O Gebo e a Sombra (Gebo and the Shadow) Page #2

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Poor thing! She's suffered a lot too,

we have to spare her.

Just like me.

She's his wife and

she hasn't seen him again.

Think what that must be like,

suffering in silence never complaining.

Have you ever

heard her complain?

What about me? All I've

been through! Eight years!

For what it's worth, I've

swallowed so many tears.

And when I want to talk

about our son, you go dumb.

You plunge into your books

so she won't go without.

It's as if she were

our daughter...

What wouldn't we give

to see them both happy?

We gave them everything.

With life this hard, I've

often thought about dying!

- About what?

- Dying, yes!

We almost want to die.

It was you and her

that bound me to life.

Listen to you!

I like talking

about our daughter.

I remember when she arrived,

still little, after my brother died.

Then she grew up and

we married them...

But you never talk about our son,

you don't say a word about him.

You've always loved her

more than him.

Because he went away, didn't

want to put up with this life we lead,

because he's ambitious.

He takes that after me.

A double-edged sword...

You think it's better to be like you,

doing nothing to get on in life?

They laugh at you. You're pitiful.

Everyone despises you.

Your friends all got rich, while

you're a bill-collector for a company,

always the same salary

and the same problems.

In the office, everyone says:

"Poor Gebo"...

- And you take it!

- What else can I do?

"But Gebo is honest".

You never took the chance

to get rich when you could...

I always did my duty.

I did what I could.

I did everything for you.

Yes, I've done my part!

I'm an honest man.

Look at the others!

They got rich, they're happy...

Only God knows that!

While we, poor wretches...

Did you leave the stove on?

We need to make more coffee.

I'll make some more later

so we don't have to heat it up.

Very well.

I've got to work till late.

And it's bitterly cold.

My son...

What?

What?

I can't get him out of my mind.

Sometimes I feel like running away,

like leaving everything and

going out into the world.

And 7 makes 14... Going off

just like that? And 7 makes 21

So do I.

Life is always the same.

Like the rain falling outside

onto the eaves, drop by drop.

Always that

monotonous sound of the rain...

Life is always the same thing.

Our life, yes.

We wear the same old clothes,

darn them, wear them again.

- 'What if something happens to us?

- 'What kind of thing?

Good fortune in life is

when nothing happens.

So good fortune is routine?!

Perhaps. Good fortune is

always doing the same work,

saying the same words.

Like the rain.

Not thinking about it.

Not thinking about it!

I think all the time.

Even when I'm in my grave

I'll be thinking!

Is there just this one kind of life?

Just one?

All lives are like this.

My life is so monotonous,

so cold it's unbearable!

Sometimes,

I wonder if I'm alive or dead.

Not even my dreams

matter any more:

they're all spent.

And is there no other life but this?

For me, when I finish work,

and sit down here,

with my books at my side,

listening to the rain...

How it falls, this rain!...

...I'm not unhappy.

Quite the opposite. I feel fine

with you both near me...

We've been

doing the same thing

for the last forty years,

in poverty, humility.

And my dreams have all worn out,

spoilt by life...

Is there no other life for us?

We have lived our lives,

done our duty.

I don't know if we were put

into this world to be happy...

If this is all there was to life, the

same actions, the same words,

I would die.

I couldn't live.

All that saves me

is my dreams,

what remains of them.

Closed-in, alone,

the more alone the better,

I can dream of my son.

For you, your son

is less than a stranger.

God help me!

It's true! He changed towards me

the moment he married.

Doroteia!

That's enough!

I need to talk. I need

to get it off my chest!

As if that weren't enough, it was her

that turned you against him.

Mother!

Mother!

You're ungrateful, Doroteia. If only

you knew how ungrateful...

- What?

- Nothing!

I know! I know!

We took her in,

looked after her.

Without us she would have starved.

No one wanted anything to do with her.

And in exchange, she took our

son's affection away from us.

For God's sake,

shut up now!

But it doesn't matter.

I love him enough for both of you.

And the less you love him,

the more I do.

Ah! So you heard?

All the better.

I'm going to bed,

But I won't sleep.

I'll be thinking about him.

I spend my nights thinking.

Aren't you going

to say anything?

Aren't you going to say anything?

Don't cry, lass.

Don't cry.

Let her cry. I've also shed

a great many tears.

My son only has me.

Are you crying?

Serves you right.

It's the unhappiness

that has made her so bitter.

She's worn herself out thinking,

suffering.

'What's wrong with you?

'What's the matter?

Nothing, father.

I'm afraid!

So aml!

We're living under a shadow.

I can't take it. I'm afraid.

It's my son,

he's a miserable wretch!

Maybe the police are after him.

Maybe he has nowhere to sleep.

The day before yesterday, I thought

I saw him at the corner of the road.

I wondered if he had food...

If he was hungry!

If she hears of this,

she'll die.

Listen...

That's her.

She's in the bedroom...

talking to herself... mulling it over.

Now go to bed. I'm going to

stay up working till late.

- All right. Good night, father.

- Good night.

Poor thing...

So silent and so sad.

Always in this hole,

embroidering.

I know you so well.

You get worked up! So worked up!

But you never say a word.

Pray for me, do you hear? For all of us

and for him most of all.

For him, yes.

Don't forget.

Good night.

Come on, now Gebo...

you've got a bit of peace.

Peace?

As I remember, I only have that

when I'm asleep.

Only then can I forget!

There are people in this world

that are so happy!

Carry 2... 7... 15... 90...

Cast out the nines, zero.

No, that won't work.

So 1... 2... 3...

Carry 5... carry 5... carry 5...

Half past nine already!

Time passes...

So 1... 2... 3...

You!

Hello, father!

I hear footsteps in the courtyard.

It must be Chamigo.

It must be him.

He never misses his coffee.

Sometimes you can see in his eyes

that he's dying for coffee.

If I didn't give him any,

he'd cry.

He's not doing too well, the old man.

God knows how he gets by.

Sometimes it pains me.

Here he is.

- Would you allow an artist...?

- Please come in.

You're a little late.

Come in and sit down.

- Sit down.

- Madam...

Well, Mr Chamigo... what do think

about this cold weather?

It's bitter.

I'll get you a coffee.

And how's business going, Chamigo?

So-so.

Could be better.

But now the management has decided to

put on another play, a fairy tale..

Oh, yes...

Is it well staged?

You can imagine... with Torres.

Ah, Torres!

So 7 and 8 makes 15 and 6, 21...

Torres, yes...

And have you had big audiences?

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