Ucitelka Page #3

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As I said, it was confidential

information, kept secret precisely

-in order to protect from harm.

-Which clearly happened here.

Could someone tell me

what the teacher said to her exactly?

I can't keep picking you, Danka.

You had your chance and wasted it.

-Sit down. -But I'm prepared.

I learned with dad. He said you'd test me.

He did? I'm sorry, but you

should have prepared earlier.

-There are also others here.

-Please. -Sit down.

-Helenka Brtov. Come here.

-That's not fair!

-What's not fair?

-She knows what you'll ask.

-That's not true, you filthy liar.

-It is true.

Her grades are good because

she knows the questions.

She knows them?

Who told her'?

Do you think I told her'?

Are you suggesting

that I'm cheating?

-Well?

-I didn't want to.

-But dad won't let me go to trainings.

-I see!

So you're telling lies,

accusing all of us here

because all that jumping

makes you neglect school.

Who told you this?

She did. She boasts that she knows

the questions thanks to her mum.

-What? That's a lie.

-It's true.

Sit down, Helka.

There will be no testing today.

Cow!

Not everyone can have perfect grades.

Some people are good learners

others have different skills.

Like gymnastics.

But in sports, you sometimes lose.

And should not blame others for it.

Don't you think?

Helka would probably

fall off a balance beam.

But she wouldn't blame

the referees.

-I wouldn't even climb on it.

-That's a different kind of gymnastics.

Because Helenka... knows her limits.

Can you face the truth?

-But I've been preparing!

-Don't be hysterical.

Calm down.

You aren't a study person.

You have a talent for sports.

Like Filip here.

For all I know, you could

be world champion one day.

But your intelligence test scores

are by far the worst in this class.

So any kind of advanced studies

is probably out of your reach.

Kucerov is an idiot.

-I can't believe that. She makes it up.

-That's for your meddling!

"She was so nice and promised

to test her!" Now you see where it got us.

-This is unacceptable. What do we do?

-I have no idea.

-Ill see the head teacher.

-Do you think she'll do anything?

They're all afraid of her.

Including the head teacher.

-So what do we do?

-Transfer her to another school.

-And accept defeat?

-Do you know what Danka told me'?

-That she isn't going back. Ever.

-But she is.

-Someone else will leave.

-What a fool you are.

Is your uncle's name Brezhnev?

Her sister married a Russian. In Moscow.

You'd have to change the entire class.

The entire school.

Not just school.

The entire country.

New school rule:

queues are ordered by IQ.

-Idiots go last.

-Didn't you hear?

She'll be sent

to a special school anyway.

Comrade, please, pick me!

You tosser!

If this really happened,

no wonder she took it so hard.

We all know children can be cruel.

-But if it's true... -It's not.

-How do you know?

I have the results

of all the IQ tests of this class.

And Danka's results

are not close to being the worst.

Comrade Drazdechov was lying.

Yes, she was lying.

You think that after you sign

the complaint, it's no longer your fault?

I will write another about

slandering a person behind her back.

There is no point.

Just as expected!

I also signed it, and my wife

who is on night shift now.

It's not just about

the Kucera family.

I'm surprised you complain, Mr Binder.

That's quite unexpected.

Do you claim your son's performance

is also hindered, as suggested,

by your lack of loyalty

towards the teacher?

In other words, not supplying

French cognac, veal cutlets...

Or hard to find medicine,

am I right, doctor?

Not fixing her furniture,

baking cakes for her...

Sending your child

to help clean up her flat.

My wife did it too, to help our son,

not cause problems. I made her stop.

It's not right!

Not cause problems!

We all know the medieval methods you use.

And we know what results

teaching with the rod can have.

You should be the first

to thank her for her patience.

We all know you beat the boy.

It's the only communication he knows,

so he also uses it at school.

My only regret is that I was blind.

And that I wronged my son.

-And hence the complaint.

-It's shameful.

Excuse me, friends,

but let Mr Binder finish.

His brat beat my son so bad

he was afraid to go to school.

-Broke a brand new watch.

-He's like all boys his age.

-Binder loves the retard.

-He's a hermaphrodite.

He has no need for women.

Who's fighting?

You're all staying here after class!

-I have training, comrade.

-ls that where you learned this?

This is what your father supports.

One, two, three... After class!

I was glad he did sports.

Better than being idle.

I was tough on him. I thought

it was the best I could do.

He understood. He was good.

Until this year.

Started bringing home notes.

Missed trainings. He never did that.

I beat him so much before I realised

it was that bloody teacher's fault.

She won't pick me, intentionally.

-You drew that?

-I can draw anything you like.

That's cool. Have you already

done that picture of Winnetou

kicking Drazdechov's arse?

Show me.

Good morning, children.

Sit down.

-No testing today, it's my birthday.

-Happy birthday!

Thank you.

Today I'd like to tell you a story

that happened to my mum when she was

a bit older than you today, OK?

It happened during the Slovak Uprising,

which was when?

-Nineteen forty-four.

-Yes.

In the mountains above the village,

they were still shooting.

But my mum learned that the guerrillas

fighting in the mountains were hungry.

So she decided

to bring them some food.

Today, we can't imagine

what war is like. Or hunger.

You have everything.

You often even refuse to eat

what they make for you

in the cafeteria.

My mum decided to take the basket

which they used for mushrooms,

put in some jam, bread, bacon,

nuts and apples, and went to the forest.

And as she walks along,

feeling like Little Red Riding Hood.

She became afraid,

because anything can happen in the woods.

She came to a clearing, and realised

she didn't know where she was.

And that she should turn back.

But what about the food? Leave it there?

What if instead of guerrillas,

it was found by animals?

But then she realised she was not alone.

There was someone else.

She turned around and saw behind her

a big, strong man.

A guerrilla fighter!

Tall as a fir tree.

He wore a military jacket,

a helmet, of course.

Medals on his chest

and across his shoulders a machine gun.

Only later she realised

he was very handsome.

He smelled of petrol and fire,

had stubble on his face

and very friendly blue eyes.

My mum was out of breath

and just stared at him.

Then she picked up the basket,

handed it to him.

He hung his machine gun

on the other shoulder

but very carefully,

not to frighten her

took the basket, smiled

-and said...

-Danke schn!

Who said that?

Who was it'?

I know it was you.

You laugh, you bastard?

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