In Abraham's Vale,
land of the man, God in vain forced to confront his own pride,
his own anger and shame,
things happen that seem to come from a world of dreams,
a world of sheer hypocrisy.
Abraham had the archaic custom
of using his wife's looks to get out of trouble.
He said she was his sister,
which made life easier when men fancied her.
Abraham's Vale
A FILM BY
SCREENPLAY
BASED ON THE NOVEL BY
In the 18th century, the river Paiva
was the southern boundary of the district of Lamego.
A clever doctor, an expert in phlegm,
called Abraham of Paiva, lived there.
He was caught in bed with a woman from Moimenta,
who later suffered a sordid abortion,
so he went down to Balsemăo
and vanished, which was all he deserved.
Such is Abraham's Vale: Its shade and estates
still bear the trace of a Moorish road,
busy with Granada's Orient trade.
Today, the blood of the Paivas runs in Carlos,
who studied medical science in Oporto,
married to a widow and settled on the estate in Abraham's Vale.
One day, Carlos Paiva came to Lamego, near Abraham's Vale.
It was the feast of Remédios.
There he met the 14-year-old daughter
of a respectable man, eating eels in the main square.
In the star outside Ema saw an omen.
Pure honey.
They are perfect!
No, no!
You have them, they are a speciality.
Say thank you to the nice man.
Mr?
Carlos, Carlos de Paiva.
Carlos? Thank you, Mr Carlos.
Doctor and ploughman, at your service.
Doctor and ploughman! I have been ill...
Please take a seat...
Symptoms, minor complaints,
which oddly, time seems to heal. Strangest of all...
His soul lit up on meeting a doctor and ploughman,
so he told him the saga of his many diseases,
but not much about his wife.
She wasn't long dead and he missed her beauty.
Ema, his only daughter, took after her.
Ema's just like her.
I've an uncle in Estremadura.
I have family there myself.
That Estremadura connection drew them together.
The old man gave him his address
and said he'd call him if he was unwell.
I got better and became an almost healthy person.
A doctor's fate! I'm only ever asked over for purges and bleeding.
Ema thought him a fool.
Nobody purges or bleeds any more.
She noted his masculine grace
and didn't see him again.
Or think about him.
Carlos Paiva returned home.
His wife was washing her feet.
She had a fungus between the fingers, where she put yellow powder.
She was sullen, shouted very loud and dressed badly.
Suddenly, Carlos realized all that
and became gentle and soft to her.
He kept saying she was right. She got suspicious.
He saw someone.
She thought, as lucid as someone sentenced to death.
She began spying upon him.
Time passed and nothing happened.
We never know when the heart suffers
or gains coal to maintain the heat.
Where's Romesal?
Tell him!
Romesal? Straight on... but be careful!
Yes, watch out!
There was nothing to say when Paulino called him up.
He was wearing an oldjacket.
It was a cold autumn day
and there was no heating in the drawing-room, up the stairs.
What brings you here, Dr Carlos?
Carlos...
Paiva, Carlos Paiva.
That's right, Doctor Carlos Paiva.
I'm looking for a good wine
and knowing your expertise...
It's got to be right,
from a good cellar.
I haven't got it.
But I'm sure we'll manage.
It'll be expensive, Doctor.
A royal beverage!
Though even kings drink plonk and think they're doing OK.
I swear, I'm...
Ema seemed even prettier,
her blonde locks falling
on a coarse-knit fisherman's sweater.
Do you remember Doctor Carlos, from Lamego?
No, I don't remember.
But Ema did remember.
She thought he was handsome, with his neat, salesman's teeth.
Ema thought salesmen must have nice teeth to smile so much.
In Lamego?
Yes, in Lamego.
I must attend to my patients.
Even if this is a sick call...
Ema, bring a glass of wine and some biscuits.
There aren't any biscuits.
Don't go to any trouble.
Carlos noticed an antique altar
of surprising and original beauty.
It's a good piece, an inheritance
that my sister Augusta worships. But she's not home today.
Shut up, Jordăo! What's wrong with you?
