm leaving."

You had things to do. Like now,
though no one is expecting you.

-Give me my shoes back.
-"I'm leaving," you said.

And he, who was silence almost...

he looked at you as if he were speaking
and finally he spoke to you.

Yes.

What did he say?

What did he say to me?

Are you all right?

Yes.

Yes.

-How did he get in?
-Who?

-Something strange just happened.
-Just now?

As I was about to close...
a very strange man came.

-Strange, in what way?
-I'm not sure.

He spoke about my grandmother's death.

He said things about me,
about my past and my future.

-Did you know him?
-No.

-I think he was a trans.
-A trans?

-A tr*nsv*stite?
-He bought a pair of women's shoes.

He must have been drunk.
Those kinds live the night.

Buying shoes at that time...

He probably came at that time
so no one would see him. Poor guy.

But some of the things he said,
not everything, were true.

He described things that happened.

They are very perceptive,
very sensitive.

Nené, leave that a moment, please.
Come with me.

If anything happens to me
and no one else sees it,

if something has happened to me,
only me,

and the witnesses die, they will die,
has that happened?

If you are sure, then it did.
I believe you. What has happened?

-You love me.
-No, I believe you.

It's been many years.
I mean, fondness.

-What?
-I'm fond of you.

This man talked about things
which I believe weren't true.

But what if I've forgotten them?
If I've forgotten, has it happened?

Where do things we can't remember go?
Have they happened?

Everything that's happened, happened.
That's why it's called the past.

-But if I've forgotten...
-It still happened though.

What's wrong?
Why make life complicated?

Don't take any notice of what
a drunken tr*nsv*stite tells you.

What you have to do is stop thinking.

If you've forgotten, don't worry,
it will be somewhere.

Things take care of themselves.
You take care of your memories.

Get more sleep. You look terrible.
You used to be handsome.

Handsome?

Listen, can I tell you something?

-Yes, of course.
-Good.

My mother, God rest her soul,

always talked to me
about a diary she was writing.

I felt a mix of intrigue and terror at
the thought of reading it.

She said they were dreams, memories,
what happened during the day,

written for no one,
but no one writes for no one.

She even offered to let me read them
and I said, no, it was private.

She could tell me if she wanted to,
but in person, not in writing.

When she died, we emptied
the house and found the diaries.

I'm an only child. I guess I told you.

So all of that was now mine,
the house and everything in it.

But nothing intrigued me
as much as those diaries.

And there were loads of things,
but there I was,

stood looking at them
as if they were an insect,

not knowing whether to k*ll it or not.

Until I suddenly started to read,
without thinking, like a madwoman.

Guess what was in there,
another woman's diary.

-What other woman?
-Some woman.

A Russian classical dancer,
one my mother had invented, you know?

And her daughter, in other words me,

was a top gymnast, like Nadia
Comaneci, and our life was beautiful.

A series of details
about two fascinating lives

that had nothing to do with ours,
except the wish that they were ours.

I read it all as if I were reading
my future or my past,

as if I could suddenly remember.
I didn't cry.

It was strange,
I wanted to cry, but I didn't.

I was thrilled with that athlete's life.
Why should I cry?

It even seemed right to me.
It was a gift.

The gift of a possibility.

Why are you telling me all this?

Because I once read
and I'll never forget,

"Don't make up what you don't want
to exist." Do you understand?

Look, go and rest
and think about useful things.

Don't think about silly things.

I'm telling you because I love you.

I don't want something I love to suffer.

-You love me?
-How could I fail to love you?

Well, see you tomorrow, Flores.

I want a pair of good shoes.
I don't care about the price.

Madam, how did you get in?

-Listen, we're closed.
-Please, I've come this far.

I'm pregnant.

Yes, I can see that.

Well, what do you want?

I need shoes that will do the work
for me. I can't take it anymore.

My heels ache from holding me up.

-Have you seen a pair you like?
-A good pair.

-They are all good here.
-You choose.

-What size?
-Size 36.

Size 36.

-You aren't wearing...
-No.

That's why I'm here.

-How small, poor things.
-Size 36 you said.

Yes. I meant my feet,
having to support the whole body.

