Lines of Wellington Page #2

Shut up. And don't call me petal.

It's ridiculous.

Our daughter is buried here.

In the garden.

Killed by a stray bullet

on the Buaco road...

She wasn't yet twenty.

- Severina!

- Come, sister!

It was a French bullet.

That was never confirmed,

Monsieur le Marchal...

- It could well have been English...

- Or Portuguese...

It was French.

Grief has upset her, Monsieur.

Don't take it amiss.

They're an interesting race,

the Portuguese, you know...

A melancholy people...

They call it "saudade":

It's being sad for what didn't happen,

but might have happened.

They fall into long silences,

in the middle of a conversation even,

then take up again

as if nothing were amiss.

For them, coldness is merely

a sort of inverted warmth.

It's a pity they've all gone.

Oh well,

I dare say they'll be back...

Don't be scared.

I'm not French.

I won't hurt you.

Who are you?

What are you doing here?!

I think that is for me to ask,

my young friend.

I'm the mistress of this house.

At least I was

last time I checked.

I beg your pardon, madam.

I'm terribly sorry. Believe me.

I had nowhere else to go.

Lieutenant Pedro de Alencar.

Pleased to meet you...

despite the circumstances.

My name is Filipa Sanches.

Forgive my asking,

but how did you get in?

The door downstairs was open...

Really!

What blockheads!

They must have left it open

when they fled.

I didn't think to check...

Luckily St Christopher watches over me.

Well...

There's a dressing gown in there

that should fit.

And slippers.

I'll be in the next room.

The slippers were too small...

When I saw you come in,

I took you for one

of the French deserters hereabouts.

I've seen them in the square below

since everyone left...

- Lemon or milk?

- Milk, please.

If I may...?

Imagine,

I thought you'd come to rape me!

When I heard you talking in your sleep,

I realized you were Portuguese.

I spoke?

A few words of no importance.

Mother... Water...

French...

My head...

Careful!

I think that's all.

Relax, you didn't give away

any military secrets.

But tell me, Lieutenant,

what possessed you

to wander about in your shirttails?

I was in hospital when the French arrived

and I had no time to get dressed.

I was wounded at Buaco.

In the head. Two bullets.

They removed one,

but couldn't get the other.

How awful!

You poor boy, does it hurt much?

No, it hardly hurts at all now.

But when the others were evacuated,

I couldn't walk.

The doctors thought I was

in no fit state to go with them.

But... what about you?

Why didn't you leave with the others?

Why should I leave?

I'm in my own house, Lieutenant.

I was fifteen when I first came here.

My father brought me from Vigo,

to give me away to my intended.

I was married here.

I gave birth to three children

in that bed you slept in.

And this is where I was widowed.

So a handful of French antichrists

won't see me off.

If only they were just a handful...

Were they a million,

they'd couldn't get me out.

Unless I was dead!

What about your family?

They let you stay?

They didn't want to.

They pressed me to leave.

I hid in the attic.

They had no choice

but to go without me.

Fear, Lieutenant, is a powerful force.

Stronger, certainly,

than any attachment to me.

Here I am,

prattling like an old whore,

and you, Lieutenant, are dead tired.

- No, absolutely not...

- Yes, indeed you are.

Don't contradict me!

Come on, to bed!

I'll show you to your room.

Tomorrow,

I'll find you something decent to wear

and change that revolting bandage

on your head.

Come on, let's go.

Manuel Pedro! Incio!

Sozinha!

Matias! Idalina! Father!

Josefina! Antnia!

Ermelinda!

- I don't want to leave!

- Come along!

- Untie me!

- Come away!

Untie me!

Antnio!

Untie me!

Untie me!

You'll all burn in Hell!

Untie me!

Forgive my asking...

But have you seen this lady?

It's a good likeness.

Painted by an Italian,

a master from Milan...

A true artist, very well known.

Barilli.

He was in Coimbra three years ago.

It's just like her.

She's my wife.

I lost her in Pombal two days ago.

I turned round

and, poof, she was gone...

I haven't seen her since...

You haven't seen her, have you?

No, sorry.

Apart from the English, who told us

to hurry, we haven't seen a soul.

Come on!

Perhaps your wife...?

I don't think so.

Her name's Maria de Jesus...

Maria de Jesus de Almeida...

I'm Vicente.

De Almeida, naturally...

If you do see her...

If she does come through here...

If you'd be so kind... tell her...

...that I'm looking for her.

Vicente... Vicente de Almeida.

Much obliged.

Thank you.

Pick them up.

"I should like to tell you how I feel about

the State which we have described...

"I should like to tell you how I feel about

the State which we have described...

"I might compare myself to a person

who, on beholding beautiful animals

"either created by the painter's art,

or, better still, alive but at rest,

"is seized with a desire

of seeing them in motion

"or engaged in some struggle or conflict

to which their forms appear suited..."

Sergeant!

Help them fix the wheel.

The sight of those poor souls forced

to flee by the accursed Jacobins,

made my blood boil.

As we mended the English girl's wagon,

I thought of what would happen should

the bastard French catch up with them

before they reached safety.

I wanted to smash something.

The feeling grew when I thought

that a defenseless lass like Maureen

could suffer the same fate...

Oh, dearest Major!

I've dreamt of bathing

like this for ages.

From now on,

ask what you will of me!

I'll always serve you first.

Don't lie, wench!

I know full well Sergeant Xavier

is your favourite...

It depends.

I'm not so set in my ways.

You're my favourite tonight...

...my little gold charm.

- He hasn't eaten since yesterday!

- Let him be! All the more for us.

We're small, Francisco Xavier...

This Portugal of ours

is a tiny gnat turd.

If it weren't for the roast beefs,

Bonaparte would have made

mincemeat of us...

You're an ass, Z Maria.

You don't get it.

Oh, don't I?

What don't I get?

You should realize, you ass,

that Portugal and Napoleon

are like it says in the Bible.

Oh yeah?!

What does it say in the bible?

Well, in the bible...

...Napoleon is Goliath,

and Portugal is King David.

And the English?

What are the English

in this bible of yours?

The English are the slingshot

King David used to fell Goliath.

You devil!

Have you ever read the bible?

No, never. But it was read to me.

Off you go then, Martrio...

I bid you

...a very good evening.

What the...? What is it?

It's me, Z Maria. Don't be afraid.

Z Maria? What do you want?

Martrio...

Sweetheart...

Give me one free.

I only get my pay next week.

I'm bursting...!

I'll give you a smack round the head!

Go away and let me sleep.

You can keep your clothes on.

Just a hand.

And one breast out.

Go away, you big baby.

Shove off

or I'll smack your face with it!

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