Cardeano showed Carlos the way out, the same way he came in,
through the main gate, which was never used.
Absurdly, Carlos left feeling bitter.
'Who does she think she is? ', he thought.
Ema was orphaned at the age of six.
Once, when she had earache, they put her mother's milk in her ear.
She remembered a trickle, the feel of her mother's breast.
The rest was a secret connection with the belly whence she came,
where everything moved with elastic ease.
Perhaps the walls of the womb, with plenty of give,
nourishment, growing hands and feet.
Aunt Augusta takes communion every day,
you pray so much you must have earned yourself an armchair in heaven.
You're right.
God knows I can't go long without resting my elbows.
But you ought to believe in God, Ema,
and pray,
instead of reading all those love stories.
Women have no business reading those books.
They aren't any concern of ours.
Why not?
Because they are overpowering.
Even without reading Amadis of Gaul or Orlando Furioso,
who loved ladies with no culture,
ignorant of Latin.
Ema gazed at the altar,
as if unburdening herself of a uniform,
heavy with lace and ornaments,
as if the memory of the cruel drama
of her mother's death stood by this altar
that was like a theatre set.
Aunt is frightened of me.
You'd be happier if I was a nun.
You'd like to see me in a habit,
with a rosary at my belt, like yours.
Her laughter was crystalline,
like a female response
to the male nightingale's song.
Behave yourself, miss!
A nun? The young lady?
That's what they're saying.
That's all we need!
Marina was tough.
Boys who tried it on, soon thought twice.
Well, I'll tell you this,
she's too young and too pretty for a convent.
Branca was easier-going.
She liked men, without submission, just for the heck of it.
Alice had a plan - she was going to marry someone with money.
All of them liked Ema and gossiping with her.
The washerwoman was dumb, from a family of idiots.
But Ritinha was cunning and curious about the world.
She was as strong and as flexible as a vine.
The house was a hive of rumours,
abuzz with plots and gossip,
where the talk was of sex, desire and all the hurts of love.
She can't hear, don't talk to her.
She knows a thing or two
more than we do.
She can tell the type of grape from the wine stain
And blood on sheets, if it's nice and red, she says it's a virgin's.
If it's dark, it's a married woman's.
If it's heavy, then it's nearly over.
Hey, what else do you know?
How can you tell, since she can't speak?
You can see in her eyes what she doesn't say
and from the way she moves.
A man's got to react with so many lovely women!
Look at that!
I can say that myself. What a waste to have your arms
in cold water instead of around a man's warmth.
What next, scarecrow?
Give me a go with one like you.
Get out of here!
Men!
Are you sighing, woman?
What about you, eh?
- No. - You are!
- I am not! - You are!
That's it, I'm not.
That's it, you are!
Sometimes yes, sometimes no!
Sometimes no, sometimes yes!
Ritinha was too pretty to escape masculine attention.
She was fascinated by the depths of men's gaze.
But she resisted them.
Even when she liked someone, she always said no.
She sensed that her children would be deaf and dumb
and that her husband would commit suicide as a result.
So she remained a virgin until the end.
Till she was fourteen,
Ema never left the house.
She was confirmed
at the family altar.
Only once, she went out to present herself to the Mello ladies,
very tasteful and respectable they were.
They spent winters in Cascais
and received Ema now in their house in Viso.
They were two sisters, one of them widowed.
Ema tried to hide her slight limp.
She climbed the stairs and took fright
when she suddenly saw herself in the mirror.
She stood mesmerized.
She entered the drawing-room.
As soon as the sisters saw her,
the same dreadful thought occurred to them:
"This girl is already a formidable woman".
Ema conveyed some kind of extreme.
Her beauty was exuberant
and thus dangerous.
There's something unpleasant,
something sinister about her,
including her looks.
Do you really think she's a beauty?
I don't know how to put it...
Her beauty is a kind of genius.
Come closer.
We want to have a look at you.
Yes...
We want to have a good look at you.
You're very lovely.
Isn't she, sister?
Not bad. Not bad at all.
Ema smiled as if to bite them,
which convinced the sisters, absolutely and doubtlessly,
that she'd grow into a very threatening woman.
How were the ladies?
Look, Father...
It was horrible. They sniffed at me as if I was an animal.
They are educated women.
Maybe, but it's a tough education,
not for the faint-hearted.
Aren't you being a little harsh?
I'm telling you what I think.
I've got a surprise for you.
A memento from your confirmation.
The cheek! They'll pay for this!
Ema didn't know how to deal with obvious lust,
capable of undressing her with pointless rage.
Was it her imagination? Weren't they innocent?
And her provoking this terrible need, blind to generosity.
Their desire was obvious and criminal,
the only reason for patience in the face of death.
Ema's appearances on the terrace caused accidents.
That wall was a rampart.
Dogs and cats were run over.
People lost control of their vehicles, causing panic.
The situation got worse and the authorities were informed.
Marina! Alice!
These servants! No one tells me anything!
What's wrong with Ema?
The mayor's complained about people driving into our wall
because of her. There've been deaths.
Marina! Answer me!
Miss... Miss Ema...
Yes, what about her?
Well, Miss Ema...
She uses the terrace... but only occasionally!
The glare of our windows seems to blind motorists.
You can't blame the young lady.
Naturally!
He said the word "naturally"
like a lawyer, to win time.
It was agreed that the windows of the verandah,
when the sun shone,
reflected its rays into drivers'eyes.
The verandah was a conservatory full of begonias,
maidenhairs and red flowers,
in view of the four o'clock train
to Oporto, for family and friends to go home.
Little angels, they are!
Ema fell ill when she was five.
After plenty of prayers, she recovered.
But her left leg had a limp.
Yes, she was handicapped. What a shame!
It doesn't show.
Of course it shows!
See! He can't bear her.
So? Beauty...
undermines our little games.
Nelson had given up his vocation
to enjoy with Branca, the maid,
a secret affair,
but it was Ema that he really loved.
I'm not that pretty!
You don't like mirrors.
He's really fallen for her.
I know he has.
All because of that damn wall.
Imagine, the mayor, a friend,
wanted me to move the wall back.
They'll send Ema to prison.
It isn't like that.
I have certain responsibilities.
There are complaints.
If you knew
what a father has to go through, Homero.
She's a lovely daughter.
She's not to go near the terrace!
So lovely and no suitor?
Pretty girls must marry quick.
True.
I don't disagree.
I shouldn't but I'm so greedy!
It's true, it's time Ema got married.
There are plenty of suitors, but what a sacred loss.
I'll have rowdy grandchildren like the ones from Carmesim and Chélinha.
Little angels!
Well, Ema?
Let's not talk about it here, Father.
A husband's love is best,
beauty is the fruit of love.
Well said.
Branca, you're so clumsy!
You should be ashamed, Ema!
'I went hunting that day'
'and caught a fine canary.'
'I gave it as a gift'
'to the king's daughter.'
'To the daughter of the king,'
'she's rich and she's Brazilian.'
'She ordered a cage of precious wood.'
'When the cage was ready, she put the canary inside.'
'By day and by night the bird is her pleasure.'
'The canary escaped and caught a cold.'
'Experts were called,'
'21 consultants.'
'But with the doctors came'
'the louse and the flea.'
'The canary died, poor thing, and was buried.'
'There was a party at the end.'
On the back of an ant,
beautiful Josefa, I danced a gig.
On the back of an ant,
beautiful Josefa, I danced a gig.
Dreams, desires, manias,
are merely wishing one was someone else.
Tearing at bodily symbols
(sexual and visual, the worst), a person's nature,
a various collection of fluxes.
Hideous motions, similar to ancient companies of female prophets,
given to deprivations prohibited by men,
so love shoulders the blame for Eros'mediocrity.
Ema knew of unspeakable examples
of love's critical role
in prolonging youth
by encouraging submissiveness.
Time passed.
Aunt Augusta fell ill.
Death came suddenly, as usual.
Ema was shocked.
Though her aunt's life had been discreet, Ema took the loss badly.
Branca, the maid, wasn't much help.
She took to her bed with bellyache.
Dr Paiva was called urgently.
Carlos was surprised: Ema was even more beautiful
now that there was hurt.
To Ema, Carlos seemed sad
and she discovered she liked sadness,
as a reward for sacrifice.
Thank you for coming.
It all happened so fast.
One disaster after another.
Have I come too late?
No, for my poor sister, it happened so quickly.
God have mercy on her!
My deepest sympathy.
Thank you.
But you're in mourning yourself.
My wife died.
It happened suddenly.
We're very sorry to hear it.
Thank you.
Ema's sacrifice was that she hated the life she led.
She no longer went out on the terrace
to show off her beauty.
What was beauty for
if only to be gawped at by salesmen and labourers?
Please, see to Branca, the maid.
She is in terrible pain.
Ema, please show the doctor the way.
This way.
Branca, Dr Paiva's come to see you.
Please come in.
Weakness in the guise of strength.
One shove and Ema would fall.
There were no rules except unpredictability.
Ema knew there was only one thing for it:
She must pretend, play dead.
Yes, it was Nelson,
the man who lost his vocation.
Branca, pregnant by him,
had had a secret abortion
and the excuse of the whole house.
Carlos decided not to betray her.
Her beauty surfaced upon the silk of slumbering hurt.
She was like a wild beast without food,
an animal, a tiny creature,
but with already predatory looks.
She knew that her ties with mediocrity
and her love of childish ways were broken.
As she unbound her hair,
her heart, too, was unchained,
though she found comfort in constraint,
and that was gone forever.
Her mother had been the fourth daughter
of rich people fallen on bad times.
Ema remembered hat boxes full of postcards
her mother received from Lausanne and Paris.
Nelson, the trainee priest, married an heiress,
whose appeal lay in what was missing.
The bride practically raped him before and after the wedding.
She died soon, bequeathing him to a friend,
as if he'd been a pearl necklace.
By spring,
Ema was engaged.
Carlos was silly with joy.
Twice, he put back the wedding
to show he wasn't giving in to that woman he loved.
He was afraid of Ema's character,
so much at odds with the vain submissiveness of her upbringing.
Look! Is that a different river?
Ema thought perhaps it was deep down full of giant fish
that rarely raised their shining heads up from the deep.
We can't try a dress on like that.
Come and see, it's changed!
No, miss, the Douro's always been there.
It's a man.
A man?
Yes, seen from a distance a man looks like a needle.
There's fog, the river is not clear.
You can't see clearly but it looks like...
A boat... drifting.
Maybe.
I know, it's the ferry that takes passengers over to the baths.
I'm getting married and I don't love him.
Please miss! You say such silly things sometimes...
Sweet Lord! Holy Mother!
Marina's questions distracted her.
Then Branca helped to dress her, with the seamstress, Judith,
as a handmaiden.
Something blue, for luck.
More blue, there's never enough.
The blue shoes you asked for.
More blue! Lots of blue for luck.
Carlos asked that the ceremony
should take place in Abraham's Vale.
Mr Cardeano accepted,
on condition that afterwards they went to Romesal.
In order that you may be husband and wife...
bound in holy matrimony, for ever after.
Marriage is the deliberate convergence of two people
who decide to unite, in body and in soul,
in a single destiny, whatever it may be.
Nelson, ex-seminarist for lack of vocation,
twice married, was in love with Ema.
He burst into tears when he heard she was married
and collapsed on to a chair, as if he was about to die.
He recalled the days when he held Branca in his arms
in the conservatory full of begonias,
where a couple of parrots
chortled at the lovers'sighs.
Carlos, you must have considered your decision.
Do you willingly take as your lawful wedded wife
Ema here?
I do.
Ema, you must have considered your decision.
Do you willingly take as your lawful wedded husband
Carlos here?
I do.
Ema, take this ring
as a sign of my love and my faithfulness.
In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
Carlos, take this ring
as a sign of my love and my faithfulness.
In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
At Romesal, at dusk on the wedding day,
a nightingale trilled so brilliantly,
it delighted whoever was listening.
From the windows of Romesal you could see Abraham's Vale,
land of the Paiva, the Luminares and the Semblano clans.
Ema couldn't persuade Branca to leave,
because she wanted to marry her policeman
and Marina refused too, because she was engaged.
Only Ritinha, the dumb one, came to Abraham's Vale.
Yes, yes... this is Dr Paiva's.
No, he's not in.
He'll be here at dinner time.
You're welcome.
Carlos was always out on calls.
Ema felt abandoned,
and because of emergencies,
Carlos insisted on separate rooms so his wife's sleep wasn't disturbed.
Ritinha, though dumb, was a perfect spy.
Her lack of certain faculties turned into a wonderful sixth sense.
Nothing escaped her.
She was doglike in her devotion.
Ema loved her dearly.
She trusted her with everything,
keys, wine, jewels and letters.
Are you coming with us?
No, I'll stay here for a bit.
Come on, Ema.
No, I like it here.
Be like that, we're off.
When Carlos'sisters
said she'd lost a handkerchief,
Ritinha left without a word.
Anyway Carlos didn't see the point, she couldn't answer the phone.
But Ema was hurt, she missed Ritinha,
she'd looked after her, played with her,
she was a last link with Romesal
and the wide corridors and hallways
of her childhood.
Intending to put an end to Ema's ill-humour,
Carlos took her the next Sunday to the mess in Caverneira,
in the house of the Semblanos, a very respected clan in that area.
The Holy Gospel of Our Lord Jesus Christ,
according to St. Luke.
Glory be to thee, O Lord.
At that time, Jesus said to his disciples:
'And there will be signs in sun and moon and stars,'
'and upon the earth distress of nations'
'in perplexity at the roaring of the sea and the waves,'
'men fainting with fear'
'and with foreboding of what is coming on the world;'
'for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. '
'And then they will see the Son of man'
'coming in a cloud with power and great glory. '
'Now when these things begin to take place,'
'look up and raise your heads,'
'because your redemption is drawing near. '
This is the word of the Lord.
Thanks be to God.
Brothers, we are joyful to be here today
to celebrate the Eucharist.
We just listened to the word of God,
which was announced to us by the Holy Gospel of Jesus Christ
and refers to recent times.
In a few moments,
the Lord will be with us through the Sacrament,
a sign of His presence.
The time of the Advent has begun.
The Advent is a path of preparation
and hope for Christmas.
Christmas carries us through time and space to Bethlehem,
so that we can be present at the birth of Christ.
But the Advent also helps us to live
the reality of Christmas in our times.
So be it.
The Paiva girls thought Ema was frivolous.
Carlos understandably but shamefully inquired.
He found nothing wrong: Ema was pure as the stars.
Mr Cardeano was alone now
before the altar that held so many memories.
After his daughter's wedding,
he took to tears and to drink,
which made him even sadder.
He thought his daughter Ema knew little about men.
And somehow Carlos didn't seem the right husband.
Mr Cardeano remained with his mind fixed on Abraham's Vale.
Dumb Ritinha returned to Romesal.
Ema, coming from a house where she was queen.
Felt lost in Abraham's Vale.
It all began when Carlos brought her to the Jacas Ball,
invited by the Luminares,
who were keen to meet Ema, without committing themselves.
The rain had stopped and the moon shone.
Bright leaves and stars peeped through the branches,
giving the night an air of sublime compassion.
May I?
One doesn't expect to find people like you here, though I invited you.
Why not?
It's a ball like any other.
Do you know any other?
No, I said 'like any other'.
Aren't they all the same?
In films, they are.
Luminares wasn't listening.
If Ema learnt to dress, he thought,
she would create quite a stir.
Is something wrong?
How could it be, beside such beauty?
On the contrary!
I was just thinking how unsettling beauty is.
Look.
The romantic purity of the Moon
and an Angel, gentle as Cupid.
Look at this one.
It's the Sun, its erotic burning desire,
king of creation, symbol of love.
