Saro!
It's a male!
...and he's brooding!
It's hot.
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 what we've got here, a male that broods.
Shame on you, you have no pride!
Shame, shame!
Wait...
If you hit it, it's yours.
Go on!
Missed!
Let me try.
My turn.
What are you doing?
- What are you doing? - Hey, Salvatore!
Music.
Go.
"I am a native son of Chaos;
...and not just allegorically, but literally,
...for I was born in the country near a forest called Càvusu
...a dialectal corruption of the ancient...
Greek word "Kàos"
First story THE OTHER SON
Second story MOON SICKNESS
Third story THE JAR
Fourth story REQUIEM
Epilogue CONVERSING WITH MOTHER
First story
THE OTHER SON
"My dear sons..."
"this is your mother writing to you"
"in your land of gold, from our land of tears."
"You left exactly 14 years ago"
"...and for 14 years I've been alone..."
"...waiting for you."
Have you got that?
"Tomorrow, another miserable handful leaves for America."
"Among them I'll choose the brightest, the kindest"
"and entrust him with this letter..."
"...so it reaches you safely."
"I will choose him for his eyes..."
"...because through the eyes you see somebody's heart."
"I'm not one to be fooled by words"
"They may have told you that I've become mad"
"...don't believe them."
"Believe instead, my sons,"
"in the words that this good girl writes for me."
Hey! Giving me the evil eye?
No, more light to see
my sons in Santa Fe.
I'm going to Boston.
So much the better. I don't trust you,
with your shrewd eyes.
Listen to everybody, speak less.
Never spend more than half of what you make.
Don't lend money.
Drink no more than two glasses of wine per day.
Be a man...
...but never marry a foreign woman.
Pray each morning at rise.
Put the dog down, do you hear?!
Let him be. It's our last day.
In American you say, "Women".
In America, Where I have been, 'donne' are 'women'.
'Bacio' is 'kiss'.
'Amore', 'love'.
That raven is bad luck.
Don't cry. I'll come back soon. Stop it.
Salvatore, let her cry. You won't come back.
Mothers, don't believe your children.
Mine left me 14 years ago.
I was forgotten 14 years ago.
I've sent letters and messages.
But never heard a word back from them.
Those leaving, gather 'round.
Doctor! Are you going as well? - Wish I were.
These are their medical certificates.
Give them to Antonio.
There are ten of you. Let's see.
Wait!
He is number six. He's coming as well.
He only has the clothes he's wearing.
Here is the money.
You're worthy. Take my letter.
If I were king, I would destroy all such letters.
Outgoing or incoming. I would not let them arrive.
It is useless.
You said so!
Whether they arrive or not, They're a curse!
They never write about the misery there.
And how they call out like hens...
...for their young ones...
...to get them to join them.
As for you, you must never write to me!
Forget us, all of you.
We shall work our land by ourselves.
forget your women...
they'll go to ruin.
Make way, Mosè.
With that wheel you not going far.
Hurry. Repairs will take three hours at least.
Three hours! We've still got three hours together!
I will write it again.
Is it illegible?
There is nothing written. Just scribbles.
Nothing?
What do you mean nothing?
I spoke it, word for word...
... and she was writing it down.
What does it say?
There is nothing in the letter! Nothing!
What do you mean nothing?
Just scribbles.
You really are dumb, doctor.
You cannot read.
Mariagrazia wrote in "Americanese".
I am so glad.
My sons didn't forget me.
My sons, Doctor, haven't forgotten.
Now I know why they never answered.
They have never received anything.
Bull's eye!
She wrote my letters.
But I forgive her.
Because now I am happy.
And because you'll help me write a real letter.
I got it.
- And the dance? - I showed it to you yesterday.
Like that...
I wrote over 50 letters for her,
real ones for the most part...
...to the right address in Santa Fe.
Those two bastard sons.
Good looking boys, I remember.
They were good-for-nothings and now they've disappeared.
If she were my mother...
...I'd drown you in your own water.
Why shatter her dreams?
Why give her false hopes when they could never come true?
She could live like a queen...
...waited upon hand and foot.
At her son's home, if she wanted.
But she doesn't.
She has another son?
That one.
There's no pasture here for his cows...
but he comes anyway...
because his mother comes here when the immigrants leave.
He always follows her.
Why didn't you ever tell me that you have another son?
Drink something, you need it.
Look, I go into a cold sweat when you name him.
Why?
O, he is a good son, respectable and honest.
Then why not live with him?
I gave birth to him, but he's not my son.
Then you are mad!
Certain things are beyond your understanding.
You are still a child.
Finish it up.
What? A child?
If you don't explain, I won't write the letter.
Tie my handkerchief to that reed.
So we can wave goodbye for longer.
You weren't even in the Lord's mind
...when I began seeing dark days.
Dark things.
Have you ever heard of a certain Cunebardo?
Cunebardo?
Cunebardo, who preached liberty.
You mean, Garibaldi. - Exactly, yes!
He came and rebelled against unjust laws
...in towns and cities.
Cunebardo ordered that all prisons be opened
The good were freed, but so were the wicked.
Bloodthirsty animals,
maddened by years in chains.
He was ferocious: Comizzi
He'd kill you...for nothing.
And there was another: his helper Rocco Trupìa.
Comizzi and Trupìa took to the countryside.
Farmers who refused to follow were killed.
They dragged him away too ...my husband
I already had the two boys, who are now in America.
I saw him return two days later.
He was unrecognizable. Speechless,
...for all the evil his eyes had seen.
- Nino, are you injured? - No
Did you escape? They will kill you!
I can walk on my own.
He hid his hands, poor thing
...because of the horrors they made him commit.
After three days of hiding, he ventured out.
We were poor. We had to work.
He went to the fields,
...but never came back.
After three days I went looking for him.
Close the door!
Lock yourselves in!
My point.
Shut up! Shut up!
Stop it! Stop it!
Rocco Trupìa dragged me into the mountains.
For three months I was bound and gagged
...because if he came near me, I screamed and bit him.
Finally, I was freed.
And nine months later I had a son.
But is he, your son, at fault?
Not at all.
But he's his father's image.
I start shaking when I see him. What can I do?
They left without my letter.
Another group leaves in a week.
We will give the letter to them.
You still want to write?
"My dearest sons."
"Your mother writes to you from this land of tears"
"to your beautiful land of gold".
"You left 14 years ago today"
"and it's 14 years that your mother awaits you".
"Another miserable group shall leave for America..."
"Among them I'll choose the brightest, the kindest..."
"and entrust him with this letter that it may reach you safely".
Second story
MOON SICKNESS
Batà married Sidora just twenty days ago.
He led her to his property,
a house with a pigsty.
Isolated - an hour's walk from the village.
The twentieth day is coming to an end.
But Batà hesitates this afternoon...
...before he goes inside.
Batà, did you hear that?
Batà, didn't you hear that?
Batà, what's the matter?
Don't be frightened. Don't come closer.
Batá, what's the matter with you?
Go back inside.
Close the doors and windows.
Go on.
Don't be afraid if I pound on the door
...if I scratch and scream.
Don't open... lock the door.
Don't let me in.
What's wrong?
I'm sick.
Very sick.
But tell me. Go on.
Don't... I'm scared too, you know?
Help... help.
Sick how?
What kind of sickness?
The moon!
You had me marry him!
You forced me into it.
The word is out, Tita.
Ours is the fault, let ours be the penalty...
I... I am guilty.
Because I hid my sickness.
No one would have wanted me
...had I confessed it before marrying.
I'm here to tell you how my misfortune began.
My mother, when young, would harvest wheat.
But one day she was forced to work
late into the night.
She left me alone...
among the wheat stalks, untroubled...
Exposed to the moon.
And I played with the pretty moon,
a moon that bewitched me.
