Csontvary Page #2

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Smells nice.

Not even love can play forever -

it has to drink from the wine of sorrow

and be reborn in a tear.

- Are you tired?

- No, I am not tired.

Well, then...

Back to the waterfalls, right?

Let's go.

The clocks...

hiding their dreams

in the spine of their skirts

briskly pace along.

So short is our life

a mere few days granted for love...

- Do you like it?

- Oh, yes, very nice colours.

Your water is silent

quiet your splashes!

Viola, you are praised

by every sound!

Oboe, flute, cosmic aula!

But most of all, by me

my little mullberry.

Like the wind of May

messenger of dawn

streaming with sweet flavor

mixed of grass and flower

limp wind which

just pounced my forehead.

I feel the feathers fanning

recalling the smell of ambrosia...

And I hear the Word:

Happy is who gained

such mercy from the sky

that his heart repells

the love for fine flavors

his hunger dedicated only to truth.

Excuse me, I would kindly ask

for some salt and pepper.

God, I am so... confused lately.

Come, Annuska!

- Mom?

- Yes?

I'm so sorry...

I tried my best.

I even sent him a telegram...

You shouldn't have, dear

why do it

he comes anyway!

Comes!

- He surely had to travel abroad.

- No.

- Mom is doing everything for his sake.

- No, you are gravely mistaken.

My Annuska...

I am doing it for everybody:

because of you... because of my son...

and also because of myself.

And of course my gra...

where is my grandson?

I haven't seen him all day.

Outside, waiting for his father.

Tell him to come in at once

the soup is on the table.

Hurry up.

- Please come have lunch.

- Aren't we waiting for dad?

I don't think he's coming.

You don't have to wait.

Come at once!

Enjoy your meal!

Please serve.

Help me some.

My God!

This is unbelievable!

There is enough for everyone

don't sigh.

He came!

Annuska, my dear, he came!

Didn't I tell you?

My son arrived.

He is at home.

Isn't it so?

- He came...

- Told you so...

Dad, I knew you will come.

- Hi, Dad!

- Heya!

- What's up with you?

- Mom, come...

Is my dear Mother well?

In good health?

Don't be mad at me...

You are skinny, my dear...

Nonsense, you are imagining it...

Hey!

- Happy birthday!

- Oh!

Look here!

It's me, in miniature

while dreaming!

My sweet mother...

My prodigal son, you!

Good day!

- Hello, my friend!

- Welcome!

Better late, than never, right?

Your dad brought it.

Thank you.

Happy birthday!

Raise a glass to your health!

Men!

Hey!

Men!

- He's tired, poor thing.

- Dad sleeps here, right?

- Good day!

- Hi!

- Hello!

- Hi!

- How are you, old timer?

- Well, I am...

adequate for inadequacy.

It would be so nice

if you came visit some time.

My husband told me

so much about you.

No no no no...

I can't promise right now.

We'll see... sometime...

Hi.

Good bye.

- Regards.

- Good bye.

- Daddy, you sleep here?

- Where?

Sure, sure...

Try it on.

You always liked it.

These embroideries are so beautiful.

A little bit beat, but...

maybe that gives it charm.

- Beautiful...

- I want you to have it.

No. She wouldn't wear it anyway.

And even if she did...

Don't you want me

to give it to her?

No?

No.

She'd deserve it, though.

She'd deserve much more even.

- Don't you want it?

- No, no.

Rather not.

You've been telling stories

to my mother.

She listens to

the drivel I dismiss.

Things I do with myself...

and other stuff.

That I don't work...

While you still

haven't got a clue...

Thank God....

What do you want from me?

It's your mother's birthday.

Your son is also here,

interrogate him!

You have nothing to say to me

while this lifetime lasts.

What's wrong, dear?

Annuska is also sad.

Are you tired?

You had little sleep.

Don't work up yourself mother

I sleep too much, if anything.

Too much?

If I'd see that...

But it's not what I see.

- Why do it in front of your mother?

- Do what?

The scene with the velvet waistcoat.

Ah, yes.

Although it's simple.

But I'm afraid

you won't get it.

I worry about

the flowers of innocence, get it?

I don't want them to

be scattered into bad soil.

You didn't even notice the flowers.

Your mother must be proud of you.

Where we at?

Almost there.

Stop the car around here.

So pretty you are, birdie.

So good for you.

What more can I get from fate?

What kind of experience?

Wandering, and the climbing of a peak.

In the end, we only live ourselves.

Times in which luck could stumble on us

are well over.

Nothing can happen to me which would

result in something else than myself.

But it will find its way back to me

the one hiding like a stranger

among rocks and chances

for a long time.

And I know another one:

I stand before the last peak.

It had waited on me for a long time.

The hardest road is before me.

The most lonesome wandering.

Furious is the storm

when gets into a wild wrestle

with the spoiled air.

Terrible is the hurricane

when it turns over everything

standing in it's way.

Cruel is the cyclone

when it's accompaniated

by the pile of rubble.

Unpredictable is

the meteorite's landing!

Scary is the sway of the earthquake!

There are the tools-aids

of the world's creation.

If you walk on water

I'm with you.

And the rivers

won't crash over you.

If you walk in fire

you won't get burned

and flame doesn't scorch you.

Don't be afraid.

Don't be afraid!

I'm with you.

I will bring your seed...

From Sunrise -

and from Sunset...

I will gather you into one.

I say to North:
grant it!

I say to South:
don't hold it back!

So you see that man,

who's utmost wish, his hope

is to return to his homeland.

In his original state he similar

to the insect drawn towards the light.

In a blissful curiosity

he awaits the new summer

new month, new year...

But when his desire is fulfilled

he feels it's too late.

He doesn't suspect

that he waits with impatience

for his very own annihilation.

But to no avail

because it's his quintessence

the very gist

of the elements that form him

held together by

a soul locked in his body.

Wishing back

where he was made redundant.

You must know that

this longing is the seed

the deepest level

of everything.

Nature's helper inside us.

And man is...

the miniature copy of the world.

I have to write a CV,

you could help me.

Pardon?

- I have to write a curriculum vitae.

- Why?

- Whatever. I have to write it.

- Well, write it!

Of course!

But what I can write?

- What could I write about myself?

- Well, your biography.

Yeah, sure.

It's not so easy.

She already left.

At least twenty years

since I wrote one, got it?

Twenty years exactly.

If I'd still have it...

I'd make a copy.

Just in time to write one.

20 years are 20 years.

I'm an actor.

This means that in the mean time

I have no life and no name.

My face and name could change daily.

From day to day.

My biography -

a long series of roles.

Yeah.

Yeah!

I WAS an actor.

But I won't play any more roles.

I won't learn any more texts.

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