Rivales Page #4

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- Mara, stop.

You know what?

She can shove her five flats

and six parking spots.

That's enough!

I can't handle your family,

Carlos, I can't!

Jorge, head for Seville.

It's not a problem.

- Yes?

- Step on it.

- Yes, go on.

- Great!

Really!

I can pull this kind of stunt too.

So prepare yourself.

Prepare yourself.

And pray.

ROSA POU:
EX-BALLERINA,

DIRECTOR OF LA GAVINA

CLASSICAL BALLET ACADEMY

THE LAST TIME SHE ME ANYONE INTERESTING WAS IN 1985.

- Did you come in from Rome?

- Sorry, I don't understand.

Are you from the flight crew

coming from Rome?

- There was a boy on the flight...

- Several.

No, he was alone.

My grandson Piero.

Blonde, 13, probably in a tracksuit.

- I'm sorry.

- Where do they... dump them.

- What?

- Kids who travel alone.

- There's no 'dump' for them.

- But you go with them...

At age 13 there's no obligation

to watch over them.

So my grandson doesn't have

a card around his neck

and an attendant with him?

A 13-year-old can enter

a country alone?

If he has a ticket and papers.

- As long as he pays, right?

- Excuse me?

If he were an adult on a raft

they'd kick him out.

I'll explain again.

The boy's father, Giovanni...

The boy's called Giovanni?

The father is Giovanni,

the boy's called Piero.

I don't speak Catalonian very well.

- You don't?

- I'm from Teruel.

- How long have you been here?

- 5 years.

And in 5 years of serving the public

in Barcelona Airport

you've not gained

the basic understanding

to get it into your head

that I have a grandson called Piero,

the son of my son-in-law Giovanni,

and that this morning Giovanni

called me at 8 a. m. to say

that my grandson Piero

was getting on your flight 1045?

If you say it in Spanish,

I understand you.

- What about in English?

- As well.

Your English is fine.

Catalonian is superfluous,

like an extra on a DVD,

something that's not worth learning.

So what are 7 million people?

Res.

I'm sorry, "nothing".

Giovanni Risi, the choreographer.

This is Rosa, his mother-in-law.

There's no passenger

called Piero Risi.

- And Al Mansouri?

- Your grandson has two surnames?

Like everyone else. Don't you?

So Al Mansouri

is his mother's surname.

No, it's Pou, like mine.

His mother is my daughter.

If you'd explain...

Incredible. You lose a child

and I have to explain.

My son-in-law isn't Italian,

he's a Libyan

called Abdel Al Mansouri,

but he started work

at the RAl when that fascist

Berlusconi was in power,

at the start of the Western crusade

against the Muslims,

which will lead us into World War 3,

so he took an artistic name:

Giovanni Risi.

- You said Al Mansouri.

- Yes, like the dissident.

The Libyan dissident they jailed

for demanding freedom of the press.

I'm in Amnesty International

and I assure you

many people are locked up for

demanding their legitimate rights.

But no one is jailed for

losing a child on a plane, so relax.

Giovanni? What?

Piero's in Madrid?

I'm going to sue you

for a million euros.

Your belt and shoes.

What's wrong with

my belt and shoes?

They have buckles.

A belt without a buckle

isn't a belt,

and these aren't Manolo Blahniks,

but they're okay. What's wrong?

They make a noise.

No, they don't.

Your contraption makes a noise.

Take them off and put them

on the conveyer belt, please.

- No way.

- You're backing up my queue.

I am not.

You just won't let me through.

There are security measures.

What could I put

in my shoes, a bomb?

- And a katana in my belt?

- Lady!

You said it, I'm a lady,

but you treat me like a terrorist.

And to whom to I owe this honour?

You? No, poor man.

You're following orders.

Our police, the government,

the United Nations?

No, no, no.

I owe this honour to Mr. Bush,

the president of the U.S.,

where a kid can buy a gun,

and I have to show my crap

in a plastic bag.

Lady, put your belt

and shoes on here. Please!

I'm sorry, really, but no.

Since this is a humiliation

and you're a henchman,

do your henchman job

and humiliate me.

We're all suspects!

You too!

They invade, bombard,

torture, destroy the planet,

but we're the terrorists.

And they charge us 35 centimos

per Km for the flight!

His dad bought a ticket

on the Net for Barcelona,

and got one for Madrid by mistake.

The Net is going to start

World War 3.

Does this say Piero?

Yes, but I told you, you can't...

Piero, my dear, take it easy.

I'm on the plane.

It'll take an hour.

We'll be in Madrid in an hour.

Is that right?

- You have to hang up.

- Where? And who?

He's in the Prado Museum.

Have you been there?

Have you seen Goya's black paintings?

I look at the world

and I see Goya's black paintings.

But Spanish is easy to understand.

We don't need any dialects.

Turn that off,

I'm talking to my grandson.

The AVE? Atocha Station?

What are you doing on the AVE?

Yes, I'm almost there.

Atocha Station, please.

Piero, have you eaten?

Sorry, I can't hear you.

Now it's cut off.

...with the Estatut,

they just want more...

and more money

to fill their coffers.

Turn the radio off, please.

Are you going to phone again?

No, but I don't want to

listen to that.

I do.

But I'm paying for the ride, okay?

Yes, but it's my taxi.

Not now. I hired it,

so it's mine now.

Turn the radio off, please.

You haven't hired it.

Read the rules.

He's a real democrat, this one.

If you won't turn it off,

then change the program.

What's wrong with the program?

It's manipulative, fascist trash

and it turns my stomach.

I think it's perfect.

Yes, just like your cab:

full of sh*t.

Yes, Sergeant.

- I've got your license number.

- License number?

- Yes. If I miss my grandson...

- Oh, piss off!

...I'll sue you for

three million euros!

You rude man! You mule!

It's closed.

What do you mean, closed?

It's right there.

Don't you touch me.

No, don't touch me.

The train's right there.

If you'll let me through...

Take the next one.

Look, it's leaving.

To Seville! To Seville!

What's up? We're...

PEPE, 36, MARRIED COACH, DEPORTIVO

MADRILEO What's up? We're...

PEPE, 36, MARRIED

COACH, DEPORTIVO MADRILEO

PEPE, 36, MARRIED COACH,

DEPORTIVO MADRILEO A team!

PEPE, 36, MARRIED

COACH, DEPORTIVO MADRILEO

PEPE, 36, MARRIED COACH, DEPORTIVO

MADRILEO - Deportivo... - Madrileo!

Get on, boys.

Chaperones as well.

HIS LADS CALL HIM "YOGI BEAR".

Get on, boys. Chaperones as well.

Get on, boys.

Chaperones as well.

You're not going to Seville

by any chance?

By chance no,

by bus on the Andalusian Highway.

- That was a joke, right?

- Well...

I don't get jokes very well.

Don't be offended,

I'm sure it was very funny,

but I don't...

Yes, we're going to Seville.

And you're playing against

Atltic Barcelons.

Some posh Catalonians

we're going to thrash.

I'm the grandma of

one of those posh kids.

- Now you're joking, aren't you?

- Very kind.

Kick it good, kick it hard,

score a goal, give 'em hell.

Here comes the greatest team

in Spain, and you can tell.

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