Even before the sun had risen,
Antonia knew that her days were numbered.
She knew more than that, she knew that this would be her last day.
Not that she felt unwell.
But unlike others,
Antonia knew when enough was enough.
She would call her loved ones to her bedside,
inform them of her imminent death,
close her eyes and die.
Farmer Bas would make her coffin himself.
Russian Olga would lay her out with her customary discretion.
There would be nothing to be ashamed of.
And her great-granddaughter would not leave her deathbed,
since she wanted to know exactly how the miracle of death
would embrace her beloved great-grandmother.
Lt's time to die.
She got out of bed to begin the last day of her life.
ANTONIA'S LINE
A film by Marleen Gorris
IS this it?
This is it.
Don't think much of it.
Nor did I when I left 20 years ago.
It hasn't changed.
This village may not be much, but at least it's quiet.
Were you born here?
Soon after the war, Antonia returned to bury her mother.
But she was still very much alive.
Wicked, wicked man.
Dirtbag!
Shameless thieves!
Rotten swine!
Just so as you know I know!
You think I can't see it? You think I'm blind?
That I don't know you're taking them in the alley behind the church?
- You godforsaken rat! - Mad as a hatter.
But difficult. Always has been.
You sanctimonious filth!
Dirtbag!
But she's got a point. Father was a dirty old man.
Used to feel them up round the clock. He's been dead for 3O years.
Mother, I've come back. How about that!
I came as quick as I could.
This is my daughter, Danielle.
Out of my sight, spawn of Satan!
You two-faced, ruthless,
drunken, degenerate adulterer!
You wicked, wicked man!
Antonia?
Olga!
Antonia?
Yes, Mother?
Late as usual.
Like your father.
Amen.
Rest in peace, Mother.
Though that's extremely unlikely.
This is Chiel, the smith. I used to go out with him.
Hey there, Chiel!
He's grown old.
That's Crooked Finger's house.
He's an old friend.
I wonder how he made it through the war.
That's Mad Madonna.
She bays at the full moon.
She drives the Protestant wild.
He'd rather be on top, in more ways than one.
Come on.
That's Olga the Russian's café.
Midwife and undertaker.
That wall's the Saturday night urinal.
The stench on Sunday morning could bend nails.
Ah, the nuns!
They haven't gone extinct yet.
It's all a load of rubbish really. But that's the way things are here.
So, the prodigal daughter's come back.
Clever of you to notice.
Or are you not only drunk, but blind as well?
Olga, three beers.
Still as mean and ugly as before.
But Christ, what a well-stacked daughter you've got.
Here, my two sons.
Thoroughbred stallions both of them, ready to be put out to stud.
Just right for this girl of yours, eh?
Olga, a gin please.
Give the lady a drink, Olga.
My daughter's up for offer too, going for a song.
She may not be the smartest,
but she's strong as a sow in farrow.
Her trousseau's been ready for years.
Deedee, come here!
For Christ's sake, come here! I told you to come!
Have you gone deaf as well?
Let them have a look at you.
A solid wench. Have a look at her.
Any takers?
That's enough.
Where do you think you're going?
Drink up and shut your ugly face!
Shuffle, shuffle.
Deal, deal.
What did I get? Let's see.
And so Antonia and her daughter, Danielle, returned to the cradle of their ancestors.
The two women settled into the pink house
and had so little to do with the village that the villagers eventually accepted them.
Just as they did a bad harvest, a deformed child,
or the self evident, if unlikely, omnipresence of God.
One man was happy with Antonia's return.
Since the war ended, Crooked Finger refused to leave his house.
So Antonia visited him instead, and she took Danielle with her.
Remember walking in the woods together?
Those woods hold lots of memories of us.
- How's your wife doing? - Fine.
Fine.
Get a move on!
Come back, you ungrateful bastard!
You miserable swine! Come back!
Although the mind of Loony Lips usually worked more slowly than most,
it did not take him long to decide to follow Antonia.
Farmer Bas was a newcomer.
He 'D only lived in the village for 20 years.
This complicated his dealings with the other farmers.
But he had no trouble at all with Antonia.
Not bad for a curate!
Retarded Deedee lived with her mother, father and two brothers on a farm.
The men's loud voices rode roughshod over the women's silence.
Ma, where the hell are my Sunday shoes?
Have you seen my shoes?
Very generously proportioned was Cora.
Before Mass on Sunday she got tipsy on her own bathtub gin.
Pushing her dung cart and roaring with laughter,
she wove in and out of the churchgoers.
