Hermanas Page #2

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Listen.

"When her mother got sick,

Teresa did all the cooking, helped

her sister with her homework...

She took care of everything

with devout generosity. "

Teresa is definitely you.

Does it say I almost poisoned the

family thinking that Odex was flour?

Let's see...

No. We have no poisoning.

Dad was very generous

to forget that.

And I didn't play teacher out of

selflessness. It was to bother you.

Thank you.

- Why?

- The monthly check.

It was Dad's money.

No, after I left,

he signed two checks.

But you never accepted yours.

You wired it to me.

How did you know about it?

Mom told me when she was in Spain,

after Dad died. Thanks to you

- I was able to finish University.

- You needed it more than me,

and it was my excuse to quit

medicine, I was fed up with it.

Whatever, I owe you a lot.

Plus interest. I don't know...

at least an apartment in Paris.

When I sent you the ticket

to Europe you stood me up.

I wanted that trip

with you so much.

Yes, I know.

And I'd have loved it

but I never found

the time and Tomi

got chicken pox.

And then this thing...

You never find

the time, do you?

I'd cancel the debt anytime.

The invitation still stands.

You pay the Old People's Home

and we're even.

Dad.

Thanks, kid.

Don't worry,

it's just the smoke.

When they fired me from the paper

and things started to get rough,

we decided it would be safer

for you to come and live here.

I didn't want

to leave the country.

Now I think

it wasn't fair on you.

You could have studied

in Buenos Aires.

I like it here.

But there's

no future here.

- Where would you study medicine?

- I don't want to be a doctor now.

Physical education's no career.

I love it. Besides, I'm doing

better than I expected.

Really.

Always so self-controlled.

Never a complaint.

But, a gym teacher?

Professor of physical education,

professor.

I love working

at the gym, really.

- It's good.

- I don't think it's bad,

until you can enroll

for university.

And if I don't want to?

And I choose

to marry Sebastin

and have children

and be a housewife?

- Don't even think about it.

- Why?

A baby would leave you

with no options.

I'm not looking for options.

I don't know,

I'm lucky to have

what I love right here.

Don't worry.

Mom and I will arrange

for you to go

to Buenos Aires next year.

- You're not listening.

- What?

Nothing.

They always fitted you better

and you always

got the pink, remember?

Of course.

How could I forget?

To Natalia...

This week she saved us

from diet food,

small salad, yogurt,

cottage cheese...

Come on,

it's not that bad.

- To Aunt.

- Cheers.

- Cheers!

- Cheers!

It's a bit spicy, isn't it?

No, it's delicious.

- It isn't burnt?

- Don't be obsessive.

Obese?

That means fat.

Obsessive...

That means perfectionist.

Mom's a perfectionist.

A pain in the ass.

- What?

- Nothing.

Look what your aunt gave me.

It's from a tribe.

A tribe?

Yes, the Zulus.

From South Africa.

- It's the symbol of struggle.

- Are they warriors?

No, but they're

fighting right now.

Did you go to fight with them?

No, I didn't go

to fight with them.

I went to work for TV.

Daddy, is it true

she works for TV?

Yes, and sometimes

for newsreels.

And were they communists?

My granddad was.

But don't tell anybody.

No, well...

It's not like that.

It's nothing

to be ashamed of.

Yes. Nobody said that, Tomi.

I went with Grandma to Cuba

and I can't tell

anybody here.

It's no secret.

But nobody will understand.

What's to understand

about a 7-year-old

going to Cuba for the summer?

Fine, and now I protect him.

From what?

You're making him

- deny who he is.

- Wake up, Natalia.

You're in the United States,

1984, and the reds

are on the way out.

- Time's taught nothing.

- We finally agree.

You sound like kids.

Anyway, Havana

was old and ugly.

I can't say a word

without her attacking me.

Come on,

stop playing the martyr.

Tomi, go to bed.

Mom, it's almost over.

I don't know, be careful.

Do I need to tell you that she

suffered a lot? That she was young.

- She asks for it.

- Just let it go, just one time.

I am not an ogre

and she is no little lamb.

Who made Molotov cocktails

in the yard?

Watch what you say.

Leave my family alone.

And me? What am I?

We are your family, Elena.

10 years without

seeing each other...

And suddenly

she's your only family.

Tomi, go to bed.

Go to bed.

Mom, what's a Molotov cocktail?

- What?

- A Molotov cocktail.

It's a drink,

a Russian drink.

You should knock

before you come in.

Sorry.

How come you're still awake?

Exams.

And also a story

to hand in tomorrow.

- Where will it be published?

- In "La Opinin. "

Well, not me.

It's an unpublished Russian

author from last century...

Lia Divnev.

Too fake?

You're always

playing with letters.

That's my job.

Do you need help?

- Aren't you tired?

- I can type.

Thanks.

You're the only one

who can read my scrawl.

Let's see.

Serrano... 3.

Ruiz... 6.

Garca Sols...

Four point five.

No...

Nine point five.

So,

what do you think?

I love it.

The end is sad

but simple and perfect.

Crab writing,

from end to beginning.

I can't write till

I know what the end is.

I can make notes but I only begin to

write when I'm sure about the end.

Then I write backwards,

searching the origin of the story.

It seems so natural,

and what you say

is so premeditated.

I think it was Berger

who said that a story only becomes

a story once you know the end.

The end gives it sense.

Writing is associated with death

by definition.

Dad, you need fresh air.

- We'll go fishing this Sunday.

- All right.

Ok.

Good night.

Sleep well.

- What?

- Did dad leave this?

Yes. Why?

The end's missing.

- Maybe he didn't finish it.

- Impossible.

He did write the end.

It must be somewhere.

Get dressed.

Let's go and pick Tomi up.

I can't get a word right.

F***.

Don't worry,

Thomas "estar bueno. "

You said "f***"

in front of the teacher.

Stay away!

Sorry, please.

I swear I'll learn English.

Thomas!

- "Estar bueno!"

- "Estar muy bueno!"

My uncle Luis

gave me this plane.

He knows everything

about planes.

He took me and Grandma Lucy for

a helicopter ride for my birthday.

It was great.

Do you know Grandma Lucy?

Yes, of course.

Do you miss your Grandmas?

Yes, and I miss

my uncle too.

He's a Newell's fan like me.

He takes me

to the stadium.

Want any more?

Good barbecue

for a writer.

- Well...

- It's very good.

Let me see...

- Rodolfo Walsh, very good.

- I devoured it.

He is so passionate

and poignant in his writing.

- You worked with him, right?

- A few months in the newspaper.

He was a warm guy,

very funny and brilliant.

- Who?

- Walsh.

And you?

Elena told me you're training

- for the national team.

- Yes.

Good. Soccer now.

Excuse me

but I am lost there.

There are a few books...

Come with me.

Excuse me.

Excuse me.

Open up, Martn!

Take him out, he's a zombie.

This boy only plays

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