Every full moon, the sickness returns.
It only afflicts me.
It lasts but one night and goes away.
By morning, I've forgotten everything.
I thought my wife had greater courage...
But she doesn't.
We could do the following:
Every full moon her mother comes to keep her company...
while I'm locked out.
Enough. That's enough.
Stop that. Stop it!
For each moon, I'll be there.
He'll terrify you too.
I won't come alone, but with Saro.
Saro? Did he say that?
We'll tell him tomorrow.
We've no other man.
As a husband, I couldn't consent,
But as cousin and protector...
...that scatterbrain will do his duty.
You think that Saro and me...
You talk too much.
I'll be up ahead.
Your mother's right. I best be there when your husband's sick.
You call him a husband?
Everybody has his shortcomings.
Batà has his sickness... And I
...mine is much worse.
I wasn't sane enough to be your husband.
You cut yourself.
The barber.
It tastes sweet.
I can't wait a month until full moon comes.
Don't you worry.
There's time.
Trouble starts when the moon loses its edges.
It's the first time we have guests.
It should be something special. Come.
I want them to be treated as real guests
Get a cloth from your dowry.
I love you, Batà.
Forgive me.
Me forgive you?
They're here.
Shall we eat outside?
Oh Mother of God...
I'll never ask anything more. Never, never, never.
but let me know love just this once
Tonight...
Not from there.
The moon is fickle.
It doesn't come up where you'd expect.
But we know each other well.
Watch there behind the mountain.
We've still time for a little "grappa"
...distilled by me.
It's illegal.
That's why I hide it with a rope attached.
If I want to take a nip in the dark...
...I can find it by groping.
But I can spot it by moonlight.
With a full moon?
I'm afraid.
You've seen it Sidora,
and Saro is a man.
But I am old and frightened.
Hide me in the stable.
I'll lock myself well.
and he can be the wolf outside.
I'll go fetch the hog.
Losing him is worse than moon sickness.
Water, water.
My throat is dry.
Where are you going?
It's soothing, huh, Tita?
We're lucky tonight.
The moon can't spot us.
Is that him?
Quiet.
Don't worry.
I can't.
You're afraid?
You are afraid.
He's suffering.
Where are you going?
He needs help.
He'll stop. He'll stop now.
Don't listen to it. Don't listen!
Get away! get away!
Come with me.
Third story
THE JAR
It was a prime year for olives,
despite the oppressive fog at budding time.
Somebody far-sighted...
...ordered an enormous jar for his harvest.
A great jar, wide as an abbess.
The old, enameled ones wouldn't work.
Whose is this?
Don Lollo's.
If this is the place... it's for him.
Don't get down, you've still some to go.
Which way?
Get up on your cart and I'll show you.
Go on.
Do you see that hill over there? It belongs to Don Lollo.
Behind it is the farmhouse.
It belongs to Don Lollo.
Then go down to the river.
That's his too.
Cross over the riverbed and climb the next hill.
Go down again and Don Lollo will be waiting.
What a year!
Clean it.
They're watching.
...watching you!
You're their Charlemagne.
- And yet it saddens me, Sara. - Why, what's the matter?
- God is unjust. - Don't be blasphemous!
Take that boy.
He's penniless, yet he'll live another 60 years.
I have all this - but for how many years?
Fifteen, twenty years?
Don't you like working for me?
I do, I do.
Well then sing!
There it is!
It's here, it's here!
No, no, a little bit farther.
Here, here.
You hear? Like the Easter bell.
Who was it?
Who did this?
Don Lollo, for Heaven's sake!
Put me down.
My poor jar. What have they done to you?!
Envy, it was envy. And cruelty.
Where will I find another one like that? Where?
It's my own fault.
I never should have left you alone.
Now you are gone forever.
What now?
No, don't. It can be repaired.
It looks like a simple crack.
Maybe it was a defect.
No, it sounded like a bell.
...that will never ring again.
Yes it will.