I don't understand why we don't crawl
along the floor like animals.

-Which animals?
-Dogs, cats.

They roll onto
their backs or their sides

whenever they can, to lighten the load.

It isn't fair
carrying all that weight all the time.

Let alone now...
now there are two of us.

-It can't be long now, I guess.
-No, just a few days.

-You will be born two months premature.
-Pardon?

-You'll be born soon.
-No, please, not again.

Again no.
Being born will be in the present.

-I'm already born.
-No one'll know who your father was.

So I shan't raise you.
My sister, Rosalía will raise you.

Rosalía?

I will visit you. I will watch you grow,
but I will watch from a distance.

When I kiss you, my lips may touch you,
but I shall be kissing you from afar.

Because I'll be kissing my child

whilst my child
thinks that his aunt is kissing him.

It will be two kisses in one.

It will be horrible.

I think you need to rest.
Would you like some water?

No.

I want to tell you
what I shall never be able to tell you.

I want to say, "I am your mother."

I want to stretch out
my arms to you and say,

"I am your mother."

And wait for you with open arms.

Please.

It isn't so hard.

-Madam.
-Don't be cruel. You aren't cruel.

-I have to lock up.
-Of course.

Of course, son. How much are the
shoes? They are so comfortable.

Accept them as a gift.

-Thank you.
-I must rest.

You look tired. You don't sleep well.
You skip your afternoon nap.

Right, I'll be on my way.

Just one more thing.

When you come to visit me,
I'll be very ill that day.

When I look at you

and you understand like you understood
that there were words in my silence,

ask me what words they are.

Don't take your eyes off me.

Have the courage that I won't have.

Use your youth to free me of my fear.

Ask me if I want
to say something to you.

Dorothy! Dorothy, please!

Dorothy!

-Excuse me, this is an emergency.
-Is it your wedding?

What wedding?
Bring me some flat shoes.

-Flat shoes?
-High heels are dangerous, right?

-Dangerous?
-A weapon.

You want something lower?

Much lower.

-Sometimes...
-What?

-There are times...
-What?

You are sometimes...
There are times...

-Don't start.
-Don't start.

-Don't start.
-Don't start. No.

-He's watching us.
-Start...

-Sometimes pieces are missing.
-I don't understand...

-Missing. You're missing.
-Me?

-Totally missing.
-Enough! Bring some flat shoes, man.

Is she all right?

Yes.

She's frightened.

How can I explain this to him?

She's scared of changing letters
all at once.

So she does it gradually.

-Can that happen?
-Can't you see?

Something makes her dizzy.
The landscape suddenly changing.

-What landscape?
-One of letters.

So she does it gradually.
From home to lone,

from lone to line or to decline
or declination, you see?

-What about you?
-I am very unhappy.

But letters don't scare me.

Why are you dressed
for getting married?

Look at her getting ready.

Don't you feel sorry for her?

-No. Why?
-Because of death.

Getting herself ready to die.

-Is she going to die?
-Who isn't?

What do you think?
When death is nigh,

will you spend more or less time
on your personal hygiene?

-The same as now I guess.
-Do you believe death is nigh?

-I don't think about it.
-What do you think about?

-Time.
-What time?

This time most of all,
the time when I'm alone.

-But you're not alone now.
-True, but I don't know you.

-I feel as though I'm alone.
-How strange.

At this time, Nené's left.
There's no one else.

-Dorothy is here.
-Dorothy?

Yes, that's her name.
My name's Anelo, so I can't make mock.

-Is that a name?
-In Brazil.

-You're Brazilian? You don't look it.
-At birth. I'm not sure now.

Go on, what do you think about the time
you're with people you don't know?

Well, now you know me.
Would you recognize me in the street?

-Yes.
-Now we're no longer strangers.

I mean people who visit
when I close up.

-The shop is open.
-But at this time of night...

Look, I think you're mistaken.

-You want problems.
-I don't want problems.

No one wants them, but there are people
with a knack for creating them.

That's how it is. Take a look at me.

What?

Unhappy.

As if I needed it.

Héctor.

What?

-Is your name Héctor?
-Yes.

For goodness sake.

-Does she know me?
-It looks like it.

You've stolen my heart.

You've stolen my heart.

My sister and wife...

All alone at home.

Your decline perhaps mine. Your blind
decline, without peace of mind.

All alone at home.

All your lines of thought,
all the steps you walk,

occupying your places,

or assigning your spaces,
visible, risible

and obstinate that insist, insist,

insist in revealing...

...your absence.

All alone at home,

your decline perhaps mine,
all that, altogether hurts here.

Dorothy! Don't hit him!

Excuse us, we're leaving. Come on!
You can't go hitting people.

-I came to bring the shoes back.
-Thank you.

I'm sorry. Do we know one another?
Who are you?

What you said about my grandparents,
about me...

You can see the past, the future?

-What future?
-The future that's going to happen.

-When?
-After... Now...

-In a while. Now.
-Everything has already happened.

-What will happen?
-It's happened.

-It's happened?
-It doesn't exist.

-Doesn't exist?
-Can you show me the future?

No. That's why I'm asking.

Listen, good man,
it has already happened. Everything.

Look, if everything has happened,
what are we doing here?

What do we have to do?
What do we have to do?

Find out.

How is your mother?

My mother is dead.

Send her my regards.

Nené?

-What are you doing here?
-What do you mean?

You told me to come, remember?

-What?
-You told me to come in the evening.

-Did I?
-Well, not exactly.

You asked me to stay a bit longer
because strange people always come

and you wanted me to see and I said I'd
go home and come back and here I am.

-When did that happen?
-Flores, don't frighten me.

You're very tired. You need to rest.

Stress isn't good.
You think it's in your head

but it affects your whole body.
You were always so cheerful.

You're unrecognizable.
Now you don't whistle.

-It's those people.
-Who?

The ones that come after I close.

The man I told you about has just left.
You should've come sooner.

-The tr*nsv*stite? I always miss him.
-He isn't a tr*nsv*stite.

-He brought the shoes back.
-Shall I put them away?

Look, I'm sure the only thing here is
that you are very good, very classic.

You're tired
and you're more vulnerable.

-People are mindless.
-That's what he said!

-Don't be scared.
-I'm not.

It's just that strange things happen
whenever I'm alone.

That's why I'm glad you came
so you can see them,

then you'll know I'm not mad.

-How can you be mad?
-I hope the lady comes.

-Who?
-She knows my mother's name.

-A friend?
-She wasn't my mother.

-What?
-My mother wasn't my mother. She is.

She's mad.

We'll wait.

I love the idea.

-You and me.
-I love the idea.

They need coaxing today.

If no one comes, it doesn't matter.

-We'll have a nice time.
-A nice time?

Yes, well, I'm not sure.
Are you having a bad time?

-No.
-Well then, if it isn't bad, it's good.

Has anyone else come in
apart from that man?

I don't know.

Look, if you don't mind, I'll make use
of the time to do stocktaking.

No, certainly not.
You've done enough just being here.

-I don't expect you to work overtime.
-That's quite clear.

But it's strange being here with you,
alone, at night, in silence waiting.

If I do something I usually do,
it won't seem strange.

-As you wish.
-There's no topic of conversation.

We don't talk.

-I'll get on with stocktaking.
-No. Let's talk.

What shall we talk about?

I'll get do the stocktaking.

I read in the newspaper today
that the sun is a comet.

-Of course.
-You knew?

Of course.

It moves, like the Earth.

No, not like the Earth, Flores.
Like a comet.

-Does that seem normal?
-I don't think about it. It scares me.

-It's fascinating.
-Yes.

-Everything is moving.
-Yes.

-The question is, where to?
-Yes.

-Are you listening?
-Yes. What?

Where are we heading?

-Who?
-Us, the planets...

I'm not a planet, don't drive me mad.
I'm stocktaking.

Leave the stocktaking.
Didn't you want to talk?

What's up?

Listen...
we aren't going to do anything else,

or say anything else
until we understand something.

-About what?
-Your clothes. And chasing a comet.

-We don't know where it's going.
-Look, don't get at me about my clothes.

And we aren't chasing any comet.

It's the Earth that moves.
It's not our fault.

