Being Human Page #3

[speaking Italian]

A man, a woman,

neither speaks

the other's language.

They understand nothing.

"Well," said the story to itself,

"I suppose I must be a...

a love story."

Keep out of the way of temptation.

I saw the way you were

eyeing that widow.

If anyone's going to dally

with her, it will be me.

You couldn't handle her.

She'd bewitch you.

Why don't you get off

up the road tomorrow?

I'll catch up in a few days.

No.

Why do I talk so much?

You weren't even thinking of her

till I opened my mouth.

But I trust you, Hector.

You're not a sinner.

You wouldn't do anything

to anger your god or me.

Give me some bread.

No.

Why, you little squirrel?

What's wrong with you?

Nothing at all. I just said no.

I brought it because

I was near the table,

not because you ordered.

This woman's got to you.

It's not her.

I'm fed up being like your slave.

I want to go my own way.

In a month, we'll be at the channel,

then home.

The little ones that you talk about

when you're drunk, don't forget 'em.

I won't. I'm going home.

Give me some wine.

No.

May the lord forgive us

for our sins--

Those we have committed...

and those we as yet only dream of.

Ha ha.

And so it was,

as it ever was.

The country they traveled through

was troubled times.

The weather was wars,

as regular as rainstorms.

Love broke out like

epidemics of the plague.

[moaning]

You, priest, get to work on him.

He's not ready for heaven yet.

There's 100,000 on his head

if I get him to Paris alive.

Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha.

[speaking Italian]

Why do you speak so different

from everyone else?

[moaning]

You must be sore. Was it your dada?

If his head's small, he might be O.K.

Does your dada got a big head?

[moaning]

Are you a long way from home?

Home.

Home.

[speaking Italian]

No, I don't want your word for home.

I want you to say mine.

Casa.

Casa.

Casa.

Casa.

Ha ha ha.

Casa.

Pulce.

Un pulce.

A flea?

Pulce. Flea.

All right.

You itch?

[horse snorts]

My name is Peter--Peter.

Say it again.

Goodbye, Peter.

You're a busy man.

There's nothing wrong

with helping someone die in peace.

Nothing at all. You do it well.

You're leaving?

Aye. I feel lost, Ronald.

I'm far away from home.

I just want to be there.

What about the woman?

We're sharing a few days on the road.

I'm going home.

I told you she might be a witch.

Witch, my ass.

Wait for me.

I still have the money from Venice.

We can get home in a month.

You've got work to do here.

You'll make a good priest yet.

Do you think so?

You're a strange fellow.

I've been with you a year,

and I still don't know who you are.

You never will.

Are you a priest?

I don't know.

We're moving soon, father.

They need you in the valley.

I must be.

I can smell her off you.

Keep the sun on your back,

and you'll get home.

[Beatrice]

Hector.

Hector.

[speaking Italian]

And so this man...

who so long did not know

which foot to put

in front of the other

unless he had

his friend to follow,

without a qualm, for once,

went his own way,

which was the way of a woman.

[speaking Italian]

Only when the woman slept

could the man catch his breath.

[speaking Italian in her sleep]

[wolf howls]

[birds tweet]

I bought that in Jerusalem.

It's one of the cups

from the last supper.

I don't know which apostle.

Might even be the cup

of Christ himself.

Christ?

Aye.

Jesus Christ?

Oh.

Hey, you!

Move on!

He's a dead man.

What was the story

of the dead boy?

A mystery--

Money? Revenge?

A jealous uncle?

A war is a good time

to settle old scores.

[speaking Italian]

[praying in Italian]

By the dead boy,

the living lovers loved.

You put magic

in that stuff, didn't you?

You're bewitching me.

I don't know what you're saying,

but I like it when you talk.

[singing in Italian]

Thank you.

Until one fine day,

they crossed a river,

and...

[speaking Italian]

everyone spoke like her.

Beatrice...

wait.

We're going the wrong way.

I've got to have

the sun on my back.

My back.

[speaking Italian]

No, the sun on my back.

Lower.

[singing in Italian]

Thank you.

Wash?

You want me to rest?

Man's dead?

His clothes.

You want me to stay, don't you?

I like that.

A bed.

Soft.

Better than a field, aye?

[boy calling in Italian]

Mama...

[speaking Italian]

Questo Hector.

Questo mio madre.

Huh?

And the dead boy's shoes

danced the live lad's feet.

What's that?

[speaking Italian]

Where were his own children?

Far away, right?

What were the wonders

they'd be showing

some sweet stranger

who wasn't their father?

Bread, you eat?

Blue.

Your mother wears blue.

Roses, oh.

Smell.

Oh, that's nice.

In there?

Mama.

[bird squawks]

Buon.

Hector.

[speaking Italian]

I have to leave here.

It would be wrong to stay here,

even for just a while.

I've got to go to home.

This was true.

He could not speak her language,

so he'd not needed to learn to lie.

Sorry I have to go.

I've got a family...

like you.

Like you.

Oh, you smell good.

I've got to keep the sun on my back.

Hector.

Mama.

You'd think the man

would have wanted

another helping

of chicken stew.

Second-day stew

is always better.

You'd think he'd have been content

with another man's coat,

for there was plenty

of wear in it

and precious few patches.

You'd think the man

would've wanted just one night

in the woman's bed,

for is not a feather bed

softer than a ditch?

But a man...

this man...

could not be happy

with such happiness.

He walked on his own two feet...

forever out

of this woman's story.

That's it.

Let's go.

Come on.

Come on.

Tomorrow the boatman would be back,

and he could cross over.

Only this fine morning,

the man crossed the river,

but before night fell,

he'd left his lover.

[cough cough]

[singing in Spanish]

Andre.

Hmm?

I just had a wonderful dream.

I was lying beside a river.

I heard the water.

It was beautiful, clear water.

I drank some.

I think I ate some raspberries, too.

Hmm. I would like

to drink some water.

They've been doing that all night?

Mmm...

Ever since we came ashore.

You remember that.

What happened to Francisco and Ursula?

They're safe.

Where are they?

Over there.

Sometimes one day

changes everything.

Sometimes years change nothing.

I won't look.

Do you think I'll still see Europe?

I think there's more of a chance

of me eating you.

[father Diogo] God has seen fit

to preserve us

for six days on this raft

and bring us safely to shore.

I don't think

he'll abandon us now,

so let's get to work, my friends.

Come, come.

Africa must be full

of meat and drink.

See, there's this man,

and he wakes up

into the only world

he'll ever know--

shipwrecked,

washed up.

The worst of it is,

he's washed up once again

with the lover he had

so cruelly forsaken.

Where's the small box?

We had it on the raft.

Dona.

Dona Ursula.

Let me help.

I'll get it.

Allow me, please.

No.

Let me help.

Let me help you.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes