Hovering Over the Water

Hovering Over The Water

Director, producer,

writer and screenplayer

If I had my own way,

I would add nothing to it.

Not even bacon.

It's fat as it is.

I would put it into the oven

right away, serve it almost plain.

A pinch of salt,

I won't say no,

a trickle of the best olive oil,

a spring of parsley...

And that's all, Amelia.

Too seasoning

will spoil its sea taste.

As to the rest,

the fire is the master.

Have no illusions.

This one's not meant for you.

Go find yourself a she-cat.

New York Herald Tribune.

Come in.

- I brought you the newspapers.

- Leave them on the chair.

Wouldn't a bit of fresh air

do you good?

I don't see the good it would do

but you can open the window.

Blasted light!

I thought I'd find

my happiness in you.

How's the world?

It might be a good idea

to ask senhora Amelia to tidy it up.

The bird who fouls his own nest

can't be a good one.

Besides, senhora Amelia

has other things to do.

Baked snook for dinner.

A good snook does

deserve a tidy room.

My God:
when You created the world

You knew very well where to start...

- I'll help you.

- I still can do what's to be done.

Bring me some flowers,

if you remember.

No. Don't.

If I'll pluck up some courage,

I'll go for a walk through the fields.

Carlos invited us

for a trip on his boat.

- Would you like to come along?

- Just like that...

- Can I give an answer after dinner?

- You can.

- Turn your head a little bit.

- What for?

You've got an oil spot on it,

little sister.

It must have been the bycicle chain.

I'm so sweaty!

I'm going to take a bath.

I've still got salt on my body.

Silvestre, my fool, my cat:

have you never seen

a naked girl washing herself?

And if you were a charmed prince?

I would blush with shame,

hide from you.

Do you think I'm beautiful?

Is it because the sun

tinted my skin with gold?

Because my mouth is like a fruit that

seems to be always offering itself?

I made myself beautiful

for your sake

and, in the reflexes in your

cat's eyes, I fell happy.

Do you know what this is?

It's a black fig

that isn't black but blue

and pink inside

and from it trickles a honey tear.

Did you call aunt Sara?

Yes, we did.

It makes one's mouth water.

It looks magnificent.

I congratulate you for it.

When the fish is good

it gives you almost no trouble.

Are you sure you don't want to stay

for dinner, senhora Amelia?

I'll taste a bit tomorrow.

I'd rather go home now to cook

dinner for my son, who's waiting,

if you don't need me anymore.

- No, you can go.

Is Sara coming down?

I thing so,

but one never knows.

I think we'd better start.

Could it be the fuses?

It seems one of Sara's jokes to me.

It's not Sara:
it's Callas.

I bet aunt Sara

will appear in a disguise.

In what disguise?

Disguised as Norma?

What about that famous snook?

I'm starving.

What's the idea of going around

barefooted?

Shouldn't you be in bed?

Maria asks if aunt Sara is really

coming on the boat trip tomorrow.

Aunt Sara has already said yes.

Mama said yes, Maria said yes,

senhora Amelia already said yes.

Everybody said yes.

Does Maria need carrier-pigeons now?

Maria is a girl and mother knows

quite well that a girl is a girl.

Now that the message is delivered,

you can go back to bed.

And I don't want to see you

here barefooted again.

They go past us,

untouched by what

we project upon them.

It is new life affirming itself

regardless of our own life.

We get frightened by the smallest

trifle, we loose countless nights,

we consume ourselves

so that they grow.

You're the only serene mother I know.

Last night I had a dream:

a big coloured tropical bird

peeped in a heartbreaking way

while it discribed crazy circles

around the house.

Suddenly, it changed its course

and began to flutter,

the enormous wings wide-spread,

in front of the window of my room.

The peeping grew more horrible

and piercing every minute.

All of a sudden,

it vanished.

It seemed to have gone away

and then there it was,

charging against the windowpane.

And at each charge,

the blood sprinkles

spread over the glass panes

and the light gradually went out

inside the room

till complete darkness.

At last,

the thousand-coloured feathers

exploded in the sky

like fireworks.

It reminds one of a virgin's dream.

It reminds what it reminds.

You look stunning!

Fat, girlish moon...

- Are you going to some party?

- I'm going for a ride with Carlos.

- Ah! The sailor...

- Not a sailor, he's just rich.

I must go now.

Don't go to bed late.

I haven't talked much with Rosa.

To be honest,

I haven't talked much with anyone,

except with Antoine,

but that's another thing.

Damned kid:

Rosa, Rosarum.

Yesterday I was changing her diapers

and soon she'll come up pregnant.

Rest in peace, little mother.

Your Rosa has more sense

than both of us together.

I don't believe she's in love.

It's comforting but not enough

to appease one's consciense,

a true burgeoise conscience.

I do hope not.

What's so funny?

Nothing.

Do you remember

the first time you met Virglio?

It was in Florence.

Those things can't be forgotten.

You waited until I had

finished giving a lesson

and you came to ask me

I don't know what.

"His was an eagerness to live;

no more the eargerness to love".

It's a passage

from "Amor de Perdio"

that still fascinates

and troubles me.

You can't strike a match twice.

I believe Simo only wanted soup

and rest by then.

We left college together,

remember?

I'm doing my best to forget it.

We strolled for hours on end

along the Arno...

It's a muddy river in spring time.

It was hot,

the kids bathed in the river,

the Easter holidays

were at the door,

and I talked and talked...

You listened,

your eyes wide open...

I sometimes

opened my eyes wide...

Suddenly, I felt you gripping my arm

with all your strength.

You turned pale

and started trembling.

It was Virglio,

the one over there

crossing the bridge to meet us.

You had spoken so much about him

that I felt like knowing him already.

I was immediately aware

there you were in love.

Some years have past since...

How will it be with Rosa?

It's strange her not beeing in love.

At her age...

It will be different.

Let's wait and see.

I'm going to bed.

Are you coming tomorrow with us?

No, but I'll drop you at Tavira.

I might go for a ride afterwards.

Without destination.

There were several shots,

fired upon a leader of PLO,

here for the Socialist Congress.

Sartawi lies dead on the ground,

we think he died instantaneously.

His assistant was also shot

and is now on his way

to the hospital in Albufeira.

He was first attended here,

at the hotel

and then was taken by ambulance

to the hospital.

The sniper managed to escape

and the hotel is packed

with police agents.

We don't understand

how he managed to escape,

with so much police around.

Issam Sartawi

was shot at the main lobby,

down by the entrance

of the hotel at Montechoro.

The man came from the hotel

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