If you're on a bus,
not knowing where it's heading,

would you stay calm
just because the bus is moving?

Or find out where it's heading?

Don't confuse me. It's different.

It's exactly the same.
Why is it different?

Because the Earth isn't a bus.
It's a planet. No one drives it.

Weren't you an atheist?

I don't know.

I'll tidy up.
I'm not coming in the evening again.

Twice now and we end up arguing.

You have to get on to Pedernera.
The sandals are selling well.

There are none left in skin
in size 7.5 or 8.

-Did you say skin?
-Yes, skin.

Skin, the color, Flores.

Do as I say. Go and get some rest.

I'm too close to the edge too often,
Nené.

And I've got something,
like a choked scream.

I'm scared I might let it out in front
of people one day, you know?

Any day whatsoever,
trying shoes on a customer,

I might look her in the eye

and let the scream out that may
mess up her hair and infect her,

making her scream
and her daughter by her side.

Then I won't know what to say,
how to come to my senses.

I'll carry on screaming...

...like that time we had a g*n pointed
at us when we entered the house.

-Who?
-I think it was me.

-I think it was ours.
-Ours?

The man came in behind us with a g*n,
like in the films, remember?

He was aiming at me. He didn't speak,
but he wanted my wallet.

-Who are you talking about? Me?
-You were further back.

Instead of doing what
I myself would have advised me to do,

I started to scream,
an absurd, impossible, childish scream.

A long and intermittent A.
I screamed As in his face

until he didn't know
what to do with so many letters

and he left to rob someone saner.

-Don't you remember?
-That's enough!

Enough. Go get some sleep, you hear?
Get some sleep.

I'm back.

You've taken a long time.

-Were you waiting?
-Waiting for what?

-For me to be alone. For Nené to leave.
-I'm your mother.

Madam!

Please!

-My mother died.
-Not me.

I'm your mother. You're a good man.
You're tired and so am I.

We're going to rest,
like before, but now, here.

-What do you want?
-You should know.

That's it.

See how good we are.

Like before.

See how good.

Let me see...

-What was it like before?
-Like this.

What was I like?

-You liked your food.
-What?

I'd make a meat and potato pie for you.
You had seconds.

-I always had seconds?
-Always.

You'd run home from school
and scream, "Any pie?"

-And was there?
-Sometimes.

-What else?
-What else of what?

What was I like?

You'd take a long bath every day
for about an hour.

-Goodness knows what you did in there.
-Nothing.

You'd tell the whole family one by one
that you were going for a bath.

It was your duty, all that time
you'd spend locked up in there.

Doesn't everything
suddenly seem useless to you at times?

-Everything?
-Everything.

-What kind of everything?
-Everything, everything.

-Useless for what?
-Useless. Without for what.

No.

-Doesn't it happen to you?
-No, it doesn't.

Getting dressed, for example.

I get dressed to be dressed.
I dress well.

It doesn't happen to me.

-Getting up.
-I get up to be stood up.

-To see.
-To see what?

-To see you.
-You get up for me?

No, I get up to see you.
So I can see you.

I think, if I had a son,
I'd like him to be like you.

-But I'm your son. That's what you said.
-Of course, honey.

Even if you weren't,
that's what I'd like.

-I don't feel too good of late, Mother.
-I know.

I guess I need something new
to happen. To do something new.

-Something different.
-Different to what?

To everything.
To all this that keeps happening.

I need to see or do something
that crops up, something original.

Originality is for the ignorant, son.
It's all been done.

The trouble is, you're sad.

You're sad and you don't cry
and that isn't good.

-How come you know if I cry or not?
-I can tell. You're rigid.

-Rigid?
-Hard.

The tears you don't cry
harden your body and turn to stone.

Why do you think the dead go stiff?

-Why?
-Because they can't cry.

-Mom, I'm not five.
-We're all the same age here.

-Here?
-On Earth.

I miss something from before.
That before that you talked about.

-Before, your world was your home.
-No.

It's something from before,
but not a place.

That's the problem.
You can go back to places,

but I can't go back
to that thing I miss.

Calm down.

It's all over.

And tomorrow you'll be born.

I don't believe it! Why are you here?
Who the hell is she, Mom?

-Mind your language!
-Who the hell are you?

-My sister? Grandmother? Wife?
-Watch your tongue!

Who the hell are you?
What part of the story are you from?

Don't shout. Let her talk.
Carry on, darling.

"You bring the liqueur.
We'll get the glasses."

-Good. Listen.
-What's that?

I wanted to be funny.

Make a joke like you used to.

Be like you for a moment.

So when Tito said he'd come,
I made that silly joke.

-Who's Tito?
-Listen.

I was clumsy.
My youth is partly to blame.

I was eight years old,
eight years old and two dead sisters.

I wanted to know everything before.
What's the use of knowing after?

-Knowing what?
-About Aurora.

They told me all about it afterwards,
when I no longer needed Grandmother.

Everyone knew Rosalía wasn't your
mother and she wasn't my grandmother.

-You see?
-Is she my daughter?

I'm Amelia, the one that didn't die.

Amelia.

I sensed something in Aurora,
a different kind of love,

like when she traveled all those miles
to bring me a birthday present.

She gave me a pair of huge knickers

and I realized
it must have been a mistake.

She must have bought them for herself
and got the present mixed up.

The neighbors made fun, like drunkards,
their mouths full of pastry cream.

I wish I could have spit cream
in their faces and run off with Aurora.

If I had known,
I would have chosen the countryside,

the huge sky,
the endless land and the horses.

I know, darling.

Instead of that tiny house
with its tiny glasses

and it's short space of time
until the next seizure.

Now that I know that she was
my grandmother, they are all dead.

-Even you.
-I'm not dead.

The day you called me, you were ill.

You said you had something to tell me.
I was expecting the word Aurora.

You were serious, distant, sad
and silent looking for the words,

until you said, "Daughter, I need to
tell you..." I was expecting, Aurora.

You said, "I need you to know."
I said, "I know, say Aurora."

You said, "You must know
that I never finished school."

Come on, Dad.
Why would that matter to me?

Why would I give a damn
about your education,

when you were taking
that other secret to the grave?

How could we be so distant when
we we'd been so close for so long?

There's a question that comes back
over and over again.

Just before you died, after looking
at me and saying, "I'm dying."

When you started saying, Mom...
who were you calling?

-Was it Aurora, Dad?
-I don't know.

-You don't know?
-I hope so.

You hope so? Look.

What is she doing?

-Why is she doing that?
-Be quiet and wait.

It was like this, right, Dad?
She did this, right?

How do you know...?
Stop it! Stop doing that! Get up!

What can I do? How can I help you?

Has this happened? Will it happen,
or what the hell is happening?

What do you think, Dad?
What do you want?

I want... I want to be a good father,
a good son.

What did I do? Was I?

Am I?

It's so difficult.

It's something you never learn.
I wanted... I want...

-What do you want?
-I want to know how to make you happy.

That's what I wanted,
I wanted, I will want, and I want

to know how to do it well.
How to make you happy

if I am ever your father.

Doing your things...

...living your life.

There's nothing to be taught, Dad.

Who could have the nerve to claim
they teach something,

when this is a mess?

There's no way of doing it well
or badly. It's done far away or nearby.

It's done together or apart and
it can't be changed all of a sudden.

Not all of a sudden, right, Gran?
No, first you have to observe.

Observe and see
what has been done with time.

With all the time.

That would make me happy.

Seeing you contemplate the way
you have used your time,

the things you have done
and failed to do.

Seeing you contemplate them peacefully,
as you look at what you have chosen.

I would have liked to have had
a grandmother. I really would.

We aren't alone, Dad.
If we aren't alone, let's not be alone.

It wasn't up to you to decide whether
you had to go in search of Aurora.

It was already decided,
because she was already there.

And you knew it
and you turned away from her.

You left her without a son
or a granddaughter.

-Enough.
-You left me without a grandmother.

Now you ask how to make me happy

and you tell me you'll never learn.
Never learn what?

What do you want to learn
and from whom?

I ask myself too sometimes.
What do I want?

And now that I'm talking to you
and you're here...

...I think I know.

I want to learn to look...

...to see what is there,

what I did, what I'm doing.

That's what I want. I am coming
to understand now, to learn to look.

Alert yet without effort...
without making an effort.

There's no need to make an effort
to open your eyes.

I want to open my eyes, for them
to tell me things. Tell me who I am,

who you are, what all of this is
and to speak only when it's necessary.

Care. Respect. Silence.

You're beautiful, Dad.

-Really?
-Yes.

In spite of everything,
you're here and you're beautiful.

Now I've struck him dumb,
he's beautiful.

Yes.

You know, I stopped being angry with
you the day I saw you by chance

in a photograph
in which you were my age.

You were gawking at Mom, like a hippy.

You were a lovely couple.

I thought perhaps
we could have been friends.

Not intimate friends,
the kind of pals that sometimes meet up.

You were kids almost,
kids bringing up kids,

bringing children into the world,
unaware.

I was sorry I hadn't known you
before I was born. It was strange,

as if I missed those two possible pals
from the photograph.

I thought, if all the time in the world
joined together in one moment,

if we were to meet at once,
all ages together,

altogether,
maybe something would become clearer.

You'd go like this, Dad.

You'd do this.

And I'd sing to you.

Do you remember?

The pretty girl is in the cot

Remember?

Very warm, between white sheets

The pretty girl is in the cot

Very warm, between white sheets

Remember?

Her grandmother says

Pretty girl

Go to sleep

-Where are the owners?
-Pardon?

-The dead women.
-What dead women?

All of them.
All the dead women that used...

that will use these shoes.

These shoes are new.

These shoes don't belong to anyone.
They're mine.

This place...

The world is a cemetery full of women.

What else is there apart from that?

What other fact worthy of being told?

Only a few deaths, a few death alone.

-We are all gradually dying.
-Exactly.

That's what happens.

The undeniable. The truth.

-We are all gradually dying.
-Exactly.

Whilst people go telling their stories,
mouthing like fish,

the only thing
that happens is our death.

And one might think, one may wish,

-that others might die.
-Exactly.

That other people might die.
Not those of us here. Not ours.

And, as if there were a God,
we pray like lunatics.

We pray madly for others to die.

Not our aunts, our sister,
not our grandmother, not our daughters.

We hope that the next phase
will be something else.

We hope this fear will pass,

that the daughter may speak
and the father understand,

-that the aunt will be the mother.
-Yes.

And above all, we hope
that the pain will wear off,

that something will happen
that won't be futile.

Something that will tell us,
"It's all right. Rest."

But in the end, it's always...
In the end, it's always the end.

It's inexorable.

Walk, walk, walk.

Walk, walk, walk,

so that in the end everything
that happens will be one same thing...

...leaving orphaned shoes.

-I think that's enough.
-It isn't enough.

I'm lucid now, so you can stop looking
at me like that.

Now I know that I know what I know.

I don't know how long it will last,
but whilst it lasts and I can be here,

knowing I'm here,
I would like to say...

What, darling?

Even when I'm not here completely,
and everything is hazy, I can see you.

I can see all of you.

I don't make a scene
because you aren't looking at us.

-I can see you.
-Darling.

I can see you all.

Darling, what are you doing?
Come here.

What are you doing?

Of course! It's true.

You are, you have been,
or you will be looking at us.

This is our time.
It's my past and your present.

-One more thing.
-What is it, darling?

-I'm not going to wear shoes anymore.
-Fine, don't wear shoes anymore.

Is she all right?

She's not well.

-What's wrong with her?
-The illness Rita Hayworth had.

-My mother had the same illness.
-Will my wife be ill?

She's the one who's ill now.
Care, respect, silence.

-Did she get better?
-No.

-I've thought about it a great deal.
-About what?

In how many more pairs of shoes
we would buy together.

For some time now,
my time has been wavering.

It wavers between the memory
of what happened

and the concern over
what is yet to come.

It's as though we're anchored
in a Sunday evening.

Eternal. Do you understand?

A Sunday afternoon
with that strange feeling inside

of not knowing what to do with those
petty hours that bring nothing,

but fear of Monday.

In any case, in this time of ours,
though it may waver,

I try not to miss one single second.