Cupid, an angel, adores him.
A lovely woman...
...sometimes hides in a pure and romantic expression
a burning desire.
This lady's face for instance.
May I present my friend,
owner of estate called Vesúvio and a great traveller,
Fernando Osório.
Dr Carlos' Paiva's wife.
An enormous pleasure.
Imagine meeting when the blues are playing.
The blues belong to my father's day, to the 20's.
They're back in fashion.
Shall we dance?
I'm no good.
I insist. Are you scared?
You've only yourself to blame.
Tell me... is that her? Ema?
I've just been introduced. Do you want to meet her?
No, thank you. Not till I must.
Are you coming?
I'd love to.
What happened?
It's nothing you've done.
She's a circus tiger
who wouldn't survive in the jungle.
Evil is for sermons, she doesn't know if it really exists.
Is she invulnerable?
Everyone loves her.
Even her enemies are friends.
He looks like the night nurse.
Carlos! Carlos!
I'm sorry, I didn't see who it was.
This is lucky, I want to introduce Dr Paiva's wife.
Simona, my wife.
Since we're introducing ourselves,
here I am at the service
of the lovely lady
our beloved doctor and friend Carlos Paiva
has chosen as his wife.
Do you know who I am?
I don't know myself.
They call me 'old Semblano'
and say I'm a philandering monkey.
I hate spiritual retreats for couples
and I'm afraid I'll fall from grace.
Old Semblano was full of himself, as usual.
The Jacas ball never happened again,
but it stuck in Ema's mind.
At home, in Abraham's Vale,
she inhaled the cigars Fernando Osório left behind,
and her belly heaved with brutal desire,
which she fooled
by sleeping with Carlos.
Were you in bed?
Don't you want the light off?
I can see you better.
You're so lovely!
Why have the light off?
Because it's more...
...romantic.
Come on.
Carlos realized Ema knew more about love
than he had thought.
It was him, Pedro Luminares,
who led her, almost by the hand, to Caverneira,
and introduced her to Maria Loreto and her husband Semblano,
before Carlos thought of it.
But Carlos went with them.
And what does Ema think of love?
I don't know what to say.
That's the best answer!
Carlos...
...hasn't he taught you?
Do you think it can be taught?
That's true, you either know or you don't.
Isn't that right, Dr Paiva?
Love is...
...an intimate thing.
Maria Loreto,
do you agree?
If your husband says so!
Intimate, but personal.
Very personal!
You say it's personal.
In your particular cases.
But mine happen to be different.
Of course, we're all different.
Men and women, for a start.
That's elementary.
I reckon hunting and love have much in common.
The hunter pursues his prey
and the prey attracts. The hunter aims
and love happens.
Are you saying women are like games?
Not at all Simona, it was a figure of speech.
For women, love's a question of talent.
Look at that statuette.
She's offering herself and he is quietly unexpected.
You can't tell when Love comes or goes.
He has wings, the night and the moon are favourable to him.
Love is liquid, like clouds.
When Psyche awakes, Love is already gone.
That's why I only like Love when it's there.
What did love mean?
For Ema, it was a necessity of social life.
What do you think, Carlos?
What do I think?
I live with you...
...and I drink to our love, Ema!
And also...
...to Mrs...
...and Mr Semblano.
She smiled. The toast seemed hypocritical,
unexpectedly witty and irrelevant.
Carlos was dependent on her as a worm is dependent on soil,
a far cry from the romantic attachment she'd given up hoping for.
But she was jealous of Maria Loreto.
Be quiet, you are leaden.
Don't talk of others in front of ladies.
'Ladies' is such an old-fashioned idea.
Do you wear a plumed hat?
- No. - Some people do.
Only Satan.
But how would you know?
I'm off.
Don't go!
Why not?
Satan would be afraid of you.
Fernando Osório was ruined
and so entitled to his fantasies.
Ruined, for him, meant gold up to his knees,
instead of swimming in it.
Thank you, Simona, that's just what I wanted.
Carlos realized Ema was about to do something rash.
He wanted to plan her rashness to fit his family's ambitions,
at least until the sex was less vindictive.
He offered her Pedro Luminares,
a robot, with one advantage:
He knew how to talk about love.
I've told Simona,
I'm a robot ahead of my time...
...far beyond sex.
Ema had the extraordinary power to make radiant desire
run like bush fire
over corpses of legendary virility,
stubborn virility.
Luminares wants to show us his power over this woman,
but he won't act.
Ema is a flame.
And so beautiful...
You're right, she's a flame.
Poor Dr Paiva, at the edge of the abyss.
I bet she moans, makes man and bed moan too!
Barrack-room talk!
Some of them don't moan even if the bed does.
I bet she makes Carlos groan.
During the day!
She's spendthrift, he has to watch his purse.
Yes...
Beauty is beyond price...
...and gain!
I've heard he wins more on the Stock Exchange...
...than by working on people's innards.
Are you happy, Ema?
Yes.
Why do you carry a book about?
Is it a shield against vice or desire?
I've never thought that. Perhaps it is.
I love books.
I read wherever I can.
The house seemed enchanted,
even farmers said so.
Luminares was, after a fashion, a wise man
with an inclination to lethargy.
Ema felt belittled.
It's there to deceive.
Deceive? That's something women do, not men.
Am I deceiving you?
I think in your case we have what's called
'ascension fever'.
You have no wings nor any special powers.
And you don't want to jump off the fifth floor.
Because you believe in gravity.
In short,
you need a psychiatrist or a lover.
You're wrong.
It's stupid to think problems can be solved
by a fall or a cold shower.
Nothing's that simple.
How can you tell if life hangs by a thread?
What do you tell a woman in that case?
Man has several ways of approaching life.
Art, war, business.
Women have no choice.
Men can't understand them, is that it?
Are you happy, Ema?
You've already asked.
It's cold. Let's go.
So here we are, two homogenous couples.
What do you mean? Marriage is not a mayonnaise.
It's time we went Carlos. Goodbye.
Excuse me. Goodbye.
Carlos can't get used to Ema's wish
that they sleep separately.
What's the reason?
It's healthier and so as not to wake up
when he comes home late.
Ema doesn't really love Carlos.
But Carlos loves her and misses her,
the naked skin, the intimacy of a caress made childish by sleep.
But Ema, not he, will end up...
...killing herself?
Yes, I think that's how it'll end.
Pregnant?
Pregnant? How do you know?
Ritinha told me.
The washerwoman? She left ages ago.
Ema visits her father and Ritinha's back there.
Ritinha's a witch.
A witch and indiscreet.
It's a crown of stars above my head.
They say 'verandah'is a celtic word meaning fence,
which is as may be.
No one knows why verandahs were fashionable.
Like a belly, verandahs are a display of authority
and affected desire,
which seduces and shows a person's status.
It invites an appraising gaze which leads to sin,
casting its shade over virginity,
being a place of leisure,
more sensual than sinful.
The verandah of Abraham's Vale was put to new use.
Ema lived there, new-born daughters in her arms.
You're beautiful!
Don't be silly!
Lola was too tall. She seemed backward.
Luisona was prettier and sweeter
and she never ever cried.
Ema didn't know what was wrong with Luisona.
Since her own mother had given birth painlessly.
Nothing affected or hurt her,
neither fire nor steel.
Run along inside!
Are you going to Vesúvio?
Yes, I need to rest a few days.
Your sisters run everything perfectly,
you've your daughters' company.
It's hardly the same.
I'll only be a few days.
Alright.
Go then.
Out of provocation not desire,
Ema began her affair with Osório.
Anyone would have done.
She furthered this story, in which a sentence
was passed in advance upon the lover.
Yes, I'm going to Vesúvio.
Almost immediately, Ema accepted Osório's advances.
He was rich, involved in politics,
divorced, three sons in college.
Look uncle, the boss is taking it easy.
What about you? Are you chasing them?
Or aren't you in that league?
He's rich. If I had money, you'd see!
What would I see?
How they'd fall for me.
You're just a big mouth.
Women need special attention.
You're too young to know about that.
I see!
I know more than you think.
It's an art, Fortunato.
I'm here to tell you that that woman...
...is the kind that makes men wild.
And are you...?
Behave yourself!
And anyway...
Only joking!
Hang on, wait for me!
Nearby...
... stood a jetty against which the water beat with a sinister sound.
Two rotten planks might easily break and cause an accident.
Ema was warned.
It was said La Bandi came to Vesúvio as Caruso went to Manaus.
Ema listened to Osório's stories
and fell into a respectful daydream,
fondly remembering Romesal.
She knew that, as a European gentleman, Osório despised
people who did not know their place.
If I may discuss opera,
since I have the honour of meeting a star of the 'Bel Canto',
I have to say it makes me sad
everything is so vulgar nowadays.
There's no opera left.
Who are these two guests?
The fat one is Baltazar, an opera singer
whom Osório has invited to impress Ema.
The other, Osório's friend Pedro Dossem,
claims kinship with St Anthony of Lisbon
on the basis that a Paduan chronicler,
Giulielmo Ongarello, said in 1441
that Doson was Anthony's surname.
You think opera is dead.
Not at all.
But we live in an era when everything is vanishing.
Love, for example, let's talk about love.
Love is not lyrical any more.
The pleasures of hypocrisy surpass those of the bedroom.
Really?
Dearest Ema...
...there's no sensitivity in a historical cycle which ends in
the battle of Alcácer-Quibir, the siege of Leningrad,
Trafalgar and Waterloo,
or the 25th April revolution.
You're going too far.
Too far?
The new institutions
and social mobility have banished dreams,
be they romantic or practical.
Yes sir, affection and feelings have vanished,
human gifts which absorbed our baser instincts.
'Bel Canto' is no longer appreciated
and 'Bel Canto' is pure sentiment.
That's true.
See how the revolution of 1974
marked the end of elegant feudal customs,
replacing them with party politics.
Agreed.
This egalitarianism is demagoguery
and it is all-powerful.
People wallow in disappointment.
Here and in the colonies.
There is a jeans bourgeoisie
with bursts of righteousness against speculation.
People's attitude to money has changed,
and to illness, and to sex.
Really? Is sex different now?
I think it is, Ema.
More freedom you mean?
More freedom and less feeling.
More sex, no love, no affection.
More homosexuals, despite AIDS.
No more homosexuals nowadays.
Are you defending them?
Neither defending nor blaming.
Just stating facts.
Not allowing?
I don't allow homosexuality because I can't allow anything...
...how shall I put it...
...unnatural.
That's a relief!
Everything can be explained.
Perhaps homosexuality
is leftover...
...androgyny.
Androgyny? What's that?
It's hard to explain.
I mean a trace of an androgynous being,
a unique, primeval creature
who exploded violently
into male and female parts.
You're delirious! Or you're making fun of us.
It's the truth, I'm serious.
There are indications.
Why else has a man got nipples?
They are totally useless except as...
...relics of androgyny.
Seems very complicated to me.
I don't know how we got on to this subject.
I meant to talk about something else.
What?
Life isn't about being happy any more
or distress or wrestling with fate.
What's life for then?
Life is about...
Yes, what is life about?
It's about life...
That's a funny answer.
...or about not living.
Life is about being a statistic.
That's the bottom line.
Don't you agree?
Do you want to disagree?
There's your answer.
An excellent, most worthy reply!
Ema gave herself up to a kind of disease
deep in her innermost being.
She thought permissiveness would help.
She knew Osório was trying to impress her.
So was Pedro Luminares with his fine words,
with their Faustian ring.
How wonderful!
What a wonderful view from Vesúvio!
It reminds me of the volcano that shattered Pompeii.
Correct, my friend.
Anything else sir?
No, that's all.
Very good sir.
He's like a Russian spy.
You soiled that soul,
my soul's delight.
You had my trust and your foul behaviour
has besmirched the Universe for me.
Traitor!
Those are your thanks for friendship.
Lost sweetness,
the memory of a kiss.