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Let's go.
A fine son of a bitch, you were...
Took it all to the grave...
Vitalina...
My condolences.
You arrived too late.
Your husband was buried three days ago.
Here in Portugal there is nothing for you.
His house is not yours. Go back home.
I'll go, I'll go...
unsure, waiting...
life isn't as easy as they think...
get up, empty stomach...
life isn't easy...
his place as a man, in the hood, in the alley,
as a man, in the house, as a worker,
his place in the alley...
mirror of patience, pray for us...
towed the walls, tile the floor, door with no lock...
mother searching... her son...
sitting, waiting... I'll go...
I'll go, I'll go...
Candle on the mattress.
Nothing left of that love.
My condolences.
This roof is falling apart.
I'll get some guys to fix it.
Seven cans of tuna, five euros?
Excuse me. My condolences.
You're surprised, aren't you?
You didn't expect my visit.
You don't want me close to you even in your dying hours.
We married in the civil registry on 14th December 1982,
and in church on 5th March 1983.
There is nothing left of that love, of that clarity.
I don't trust you in life nor in death.
Your body...
in the graveyard, in the coffin... I couldn't see it.
Are you buried under the ground?
I had forgotten the taste of home cooking.
Just like my mom's beans.
With rice, pumpkin...
Cassava, sweet potato.
Have a little bit.
Marina doesn't eat much.
We are going through hard times.
We are sleeping rough at the train station.
Everyday I have to go forage for food...
down at the supermarket.
I met Joaquim in prison, he was also a good cook.
I washed the dishes.
We who drink...
we who steal, we can be very deceitful.
But we also know how to help our fellow men.
He never forgot, always gave me a hand.
Last time I saw him, he was sitting by the door,
had put on weight,
dreadlocks, sandals, full of himself.
So many times he asked me to help him fix this house.
He wanted more rooms, a new paint job,
fix the walls, tile the floor.
His head was full of dreams.
He said: "My wife must see this house all pretty."
Are you feeling ill?
I'm very cold.
Let's go?
Marina, hurry up.
Thank you, ma'am.
Ntoni!
Ntoni...
Don't hide your face.
Get behind me!
Get him a drink!
I bathed him.
I shaved him.
I changed his clothes.
I gave him some soup, he didn't eat much.
This floor was full of vomit.
"Hey guys, have you seen Joaquim?"
We passed by everyday, we knocked, nobody replied.
We found him unconscious on the bed, covered in vomit.
I put my ear against the door, I could almost hear him weeping...
Are you feeling ill, boy?
I feel bad, can't get up...
Why didn't you answer when I knocked?
I did answer, but you didn't hear me...
I gave him a glass of water, he threw up.
My belly is burning...
I tried to get him to the hospital but he didn't want to go.
You need surgery, boy.
I don't want it, I'd rather die...
You want me to call your wife in Cape Verde?
No, it's not worth it.
I've been waiting for my plane ticket to Portugal for 40 years.
I will stay for the rest of my life.
I'll go...
sitting, waiting for you...
laying, his face to the sky...
work day and night...
no one came...
This house of yours is a poorly done job.
Windows like gutters.
I keep hitting my head on these shitty doors.
The house we built together in Cape Verde is incomparable.
Ten rooms, a kitchen, a good bathroom, big water tank.
Close to the chapel of Figueira das Naus.
I sold a small calf for 100 contos.
I bought a truck load of iron, a truck of sand, cement and water.
I built all the blocks with my own hands.
You laid down the bricks, towed the walls, tiled the floor.
People passing by couldn't believe
we had done that work all by ourselves in 45 days.
You'd come to Cape Verde for 45 days. We worked day and night.
Sometimes we didn't even go to bed. "Lay down for a little bit."
"No, I have to work."
"The cement mix is ready to make the blocks in the morning."
One day you ran off to Portugal, you didn't even say goodbye.
I went back home, made dinner, waited with the food in the pan...
then I threw it all away.
While you ran the alleyways on the other side of the river... France...
chasing those street women, like a lamb that just escaped the barn.
When I wrote asking for money you didn't reply, you kept silent.
You thought it was a joke: "If I had known it would be so tiring,"
"I wouldn't have come for a 45 day holiday to Cape Verde."
After you left, I worked very hard.
I took care of all the doors, all the windows.
I built the water tank.
I sold another calf and bought more doors and windows.
I was working pregnant with a little girl that didn't even have a name.
I carried 50 kg cement bags, on my head, every day.
One of my feet swelled bigger than the other.
You never saw it.
You never entered our house after it was finished, all painted.
You kept saying you would come, you would come...
And you died, and you never came.
Is this the same woman who was at the funeral?
- No, it's another one. - Have you seen this girl's figure?
- Is this her? - No, it's another one.
Get out!
Go home!
No mass today!
No one comes anymore!
Not even to pray the Rosary...
Don't you remember me, Father?
You buried my husband seven days ago.
He left with a clean soul.
I sang him a nice sermon.
Did you enjoy my sacrament?
I was late.
Nothing left for you here.
The door has no lock.
I hear a man crying all night.
There is nothing sadder than a priest in this place.
Cement is expensive.
Bricks are expensive.
Paint is expensive.
Nobody helps us.
It's me, Vitalina Varela.
I lifted you from the ground, that evening.
I was young, down in Chão Bom, your first parish.
I went to fetch a bale of hay with my donkey.
Suddenly, a Hiace pickup van crashed into another car.
More than thirty people, severed heads,
guts falling out, legs, arms, feet, hands.
You stumbled out of the church.
You ran and fell in a pool of blood.
You yelled: "Have a safe journey! The Lord travels one step ahead!"
A safe journey. The Lord travels...
Those folk just wanted your blessing.
I can't baptise anyone else.
I can't say mass no more.
You denied them their baptism. You sent them to Father Juvino.
You put them on the road to Tarrafal.
And they never got there.
Now this is their home. Every day I cry next to them,
sitting on these empty chairs.
This is my people's home.
But I pay.
I pay all of them.
Water bills, electricity bills, gas bottles,
medicine,
coffins.
Did you pay for my husband's funeral?
I paid all the bus fines.
Train fines. Police.
Did you buy the flowers?
I settled his mini-market bills.
Don't you want to go back home?
No.
Are you feeling better?
Feeling a bit better, I am.
We share the mourning.
You lost your husband,
I lost my faith in this darkness.
Are you afraid?
Fear can also get you to Heaven.
He's not dead. He's only sleeping.
Until the end of times.
Until you join him.
What for?
I want you to pray a Mass for him.
And for me.
Couldn't you have fixed this roof?
You know how scared I am.
You were quite a worker in Cape Verde.
You were a fine boy.
Full of courage.
Just like me.
I see all these men passing by this house.
Your comrades. Sad men, drunkards.
You turned lazy like the rest, hands tied to your chest.
You turned your face to death.
We could have stayed in Cape Verde.
We didn't have much, but it was ours.
We worked the land together.
Here, there is only bitterness.
Here, we are nobody.
Your death cannot erase all the evil you have done.
You can't run away anymore.
I come to confess.
The wedding ring...
my youngest son...
didn't see her at the funeral, no one came...
he lays, his face to the sky...
Lower your eyes upon these souls, waving goodbye to their mortal bodies.
Lower your eyes upon this house.
Welcome your servants Alfredo, Lucinda and their sons,
in your celestial palace, under your guard.
Relieved.
Our country is in Heaven.
It's late to pay visit, but I'm missing my partner.
This is a night to spend together.
This is where we used to eat our streaky bacon, our pork chops.
Where we used to play cards.
This is where we used to write those letters to you.
We broke our legs and arms.
We used to work in this Portuguese cold.
So cold we couldn't unzip our pants to take a piss.
One day we hung out by the alley,
the other day we were selling drugs to pay the butcher.
Stove,
closet,
freezer,
table, chairs,
microwave,
mattress, bed, sheets,
pots, plates, spoons, cups,
house, backyard, street,
television, wall clock, small radio,
bed stool, water, light,
a very good door.
This is the tab of my return.
I won't cry for no wretched man.
Lamb of God,
Who takes away the sins of the world,
Have mercy upon us...
Lamb of God, have mercy on our brother.
Guide him through his journey,
his last breath.
Holy Lord,
welcome your servant...
Joaquim de Brito Varela.
Bricklayer,
electrician.
Have a safe journey, Joaquim.
Our Lord snatched him from this world,
after all of his hardships,
so that his feelings would not be stolen by malice,
and cunning would not enthral his soul.
It's pleasing...
in the eyes of the Lord,
the death of his servants.
Relieved, he rests from his work.
The memory of his misery,
of his immigrant life...
It's poison!
There will be no more death.
Nor mourning.
Nor pain.
Nor tears.
Blessed be the one who cries.
For he will be relieved.
Blessed be the one...
We had a wedding here...
last Sunday...
- Why are you against me and on their side? - Am I not a man like them?
- Son of Cain! - A worker like the others?
- Men favour men! - Immigrant like the others.
I closed his bitter eyes.
When you see a woman's face in the coffin, you can't imagine her suffering.
Are you well enough to say the Our Father prayer?
Go ahead, because I can't.
Did he kill himself?
It was your Joaquim that I visited in jail.
It was his confession I heard at the hospital.
Do you speak Portuguese?
No.
You must learn it if you want to speak to him.
Have you made peace with Marina?
I have no luck with women.
Just like my dad.
He left my mother with three sons and ran away to Cape Verde.
He said he wanted to be buried back home.
But every time he called my mom,
we felt there was love.
My mom used to say:
"He is the love of my life."
And my dad would say: "She's my sweetheart."
Remorse brought him back to Portugal.
He died at the hospital of Amadora, like your husband.
He lived here alone.
Before me, there was only this girl from Tarrafal.
Her name was Vitalina.
Another Vitalina.
She took all his savings, left him flat broke.
I told him: "I already know your sweetheart."
"My sweetheart? You're my sweetheart!"
"Silly man, she stole all your money and built a palace in Tarrafal."
"You looked foolish, crying."
He said: "Shut up, it's not true!"
"Yes, it is! You're a dog, a liar!
"I found a photo album in your suitcase,
"with ten or twelve photos of that girl,
"laying on that bed, her arms stretched open.
"You took pictures of her all over this house.
"In the bathroom washing her hands.
"In the kitchen washing the dishes.
"Playing CDs and DVDs in the living room.
"In the backyard, giggling, kneeling by the laurel tree.
"Wearing your lace shirt,
"with that work vest drying on the rope.
"You took her photo in the living room, her foot up on a chair,
"in a tight little blue dress, her legs wide open,
"I could see her white panties."
I need me to find an ugly woman, 'cause the pretty ones...
If she's ugly, one turns off the lights and she becomes pretty.
If she's pretty, one turns off the lights and she becomes even prettier.
Sometimes, even if there's love, things don't work out.
Don't fool yourself.
If there's love, things must work out.
What's your name?
Ntoni.
Ntoni, love is so important.
"The future queen...
"was not yet...
"nine years old...
"when she met...
"for the first time...
"the one that...
"would become...
"her husband.
"In July 1939...
"the world trembled in fear...
"of Hitler and the Germans,
"but the heart and thoughts...
"of Elizabeth were occupied...
"with things...
"far less dangerous."
Our Father is out of control.
He says that spirits only speak Portuguese.
And that I have to learn it to speak to you.
It's difficult. I am dumb.
If I learn, will you respond?
Will you finally say all those things you didn't say in Cape Verde?
The day you ran away I felt you were full of hate inside.
Did you throw away all the letters I sent you?
They were all written in Portuguese.
If I speak Portuguese,
will you speak with me?
When Christ felt...
his hour had finally...
come...
grave, calm...
and serene...
he approached those who sought him.
All of them, eyes on the ground.
The one...
who had to deliver him...
came closer...
took him in his arms...
and whispered:
"May God save you, Master."
And kissed his face...
as he had been told to do.
The path was hard.
Both ways,
and down under,
darkness covered the Earth.
Beyond the highest hill,
arriving at last,
suddenly,
his face lit up
with a soft,
but immense light.
Everything became clear.
The valley and the scarp.
And half of the sky...
appeared...
as pure moonlight.
That radiant face...
was the one that Judas...
never touched.
But the other face, the one he kissed,
remained dark,
as if hiding his crime.
Shone no light.
It was a dark night,
breaking the world in two.
And that half was the one that remained
shrouded in shadows.
We were born from those shadows.
Vitalina...
Marina died yesterday.
A candle fell on her mattress.