It'll take a miracle.
- There is a man who can fix it. - Who?
The best potter in all Sicily.
With magic hands?
Not with his hands, but a miraculous glue.
Once it dries, you can hammer it.
- What kind of glue is that? - He knows its secret.
Where would he be?
Close by. Next door.
We have sent for him. Turn and look.
It's uncle Dima.
They say that you've...
You've a miraculous glue? Let's see it.
He's very sensitive,
you mustn't be aggressive.
How about it, can it be repaired?
Can it be fixed?
The glue!
The court has delivered its verdict.
Mind you, miraculous glue or not
...I'm skeptical.
I want it stitched.
Who do you think you are? Charlemagne?
We must put oil in that jar, and I want it stitched.
Glued and stitched. That's an order!
No, not on my hump. Please.
I beg you.
Don't stand there looking. Get to work!
If you want stitching, I need help.
For stitching, I'll need a helper.
My hat!
Did you really get the formula for that glue from a dream?
In a dream, yes.
And what did you see?
My father.
- Did he tell you how to make it? - You dolt.
How come?
You know who my father was?
The devil who devours you.
- The devil's son? - Yes.
And here, in this bag...
there's a tar that'll stick together those who deface jars with ugly stitching.
Black tar?
White.
My father made it white.
They'll know its strength once they're boiling in it!
Below, the tar is black.
Understand?
If I smear it on your hand...
...and press firmly...
...you will never get it off.
Get to work.
Turn away.
Turn.
Easy.
Pull! Pull!
Knock! Knock on it!
And now, the stitches!
Help me out.
Damn, help me out.
You're sewed in.
Beautiful, as good as new.
But unfortunately you did not consider your hump.
And now you want out by breaking my jar.
But who'll pay me if it's cracked again?
You want me stuck in here?
No, but one must consider what one must do.
What must one... do?
Help! Help!
You won't break it? Well then I will.
I'll let it tumble so it breaks against that wall.
- Wait. Reason it out. - Reason!
I'll get you out.
Nice and easy... Like this.
Worse! Worse!
My shoulder is in the way.
Yeah, an oversized shoulder.
It's not my hump that's wide...
but the neck of your jar that's tight.
Down! Down!
You bite? Very well...
I'll fix you!
Turn! Towards me!
No, don't...
I'm ticklish there.
I said no!
Then come in with me!
The buggy!
Did you hear me?
It would be in your best interest to consult my lawyer.
But first my obligations. I'll pay you for your work.
You shall all witness this.
Five liras.
You're cruel, Don Lollo.
I was just operated on for appendicitis.
Laughing makes the stitching pop.
What is there to laugh about?
You think it's funny, because it's my jar.
And rather than lose it, you would keep him inside it?
Oh, please, please...
You know what you're proposing? Kidnapping.
No one kidnapped him. He kidnapped himself.
In fact... it's unlawful possession.
Send him an eviction notice.
The stitches! They're popping!
Come back another time. I did warn you.
Please.
Let him stay. I can still give counsel.
Don Lollo, as for you,
free the "prisoner" immediately.
And as for the potter, he'll answer for the damages
his heedlessness has caused.
He must pay compensation for the jar.
I must choose my words carefully now.
Not for a new jug. It was already broken.
But now it's better than before. He says so himself.
Then let him estimate the value. With witnesses.
Me? Pay you? Ridiculous.
If I only had used my own glue...
...I wouldn't rot away in here.
The lawyer hadn't foreseen this.
You hate me, then!
But my hate is greater.
Beyond your imagination, for you haven't any
Put him in the stable.
And take down that canopy. Immediately!
You are going to prison.
You can't reside in my jar.
I'll sue you for illegal entry and possession.
You want to stay there? Go ahead, but you'll starve to death.
With this, I'll eat and so shall you.
Go and buy what you need.
Come, there is more light here. The moon! The moon!
Don't leave me here. I want to see the moon too.
Me too.
No, don't lift it.
