Little Ashes Page #3

immorality, good, bad...

I... We have to smash that to pieces.

And we have to go beyond that.

We have to be brave, Federico.

- No limit.

- No, no limit.

- What do you think you're doing?

- What?

- I saw you. I bloody saw you!

You had your hand on her leg!

Are you denying that?

Get off me! I can fight my own battles!

- Federico.

- No.

- Look.

It's beautiful.

- I've never seen anything like this before.

- It has all the tones of Tangi, but...

I think it's something new.

- It's extraordinary.

Me!

- You can name it, if you want.

- "Little Ashes".

Because you can paint us into hundred pictures.

And in eighty years time...

We'll still be dust.

- We'll still be in the pictures.

- Not us.

We'll be echoes of ourselves.

Ghosts.

And I don't want to be a ghost.

Come with me to Granada.

- I can't.

- You'll see my family, my home.

Everything I am.

I see you now, Federico.

The afternoon gone mad

with figs and heated sounds

Falls upon the rider's wounded thighs.

Black angels were flying on the western breeze.

Angels with long braids and hearts

of soothing oil.

- Good night.

- Good night.

Salvador.

I think of you and I've never thought

more intensly in my life.

Since our time together...

... everything I am has been split apart.

I write in a way that I've never

thought possible.

My pen scratches the surface

of things.

The masks... And then it goes

beyond them.

Right down to the bones.

Downt to the dark, cold jelly in the

marrow.

Federico.

From the day you left...

... I've been in the studio day and night.

I started to work on designs for

your play.

I'm doing them gypsy-style.

Andalusian.

Like you.

The unconscious mind, Federico...

... it rises like a beast within me.

I let it speak and it produces such

wonders.

It's true.

I touch sea bottom in myself.

And my poems write themselves.

I am, just as you said...

Raw.

Bloody.

Alive.

And I, too, want to be alive.

- How did you get in?

- I stole your key.

- It's going to look superb.

- No.

It will be superb.

After Barcelona, we should take it to London and

Paris and then New York.

- Why not?

No limits.

- So why did you come back so early?

You know what you said in your letter?

About everything that you are being split apart?

- Louie.

What an amazing surprise.

- What are you talking about?

- I didn't know when you'll be getting back.

You didn't say when you were coming.

- Are you feeling alright?

Salutations, Mr. Dal.

- Sit down, sit down.

Would you like some tea?

Your look.

- Sorry?

- What are these?

- Set designs for Mariana Pineda.

You know, my play.

- To be performed?

- In Barcelona. Salvador's father got us

a producer.

- That's... excellent news.

You're doing the sets?

- Nothing wrong with that, is there?

- I didn't say there was.

- How's my new screenplay coming?

My short film.

The one I asked you to write about.

- Yes, of course. I haven't had much time

recently, so when I...

- Don't worry about it.

- Federico...

Let's play the "putrescent" game.

- The what?

- It's "putrescent".

It's my new word.

Meaning?

- Outdated, outmoded.

- Generally out, then.

- Yes, generally.

- Come on, Ferry.

You have to hear these putrescences Federico does...

They're histerical. They're...

- Yes, come on, Ferry!

- Look. Let's skip the tea, let's run out and

have some dinner.

- What shall I wear?

- The blue.

- I don't like the blue.

What about the grey, then?

- Oh, I love the grey, yeah.

Ok.

- I went to see that play with Jorge.

- Which one?

- Jorge is a worm.

- "Salome".

- Oscar Wilde. I thought they banned it.

- He's a f*ggot.

Marricon.

- Unproved by all accounts.

- Not Wilde, Jorge.

- He's got a girlfriend.

Oh, come on! He screams "queer"

from every orifice.

- Keep your voice down, Louie.

- Oh, we should all keep quiet, should we, Adella?

Well, I won't!

- For god's sake...

- No!

Because it is illegal. And it is illegal because

it is immoral. And I tell you...

They should get more then 15 years

hard bloody labour for it.

- I never thought I'd see the day that Luis Buuel

gave us a lecture on morality.

- Dance with me.

- "Dance with me".

- That's enough.

- Don't bother, Federico.

- Oh, I'm sorry, Magdalena.

Did I offend your vaginal sensibilities?

- Leave her alone.

- Look at the big, brave Federico.

What a man.

- You are drunk.

- You don't say.

Things have certainly changed around here,

my friend.

- What do you mean?

- It's the college.

Staying on, year after year. Studying this and that until

you blew in the face.

It is a fantasy land for spoiled school kids.

Look at Federico.

Oh, I know. He's doing well.

Plays, whatever.

In Paris, they would do a f*** up

at his work.

It's... What's your word?

Putrescent.

- Federico is working on something now.

That will blow everything apart.

- What's it about?

His family?

Butterflies?

God?

- Me.

- It'll be sentimental rubbish.

Always has been, always will be.

Still, if you go around behaving like that...

...then you have to expect it.

Look.

You don't have to say anything.

But you should really get away from here.

In Paris, with your talents... You could set the

place on fire!

I'm leaving tomorrow.

- What? Why?

- It's over here.

Everything's gone.

To your word.

Now this is more like it! Come on, Dal.

Shake a leg!

- It's five o' clock.

- What's that?

- The revolutionary Dali communicator!

I'll be a millionaire!

- I'll buy shares.

Which hand?

- Left.

- For you.

And

For you.

Where are you going?

- To the bathroom.

- With your diary?

If I became a fish?

I'd change into the grave.

If I became the grass?

Change into water.

If a became an angel?

I'd change into an eye.

And if I became an eye?

I'd turn into a knife.

Then I'd cut you to pieces.

Salvador Dali, with your olive-colored voice...

It's genius.

I mean, everybody says it is.

Tell me the bit about the bicycles, again.

I sing your restless longing for the statue

Your fear of the feeling,

that await you in the street

I sing the small sea siren who sings to you

Riding her bicycle of corals and conches

But above all

I sing a common thought

That joins us in the dark and golden hours

The light that blinds our eyes is not art

Rather it is love.

Friendship.

Crossed swords.

- I don't like that line.

- Thanks.

- I love the rest of it.

- Do you?

- Yes.

- Look at me.

Look at me, Salvador.

Look at me.

You see?

- No limit.

- Sorry.

- It doesn't matter.

It's not important.

It's late.

You should sleep.

We'll go for a breakfast at the"Pelican".

And you'll paint all afternoon.

Salvador.

What do you see, when...?

You can tell me.

You can tell me anything.

- I'm going to Paris.

- What?

- I'm going to go and see Louie.

He'll introduce me to... Picasso.

And the surrealists and...

He'll take me to nightclubs.

I'm going now.

Don't...

Don't, don't try to stop me.

- Why would I try? Salvador!

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