Man Facing Southeast Page #5

love Beethoven,

who love their children,

who go to Mass.

Man allows that.

At the time of killing,

animals are more honest.

Don't say that. We're not talking about

torturing or killing you,

I just have to give you medicine.

I cannot work here anymore.

For a while.

Where is that afternoon in which

he first felt love?

What traces of the moments of pain

and pleasure this man felt?

You may be feeling some changes,

but don't worry.

It's for your own good.

And I won't abandon you.

There goes Einstein,

there goes Bach,

Mr. Nobody,

a madman, an assassin...

What do you think, Doctor?

Will this drain lead to heaven or hell?

The first results were unexpected.

Rantes' delirium seemed to persist.

Only I noticed a change.

His position, where he claimed

to receive information,

it had changed.

He wouldn't admit it, but these

transmissions had been affected.

The medication had damaged

his antennae.

More in touch with reality, Rantes

concentrated on concrete problems.

I considered this progress,

but it led to new problems.

Outraged by the hospital food,

he spoke for the patients

demanding that the Director

sample the food.

The Director refused to see him.

Rantes would not leave

until he was heard.

The next day, he changed his tactics.

He went to the newspaper

office to plead his case.

They showed interest,

but Rantes refused to leave,

unless the Director came to taste

the food.

He fared no better than he did

leading the orchestra.

There was the imbecile

asking for help,

claiming by his gestures that

he spoke for others.

How could he be helped?

How could one penetrate that robot

driven by a mechanism so fragile

that he needed to protect himself

with such strong armor?

I was beginning to doubt

I would ever find out why.

Doctor...

Doctor...

Why have you forsaken me?

- Yes.

- Doctor, Rantes is dying.

So am I. I want to see you.

I don't think it would be right.

Beatriz,

don't make me make a scene.

I need to see you.

Why did you abandon him?

I didn't.

Perhaps he had been abandoned before.

- We'll cure him.

- You should leave him alone.

At least he was happy.

He'll get better.

I know it won't be easy...

Don't disappear again, Beatriz.

Rantes needs me.

I need you more.

I love you.

There will be a price to pay.

For sleeping with me?

No, for my betrayal.

Of whom?

Rantes.

- You have slept with Rantes?

- No...

not because of that.

Then what?

I'm not what you think, Doctor.

You're incredible. We make love

and you still call me Doctor.

I don't think anything, Beatriz.

I haven't felt this way

in a long time.

What?

I'm happy.

- No matter what?

- No matter what.

I came with Rantes.

I'm one of those lost agents

he spoke about,

corrupted by sunsets,

by certain fragrances.

I mean it.

All right. I lied to you.

I'm not an evangelist.

I didn't meet Rantes in church,

but we do work with people

in the village.

There is a boy Rantes wants to take.

It is also true we cannot feel...

except some traitors like me.

Get out!

Get out, you goddamn nut!

Don't abandon us!

Who do you think I am?

I'm not stupid!

- Don't leave us!

- Get out!

- Please, please!

- Get out!

I could have loved you, too.

She is your sister?

In this photo... you were both

Maybe 10.

Who was in the missing part?

Mom?

Dad?

Who was he?

An alcoholic?

Everything will work out, Rantes,

but you must help me.

Was this... the garden of your house?

Was your house big?

Rantes...

I must know who you are.

And Beatriz?

Who is Beatriz?

Your sister?

Was she your wife?

February 9, 1985, was a Saturday.

I went fishing with my children.

Rantes had reached rock bottom.

His vital signs were weak.

The on-duty doctor ordered

the usual treatment,

electroshock to bring the patient out

of the catatonic state.

Rantes suffered a heart attack

from the anesthetic.

When I returned to the hospital, Rantes'

body had been sent to the University.

I wondered if some student,

some professor

upon opening his body, would sense

the mystery it had contained.

The patients didn't accept

Rantes' death.

They said he had gone, but that

he would return in a spaceship.

They would be there... waiting.

I waited for her.

If they were brother and sister,

God would be, for me, from then on

an unknown alcoholic who has fathered

these children,

these opposite sides of one coin.

Perhaps that's all we are, the foolish

or crazy children of a father,

who, at any rate,

was too difficult to forget.

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