I tell myself that all this will pass.

That so much suffering
cannot last forever.

But then I think, "Why can't it last?"

It can't last long
because nothing lasts long

but if it lasts as long as I have left
to live, for me it will be eternity.

And eternity without the love of my life
knowing my name, that seems too long.

At first I thought
it was a problem with letters.

And it is.
The thing is, letters are everything.

Someone says letters
and it may seem trivial.

But they are everything.

So, a problem with letters
is a problem with the world,

with the possibility
of being in the world.

Being in the world with someone else,
in someone else's world.

We used to talk in a similar manner,

different yet similar.

And gradually, I don't know...

...it began to change.

All of that began to disappear.
Look at her.

Now there are different rhythms.

The music is different.
We're out of tune.

But I hope, as I walk,

although she's tired and now she wants
to go barefoot for goodness sake,

I hope my grandfather's lesson is true.

"Keep doing what you're doing
and everything will fall into place."

-Morning.
-We're leaving.

-We're sorted!
-All these people!

-Nené, it's them.
-We can meet up for a drink.

-It's your wedding! Congratulations!
-What wedding?

People are obsessed with weddings.
They see a dress and think wedding!

-I'm sorry, I thought...
-What a sad world!

-Bye!
-It was them.

-Who? The tr*nsv*stite?
-No. My daughter and the others.

-What?
-What time is it? Is it time?

What time?

-Is it time to open?
-What do you mean?

We've been open a while.

A while?

Shall I do the takings?

-What takings?
-Today's takings.

Well, Flores, I'll be on my way.

What? Where to?

-Home.
-You've only just arrived!

What do you mean?
It's closing time. Are you all right?

No, it isn't, it wasn't
and it won't be all right.

It happened again. My daughter came.
My mother came. All the dead.

-We're all dead.
-Did that hurt?

-Yes.
-You see? We're alive.

What did I say?
Don't stay here on your own. Rest.

I need to know
why this is happening to me.

The past and the future appear
and I'm unaware of the present.

-I don't remember it.
-It's impossible to remember.

-What do you want to remember?
-Ordinary things.

Work. Today, for example.
It's awful. Nothing has happened today.

You just got here and you're leaving.

-It's been a quiet day.
-No, it hasn't been a day.

-It's been seconds.
-Go get some rest.

Nené, stop saying that to me, please.
Help me.

I can't. I'm sorry. I'm going.

No, don't go. If you leave, those
people come and strange things happen.

-About me. Mine. My loneliness.
-That's why I'm telling you go and rest.

I need to understand who they are.

-Please, don't go.
-I'm going to go. I'm leaving.

Things never work out,
I need things to work out. I'm leaving.

-You see?
-What?

You're leaving
or you'll be on your way?

I'll be on my way. What's wrong?

-I don't know. It's the tense. Tenses.
-What tenses?

Verb tenses.

Look, Flores, I don't understand you.

I don't know how to help you.
It breaks my heart. If only you knew.

If only you'd come out of your head.

-I want to. How can I?
-Who knows?

If you didn't think so much...
I talk to you and you drift away.

The past, the future, the dead
and then you talk about the present.

If you could leave all that behind
and be here with me. You talk a lot.

Forget everything. Please.

Think about something else.

Close the shop and go home soon,
Nené is waiting for you.

-Who's Nené?
-Your wife.

Me.

You're going to marry Nené, me, Flores.
You married me.

I shall be Nené because I am Nené.

I'm your wife.

Don't be late, I'll be waiting.
I don't cook, but I wait for you.

There's vitello tonnato. You like it.

You used to like it.
You'll like it. Don't be long.

One more thing.

Your wife will dream
about visiting Venice.

They'll mistake her for Evita Perón.
It will be a mystery.

You'll have three daughters.

We'll have three daughters.

The first two will die
before their first birthday.

The third will survive.

She will survive everything,
our suffering even,

which will remind her of the absence
of the other two on each birthday.

Love is the devil at times.

Your wife won't ever visit Venice.

I never visited Venice.

And you...

You will try hard to make her happy
in this village of waterless streets,

in this shitty village.
She'll have...