Roll it, slowly. Yes, like that.
Slide it on its belly.
On its belly.
I can see it! Go back!
It is beautiful.
It seems like a century ago since I last saw it.
Look.
Break your neck, old devil.
He is dead!
You broke it. I've won!
My jar...
My poor jar.
Fourth story
REQUIEM
My son.
If his mother is not here
...it's not that she refused him.
It was our first.
But the delivery was difficult.
I can't bury him before tomorrow.
I should have known earlier.
I walked day and night to get here.
Tomorrow I have to be back with my herd.
I can carry him.
Tonight he can stay in the crypt.
Which is the most beautiful spot?
There, in the light.
Or in the middle.
Forgive me, but I'd rather lay him...
...where the others from our village are buried.
Here, alone, he might be afraid.
How much is it?
Three tari.
Six months later the villagers formed a committee...
to obtain their own cemetery.
No one moves until the Prefect receives us.
I'm their pastor and I say
God sent us on this earth...
to live and to die.
- A cemetery! A cemetery! - Quiet!
Though man made laws deny us...
a piece of land...
for one to say: "That's mine"
...they cannot deny us a burial place.
Where are you? Stand up.
There.
That man's father is about to die.
A father to us all.
The founder of our village...
who asks to rest...
in the grave he dug for himself.
Sixty years ago this man, now dying...
...reached the heights of Màrgari
and built the first house from clay and straw.
Now we've many houses, more than 100 inhabitants
But the Baron...
Don't go! Don't go away. Baron, sir!
But the barbarous Baron of Màrgari refused to let us
bury our dead
...to have them close, and tend them.
We withstood the suffering...
in silence.
If you light your pipe, it's a bad sign.
You're worried, aren't you, papa?
Am I a barbarian,
...like the priest down there says?
Yes.
He is the barbarian, Francesca, that old one.
He's dying, I shouldn't speak unkindly.
He built on our lands without purchase or rent
...and without asking permission.
It's as if we didn't own what is ours.
That was ten years ago. Do you remember?
I'm carrying a knapsack.
Mama, Ermanno, Valentina...
And that's him, the old man.
Yes, that's him. He brought us cheese.
A curious man.
Authoritative, fascinating.
It was a nice outing.
Yes, very.
Let him have his cemetery, and keep the peace.
I would like to...
...but I can't.
Try to understand, Francesca...
The usurpation spreads and takes root with their dead.
I believe I am just.
They've probably gone.
If the Carabinieri don't intervene
...the old man will bury himself alive
...when he hears of my refsal.
You can stay on my land, but alive!
Occupying it with your dead, no!
Never!
Sorry, it was meant for him.
There's no more.
Get him down! Come down!
Your pistol.
Bury it!
No, we must reach Màrgari by nightfall.
We will never make it, Captain.
You mustn't leave animals unburied.
Sergeant!
Where are you?
You think he's still alive?
- I hope not. - Why?
He will think he's buried on his own land.
Quiet, the dead will hear us.
I'm afraid. I can't sleep here.
Listen to him gallop.
Listen!
But can you do this?
The wind
...and the rain.
Are you asleep?
- Was that you? - No.
But I heard...
Maybe you imagined it.
Come along, move!
Call the Captain, quick!
Find anybody?
Look in the back.
There is nobody there either.
Captain...
There is our Father.
He asked to be carried
to the field that was to be our cemetery
...by his chosen plot.
He wants to die in the open,
among his people
...and be buried under his turf.
The Carabinieri!
Lower me into the grave.
Help me!
Push me in. Push!
Sit him down.
You are traitors.
Have them take you to your bed.
Take him home!
You'll be well there.
Even you betrayed me, my son.
Don't stand there, get to work!
You too. Remove that plow!
Knock the wall down!
Follow the procession
...at a respectful distance.
Macaluso! - the camera the Baron gave us.
Let's hope it works.
What is it?
He's dead.
For such functions
I need written authorization.
Go on men, go on.
The Father says
now we can wait together.
Epilogue
CONVERSING WITH MOTHER
I slept continuously the two days it took to reach Sicily
where I hadn't returned since my mother's death.
Someone thought to notify me.
Who, exactly, I never understood,
but I was glad to be away from Rome
where the torments of life had become unbearable
...my work, my children and my years...
However, I'll not explain what can't be explained.
Having barely awakened
I wondered if I weren't still asleep.
Signore, your carriage.
- I saw the American first. - What American?
Luigi!
Luigi.
I'll take you home.
Get in.
Do you remember me?
Why go through town?
Don't worry, I know where to go.
I know your work.
We all know.
You honor our Sicily.
Yes, yes.
But let's go now.
How many ballerinas have you had your hands on, Luigi?
- You didn't recognise me. - You're joking.
What's my name then?
Forgive me...
You are Saro.
Saro!
The moment I entered the house I felt another presence.
There was always something lurking in the shadows.
The shadows spied on me with such intensity...
that I was forced to turn.
You called, didn't you, Mother.
Yes, I did, Luigi.
Your music, isn't it?
I remember you singing it.
I must say what I couldn't say
before shedding this life, because you were so far away.
To be strong, Mother? Today and for always.
You're laughing at me, huh?
No, I need to hear it. That's why I've come.
Calm yourself.
Being strong doesn't mean living always like this
...but also like this.
My God. Mother, your fingers...
Yes, Luigi. Our bodies deteriorate.
That's why death came. It was forced to.
Don't cry, Luigi.
If you love me...
remember me like this, as I am now:
Alive.
Yes... alive.
But that's not why I'm crying.
Of course I think of you...
and see you as you are now...
imagining you always as I'm imagining you now.
Alive... in your armchair.
But I cry for something different:
because you cannot think of me.
When you were seated there I'd say:
"If she thinks of me from afar, then I'm alive for her".
And I was comforted.
Now that you're dead and cannot think of me,
I can't be alive for you
...ever again.
I have trouble now following your thoughts.
It's all so difficult.
Yet I've still something inside to tell you
"You must"
"also see things through the eyes of the departed".
You'll suffer, yes
but it'll serve to make them more sacred and beautiful.
Perhaps I had you come to tell you that.
I know what your eyes see, Mother.
A lateen sail.
You told us about that voyage so many times.
And I tried writing it down so many times.
But always without success.
Something eludes me.
Tell it to me again.
When I was 13, I went, as you know...
together with my mother, brothers and sisters
one, a younger sister, and a younger brother too...
we set off in a tartan fishing boat.
Heading for... "the unknown"... MALTA!
My father, your grandfather...
...pursued by the Bourbons after the revolution of '48
...stayed there in exile.
And we were to join him.
- What is it? - I was forgetting the cat.
Quiet or they'll hear us.
Exile... meant tears for my mother... dismay.
Depriving the children of their house... their games.
That was what exile meant.
But it was also a voyage,
with the tartan's red sails... just sky and water
and that infantile pride of misfortune
as when a child dressed in black says: "I'm in mourning, you know".
As if it was a privilege.
Exile was also the eagerness for new things
...things we were waiting to see
...with our eyes fixed.
It lasted three days.
What you may not remember of the story
is that we sighted an island
...and even went ashore.
A pumice stone island.
It's thanks to that trip I got to see it.
The wind's dying, Signora.
We're better off stopping. Over there, by the pumice island.
Sit here, Mama.
Lay your head down here.
Signora, be careful, the sun's strong.
Let the little ones cool down in the water.
Can they bathe?
What about sharks?
They're towards the East now. Don't worry.
Girls! The sailors!
Oh, Mama!
Well, be quick about it.
Rub pumice on your skin, then go in the water.
You'd like to go too?
Boys, give us a hand. You too.
Row! Row that oar!
Row while you're still young!
Row the oar. Row!
Row!...
SUBTITLES STUDIO ORION