1900 Page #4

-No!

Burn in hell! You'll burn in hell!

Burn in hell!

Come back here, you yellow-belly.

Oh, Madonna.

Give me a hand before we both get it.

l could beat you

with one hand behind me.

l'm afraid you couldn't beat a frog,

not if you tried.

Here, you may have

your stupid silkworm back.

This one's still squirming. The others

have already woven their nests.

lt's not a bird, you dunce.

Those are called pupae,

or cocoons if they're already formed.

You better take those wet things off.

Pretty light.

And, look, whenever it finally flies off,

it'll be a butterfly.

-l missed ever seeing them.

-Like my little sister.

She hatched in the night,

and like a butterfly, just flew away.

-Why did she fly away?

-She was born dead.

That isn't true.

When you're dead, you're dead.

You don't fly anywhere.

You get buried in the ground,

and that's it.

-lt must hurt a lot.

-Why should it hurt?

-Skin's all back.

-Let's see if yours is any different.

Looks just like a cocoon.

Pull the skin back

and it'll look just like mine.

-lt won't go.

-Well, pull harder.

lt burns.

lt burns because you're not courageous,

and you're not a socialist.

What's that mean?

You're talking to a socialist

with holes in his pocket.

''A socialist with holes in his pocket''?

Oh, forget it.

What do you know anyhow?

Don't be so smart, and put this on.

-No, l don't want it.

-Don't be so childish.

lt stopped hailing. Listen.

Look, look. Look out of this window.

-What's that?

-lt's the city, of course.

lt can't be the city.

The city's too far away.

That's the city, l tell you. Look.

And there's the cathedral,

with the dome.

l recognize it 'cause l've been there

with my Uncle Ottavio.

And way on top,

there are all those tall houses.

Those aren't houses.

They're bell towers.

Look at the fire

that's pouring out of that one.

That's a factory, Olmo.

Do they have a view of us,

just like we have a view of them,

would you say?

Papa, you can see the city from the loft,

and we could see

the buildings and the stables.

Not now. Later.

Signor Giovanni.

Not since the year l was married

have l seen a hailstorm such as this.

Get all your people here.

The day laborers, too.

l'll be waiting in the field.

-Hey, Orso!

-Orso!

-Turo!

-Turo!

-Penzo!

-Penzo!

-Oreste!

-Oreste!

-Amoretto!

-Amoretto!

-Ganco!

-Ganco!

-Reccione!

-Reccione!

-Montanaro!

-Montanaro!

Everybody! Everybody in the field!

Now, let's face facts, men.

We lost everything.

Wine, tomatoes, potatoes,

corn, everything.

So now, we'll have to make

some kind of sacrifice.

lsn't that so, Leo?

What's happened?

Lost your tongue, have you?

Go ahead, tell them.

How much grain have we lost?

Tell them.

-Half.

-Half, you say.

So, it's simple.

We'll have to be satisfied with half pay.

Take it or leave it.

When we harvest double,

we don't get double pay.

lf l were to be honest...

lf l were to look after my interests alone,

l shouldn't need you, fire the lot of you,

especially all you day laborers.

And if you here weren't

such an ignorant bunch,

you would thank me,

because the one making

the biggest sacrifice is me.

What's the problem, anyway?

Who gives the orders here?

Who's the padrone?

Hey, you!

We've lost nearly everything,

didn't you hear?

And yet, your ears are both big enough.

Padrone, what you're doing is a sin,

and we'll remember it.

Your father was good.

He never did us evil.

You are an evil man.

You bring sorrow to us.

That man has lost his ear,

but you have lost your soul.

l leave you with a curse,

a curse no priest can ever lift,

to rule by the new padrone.

lt's food. Everyone into the house.

Were you hurt bad?

No.

An accident, my own fault.

Poor Vittorio.

Papa, there's no more polenta.

Papa, l'm still hungry.

You will forget about hunger

if you listen to me.

Water!

Let the water through.

Let the water through.

lt's the beginning.

-What of?

-Workers' leave.

-What did they say?

-To move on.

Call the strike for tomorrow.

-You're going to go?

-Everybody's got to go.

Well, what's going on here?

We're striking, that's what.

Everybody's agreed.

Striking?

You know what that means, strike?

l said, do you know what that means?

That means these hands

won't work anymore.

They won't reap anymore.

Never harvest anymore.

Never, never, never, never milk.

Never dig anymore.

Everything comes to a standstill.

And the land... The land dies.

Do you really think

you can go through with this?

Yes. Now we got the League.

The League?

What is this League?

Does the League tell you

that we'll end up eating the grass

from these ditches, eh?

That we'll become evil, really evil?

The League tell you all this?

lt did. The League understands.

The League is for us.

You can fight back with the League,

and l'll show you how.

The strike is on!

-The strike is on!

-The strike is on!

Strike!

-The strike is on!

-The strike is on!

-The strike is on!

-The strike is on!

-The strike is on!

-The strike is on!

-Strike!

-Strike!

You know l like this song.

The strike is on!

-Strike!

-Strike!

-Strike is on!

-Strike!

-Strike.

-Strike!

The strike is on!

-Strike!

-Strike!

They should milk the poor things.

They're mooing.

l hear them.

The strike paralyzing the servants, too?

Dear Zolina, send a boy out

to buy some milk in town.

Tell him if he sees a Dalco

to move along.

Don't talk to those people.

lt's absolutely ridiculous.

Over 100 cows in the barn

and we have to buy milk.

Those bastards are absolutely

going to ruin me!

lt's against the law.

What they're doing out there

is uncivilized.

And l can't beat any sense into them.

Not even with old Leo.

Sooner or later they'll have to give in.

Meanwhile the cows are full to bursting,

and the grain rots in the field.

Why don't you eat?

Listen to this.

''Talks between the Labor League

and the Landowner's Association

''have been broken off.

''The strike area is patrolled,

day and night, by a cavalry regiment.

'''We will not be coerced,' said

the association's representative...''

Stop that.

'''...by a league of rabble-rousers.

'''We'll oppose their boycott

by imposing lockouts.

'''We'll counter violence with violence.'

''The speaker went on to say

that the only fair verdict is the whip,

''to be used on

those workers guilty of sabotage.''

Grandfather, what are scabs?

Scabs are lousy bastards

who work when other men are on strike.

-Why don't they want to strike, too?

-Because they're ignorant.

They're even more ignorant

than we are.

Listen, listen. Hear the music.

Of course.

Good day, padre.

Hey, look over there.

Look at Signor Giovanni

trotting up and down.

Oh, there's Passetti.

He has to work sitting down.

And over there, that's Carbonini.

He's the lawyer.

And the girl with the long braids,

that's his daughter.

-Are they all scabs?

-No, no. Landowners.

How funny they look

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding...

Olmo.

Olmo, come here.

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