I'll have a terrible illness. They'll
say it's the illness Rita Hayworth had.

It'll last for seven years, seven years
forgetting the names of things.

Or more than forgetting, understanding
that the names aren't the things.

The words will gradually be used up
until they're erased.

In the end,
I will gradually end up dumb.

I'll appear dumb from grief because
I'll have tears in my eyes forever.

In mine, in the eyes of those with me,
in the eyes of those who leave me...

I'll call tears rain.

I'll be absent behind my eyes to see you
once again, at times for a few seconds

and caress you...

...and thank you.

I'll get so angry
when you treat me like a child.

I shall be a child.
I shall smell of cookies.

And I shall lose weight
and words each day.

Until there is only one word left...
our daughter's name.

Life is strange. Amelia, I will say.

It's a lovely name.

It shall be my last language.

I shall call everything Amelia,
water, the bathroom,

you.

Everything will be Amelia.

Until the day I die,
with Amelia on my tongue.

Good night, my love.

A short while ago, my mother told me
I'll be born tomorrow.

She told me a birth is in the present
and I need a present time.

Nené told me that too.

She's just told me.

Tomorrow I'll be born.

Tomorrow I'll be born.

Yes. I'm talking to myself
so at least I'll listen.

So what is happening in my loneliness
will remain, at least in my memory.

In my loneliness,
I have all the time in the world.

It's a lot altogether,
but if it has to be, so be it.

Let it be said out loud
and let it be said, please...

...as I say and I repeat...

tomorrow I'll be born.

I shall be witness to my arrival...

...and my first cry.

I shall hold myself in my arms
and try to comfort myself.

I'll try to accompany myself
as I grow up,

to remind myself each day
that it isn't so important

and it's the most important thing
in the world if I want it to be.

It's absurd and it's frightening
and it's precise and precious.

I'll tell myself to be patient.
I'll tell myself many things.

I'll say, for example,
that all common places are true

and love will be the answer
to all my fears.

The world is awful and beautiful
and that none of that matters,

only the sensations
left on our skin will matter,

that our skin is what matters most.

I'll tell myself
to trust my skin and my senses

and it doesn't matter
if I'm sad or happy.

I'll be surrounded with ideas
on how to live

and even those I believe in
will be nonsense.

The one thing that isn't nonsense will
be so extraordinary it'll have no name.

The unnamable will keep me alive
each time life wavers.

Jotting down memories,
so as not to forget them,

telling friends
and neighbors about them.

Stories are good for you,
I'll tell myself that too.

I'll tell myself not to believe
the present, past or future.

The present doesn't exist.
Time is movement.

To believe in movement and my watch
shall be my footsteps and my weight.

To believe in my body. My body knows
that to see, you must be blind.

It knows to hear you must be silent.

To believe in my body, my body knows
that whatever ends up captivating me

will be that which
I decide to ponder on.

That's it.

As my daughter taught me,
I teach myself.

To stop.

Like now
when I think I'm motionless and still

and I feel I am lucid.

I will tell myself to love.

I will return to love, yes,

because I will have said
that all common places are true

and love as a response
is a common place.

I will talk about the same thing,
knowing that love is remaining still.

Lingering on someone.

Staying there.

Making that body a support,
an expression, a sense

and above all, a life wish to stay.

I shall tell myself all those things...

...as if I were my son.

That's it, I'll be my own son.

And it will be the first time.

It will be something new
and original, Mom.

Tomorrow I'll be born.

What's the matter?

-It's now!
-Now?

-Come on.
-Let go of me!

-It's here. Let go of me!
-No, not here. Come on.

Where am I?

Where am I?

I don't know.

You're mad.

Mad.

Don't be cruel.

You aren't cruel.

What's happened? Are you all right?

-What time is it? I have to open.
-Calm down.

-A woman came.
-Héctor.

Who are you?

It's me.

It's Nené.

My wife?

Yes, that's the one.

I love you.

Can I love you?

I love you.

Where are we?

Here.

What day is it today?

What's the time?

How much time has gone by
since the start?

What is the start?

What does it matter?

This kiss is now...

...and it will be
every time someone looks.

What a relief.

Thank you.

FOR AURORA

ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD