The Sacrifice Page #5

It's a holy truth.

She has very special qualities,

you know.

I've gathered evidence.

She is a witch!

In what sense?

In the best sense!

Are you joking again?

Still having me on

with your Nietzschean pranks?

Is there any other way out?

There is no other alternative.

None whatsoever!

What alternative, Otto?

What are you talking about?

It's best if I go now.

I've left the bike for you...

down there by the shed.

Don't take the car, they'll hear you.

I've put a ladder

against the balcony.

Go to Maria...

but be careful!

There are a couple of broken spokes

in the front wheel.

I once caught my trouser leg in them.

I almost fell in the water.

- What trouser leg?

- The right one.

Be careful!

Have you finally understood

what I told you?

Do you hear what I'm saying?

Yes, what about it?

No... Never!

Anyway, I prefer

Piero della Francesca!

As I understood Alexander's words,

he meant

that it is peculiar for a man

to change, of his own free will,

into a work of art.

Generally,

the result of all poetic striving

lies so far from its author

that one can hardly believe

that it is a man-made creation.

In the case of the actor, though,

the reverse is true.

The actor is, himself, his own

creation, his own work of art.

Excuse me.

- I'll be right back.

- Don't stay long!

How much gas have we left?

Will it last?

I don't know. I'll see.

They brought new cylinders last week.

Don't you remember?

Julia, come here to us.

- Who is it?

- It's me.

Mr Alexander?

Has something happened?

But why stand there? Come in.

It was only by chance

that I heard you knock.

The kerosene ran out,

so I got up to fill the lamp.

Has something happened?

Why don't you say anything?

What is it? Is it something at home?

Something's happened

at your house again.

Is that it?

But don't you...

don't you have a TV?

Yes, a small one. But...

it went dead about 11:00,

and didn't come on again.

What...

What's happened to your hands?

I fell off the bike.

Did you come on a bike?

Yes, I did. I fell.

Come.

You mustn't go about

with dirty hands.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

As a child, I played this prlude.

My mother loved it.

Years ago,

before I was married,

I often went to visit my mother...

in the country.

She was still alive in those days.

Her house, a little cottage,

was surrounded by a garden...

a little garden,

dreadfully neglected and overgrown.

No one had tended it for many years

and I don't think...

anyone had ever been in it.

Even then, my mother was very ill.

She hardly ever left the house.

Still,

amidst the ruined garden

there was something that was,

in its way, beautiful.

Yes, now I know what it was.

When the weather was fine...

she often sat at the window...

looking out at the garden. She even

had a special chair by the window.

Once, though, I decided

that I would tidy things up...

in the garden, that is.

I wanted to mow the grass,

burn the weeds, prune the trees.

On the whole,

I wanted to redo the garden

in my own taste...

with my own hands.

Yes, simply to please my mother.

And for two solid weeks...

I went at it

with shears and a scythe.

I dug...

and cut...

and sawed...

and weeded.

I kept my nose

to the ground, literally.

And I took great pains

to get it ready as soon as possible.

My mother's condition grew worse,

and she kept to her bed.

But I wanted her to be able...

to sit by the window

and see...

her new garden.

In short,

when I was finished

and everything was ready...

I took a bath...

put on fresh underwear,

a new jacket, even a tie.

Then I sat down in the chair

to see what I'd made,

through her eyes, as it were.

I...

I sat there...

and looked out through the window.

I had prepared myself

to enjoy the sight.

Anyway, I looked out the window

and saw...

What did I see?

Where had all the beauty gone?

All that was natural.

It was so disgusting.

All that evidence of violence!

I remember once,

when my sister was young.

She went to a barber and had her

hair cut. It was the fashion then.

Her hair was unbelievably lovely.

Golden yellow, like Lady Godiva's.

She came home pleased as punch.

Then my father saw her.

He began to cry.

I think it was the same

with the garden.

And your mother?

It's three o'clock!

We won't have time...

But your mother... did she see it?

Maria...

My being here

must be an imposition on you.

You can't sleep.

What do you mean?

What do you mean?

Could you...

Could you love me, Maria?

What are you saying?

Love me, I beg you!

Save me!

Save us all!

I know who you are.

He... he told me!

Please, please!

Save us, I beg you!

What are you talking about?

Go home now.

Do you want me to go with you?

I... I have a bicycle, too.

Don't kill us.

Save us, Maria!

But why?

You poor, poor man!

Why? No, not that way!

You poor man.

Don't be afraid. What's wrong?

Calm down, calm down.

I understand, I know...

that it concerns your home.

I know her, she is wicked.

I know her. They've hurt you...

frightened you.

Don't be afraid of anything.

Everything's going to be all right.

Be calm.

Don't be afraid, not of anything.

It's all right now, all right.

You poor, poor man!

There, there.

There's nothing to fear.

Don't be afraid.

Nothing will happen to you here.

Don't cry, don't cry.

Everything will be fine.

- Just love me.

- Yes.

My poor dear.

What have they done to you?

- No.

- There, there...

No... no.

What is it?

- Calm down!

- No, no!

I c-c-can't!

I can't!

Drink this.

No.

There...

It'll soon be over.

What's frightened you so, Alexander?

Mama!

Hello.

Hello, is that Martin?

Yes. Alexander?

Yes, it's me!

Your voice is so weak.

Oh! Better now?

- Yes, it's better.

- I wonder, is the editor in?

Yes, but I don't think he's free.

You can't imagine

what things are like here today.

You were to see him next week.

Yes, but it wasn't important.

A trifle... it doesn't matter.

I'll call back.

All right, until then.

By the way, many happy returns!

On what? Oh, of course!

Mama, did you know that

our Victor is leaving for Australia?

What did you say? To Australia?

Yes, and he's not coming back.

He's been offered his own clinic.

I heard it last night.

Right, Victor?

- Why are you laughing?

- I'm not laughing!

When did you decide that?

Australia!

You must be mad!

I don't know why I chose Australia.

I don't know.

It doesn't matter.

I'm tired, that's all.

All right!

But what's to become of us?

Of Alexander?

The fact is, what I'm most tired of

is the lot of you.

Tired of being your nursemaid.

Your nursemaid and your warden.

Tired of wiping your noses.

- Victor, are you mad?

- Forgive me.

What are you saying?

May I smoke?

Martha, go away! Go, go, go!

Go, go, go!

God, Mama. I'm not a child!

Call your father to breakfast!

- But...

- Is it too much to ask?

All right, I'll go.

Oh, her ways!

So calculating!

I won't let you go, Victor!

I don't know about Mama,

but I won't let you go!

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote