Il pleut sur Santiago (It Is Raining on Santiago) Page #7

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to the writer's house.

When you're back in Sweden,

you'll forget all this.

No, I won't forget.

We can't forget his conscience.

But now I've realized...

that nobody can be

a witness without a memory.

Chile made me understand

lots of things.

We're leaving tomorrow.

Will you be staying here

at the embassy?

During the occupation of France,

we also went through hard times.

We lost so many people,

so many friends.

What a wreck

they've made of this house!

It's not surprising.

Even on his deathbed...

Neruda was

too great a man for them.

It's not surprising.

Have you ever heard of

a fascist poet?

"The same men have come

to kill us

Yes, the same men

Who will come and burn us

They've left behind a pool

Let us seek there

for father, mother, son

Let us search in that pool

Search for your own

blood and bones

Search for them

among all the other bones

Now burned

They no longer belong to anyone

They belong to all

They are our bones

Seek your death in that death

Because the same men

lie in wait for you

And prepare to send you

to that same muddy pool"

Comrade Neruda!

- Now...

- And always!

Comrade Salvador Allende!

Present!

- Now...

- And always!

The people of Chile!

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