Bertie's buried here.
His father was in the cloth trade.
Crooked Finger, Bertie and I were best friends.
Bertie was in the resistance, hid a Jewish family in the attic.
He was betrayed to the Germans and they were all shot.
And guess who was too scared to give him the Last Rites?
Anyone at home?
I...
I wanted to have a word.
What about?
About you and me.
About marriage.
I was thinking...
You're a widow and my wife is dead.
You are a good-looking woman...
My sons need a mother.
But I don't need your sons.
You don't?
No.
Don't you need a husband?
What for?
You can come round from time to time.
There's the odd job we can't do ourselves
and I'd be grateful if you'd lend a hand.
And what do I get in return?
A cup of coffee, fresh eggs, vegetables.
I've got all that myself.
Well...
I'll think about it.
Boys, behave yourselves!
Good?
Watch it!
Farmer Bas became a regular visitor.
Antonia gave him her affection,
but for the moment no more than that.
- I've come to get our saw. - Lt's in the barn. I'll get it.
Don't bother. I'll go.
Goddamn.
Goddamn!
Hush now. Hush.
I'll bake you a lovely cake...
Hold Still!
And soon you'll have a nice bath.
Tomorrow we'll buy you new glasses.
As usual, the villagers knew everything.
But they were as silent as the grave that had nearly been filled.
Pitte healed from his wounds and disappeared.
No one knew where to.
“Like seeks like,” Antonia said.
And Deedee and Loony Lips found each other.
Has Crooked Finger seen this?
No.
He's only interested in books.
This isn't any good.
I've got such a lot to learn.
So Danielle went to learn in the big city. And she was happy.
Days turned into weeks, then into years.
Antonia planted, Danielle painted,
the fields turned green, then brown again.
Danielle, pull it.
I want a baby.
Whatever gave you that idea?
A baby?
How about a husband to go with it?
No, I don't think so.
Don't look for that here in the village. It would only mean trouble.
The farmers here only breed sons,
and they can't see further than the back end of a cow.
Take deep breaths!
Through your nose!
In a few months we'll go to the city.
And there we'll find you a father.
What's this?
Seems like a house for fallen women.
I doubt if these'll ever get up again. Let's go!
Come in. Have a seat.
Have a seat.
Nothing beats being pregnant.
This is my second, and believe me,
it's not the copulation or the kids that come out of it
but the carrying and giving birth that makes it worthwhile.
It's the most beautiful thing on earth!
We urgently need the services...
- ...of a man. - A man! Who doesn't?
Just to get me pregnant.
I don't want him into the bargain. A child is all I want.
He doesn't have to know about it.
What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve about.
In that case, I'm with you.
Nice bike.
An Adonis!
What does he do for a living?
Good breeding?
He's family!
Once more.
Come on!
Did you see stars?
Did I have to?
It helps.
It's not essential.
- I'm famished! - That's a good sign.
We're a fertile family.
Letta, it was a real pleasure. You know where to find me if you want me.
corruption that infects us all.
Of such, Peter, the rock upon whom the Church is built, warns:
“Them that walk after the flesh in the lust of uncleanness and despise government.”
The kingdom of the Jews fell through Jezebel and her cursed daughter.
More the shame that these are women!
They should set an example
of humility and obedience,
and teach their daughters chastity.
Let them repent
lest they be cast into hellfire at the day of judgment!
- Farmer Bas came to the conclusion...
Blackmail.
Jesus, Mary, Joseph!
and Our Lord said unto them:
“He that is without sin among you let him first cast a stone at her.”
And just as her accusers left, convicted by their own consciences,
so we must think of our own transgressions before condemning others.
Let us also remember that salvation came into the world through a woman.
And that no one seeks her protection or help in vain.
Nor should we forget the lesson read on the feast day of a holy woman:
“She openeth her mouth with wisdom,
in her tongue is the law of kindness.
She looketh well to the ways of her household,
and eateth not the bread of idleness.”
Danielle gave birth to a daughter, and called her Therese.
And so the years passed.
Antonia and Danielle took Thérèse on their visits to Crooked Finger.
It seemed that Therese understood Crooked Finger better than Danielle ever did.
Imagine moving to another time scale,
so that a life-span of 8O years would be over in 29 days,
or last 80,000 years.
- Time... - But what about time?
Did we invent time?
We made it up.
Perhaps ants live in their time...
- And crickets... - And bees...
- And butterflies... - And trees...
And stars...
And the moon!
Finger, you smell!
That, my dear, is the smell of time past.
And Finger and Therese enfolded each other in their hearts.
Thwarted in love by the dogmas of their different faiths,
the Protestant remained as far from his Madonna as the moon she howled at.
The Curate left the church because,
as he put it, he could not reconcile his enjoyment of life
with the Church's enjoyment of death.
I'm free! I'm free!
Some years ago you asked for my hand.
You still can't have my hand. But you can have the rest.
After all these chaste years I've got the urge again.
Let's say once a week?
Perhaps more often.
From time to time...
should the need arise.
If the need arises, we must give that serious consideration.
And not in my house or yours.
That's much too hectic for people of our age.
The seasons repeated themselves. Time gave birth again and again,
and with complete contentment produced nothing except itself.
Letta! Pregnant again?
What number's this one?
I have nowhere else to go.
Children of the future, remember that I did my best. Come on in.
This is Simon, my eldest. Take off your cap!
And this is Arletta.
Is that...
That's my daughter Thérèse.
Poppet
Haven't I grown?
Spitting image of her dad!
How is my father?
Fine! He's married to a horribly ugly girl
who's got a heart of gold, buckets of common sense and a brewery.
He's very happy.
- Who's that? - The Curate.
He has left the Church.
God bless you, ma'am!
I should hope so too.
The Curate lovingly knocked her up every year,
and they lived happily ever after.
- How long have you been able to do sums? - Since I was three.
- Who taught you? - I taught myself.
Crooked Finger helped a bit.
How much is 147 times 48?
7056, of course.
Square root is 84.
The square is 49,787,136.
Danielle, I regret to have to tell you your daughter isn't normal.
- I'm a child prodigy. - I fear you are.
This is Lara Anderson, Therese's teacher.
- The First Grade's teacher, I mean. - She has 3O children, a demanding task.
Quite.
Therese is far in advance of the others.
It creates problems, she needs a lot of attention.
I suggest that you and I, and possibly others
take responsibility and give Therese extra tuition
besides her normal lessons, which I shall adapt to her needs.
What subjects are you good in?
All the colors of the spectrum. She knows everything about painting.
She's not a bad carpenter, either.
Crooked Finger will help. He knows more than is good for him.
Philosophy, poetry, comparative religion.
Logic. The exact sciences.
I suggest two to three hours extra a day.
Is that suitable?
To begin with.
What time is she coming?
Didn't she say after dinner?
That's now!
Perhaps she eats late.
Perhaps she doesn't want to come.
Was it today she said she'd come?
Does she drink coffee or tea?
How should I know? Stand still or sit down!
Hello, Thérèse.
- Hello. - Hello.
Reverend Mother says that God created everything.
But she won't ask herself who created God.
The tragedy of those who believe in a God is that their faith rules their intellect.
In my experience, religions often cause death and destruction.
But we were discussing Plato.
Isn't it terrible that nothing exists?
That's why there's so much.
Have you ever eaten an artichoke? Shall I tell you how?
An artichoke is thick and round and green.
The leaves are fleshy and soft.
First, boil the artichoke in salted water.
Then, peel off the leaves, one by one, dip them in a vinaigrette sauce,
then scrape off the tender flesh with your teeth until you reach the heart.
The heart?
Yes, the heart.
- And what do I do with the heart? - You savor it,
bit by bit, with your eyes closed. Lt's a delicacy.
The whole thing is a delicacy.
Yes, all of it is a delicacy.
Am I going to have my lesson or not?
And then love burst out everywhere.
I can't sleep!
That year Mad Madonna died of a broken heart.
The Protestant speedily followed her.
“Force of habit,” said the villagers.
THEY DID NOT SHARE A TABLE
THEY DID NOT SHARE A BED
NOW THEY SIMPLY SHARE A GRAVE
Farmer Dean fell from the combine harvester and broke his neck.
After nearly 15 years missing without a trace,
Pitte suddenly walked through the door and claimed his share of the inheritance.
Money, money, money.
Look who's here!
Ladies...
- Who's that? - The devil. Open the door.
Therese grew up with Simon, Letta's eldest son.
He loved Thérèse, and would continue to do so all his life.
Simon's in love!
Therese soon discovered that thought needed more than just brains.
Her love of music and mathematics provided for the needs of heart and head.
She limited herself to those subjects, and became an authority in both.
Your essay has undeniable merits,
but it is imperative
that you realize the importance of following the assignment.
I specifically stipulated two pages maximum.
You wrote five. So it is insufficient.
In our discipline it is essential, an absolute necessity...
“Mastery reveals itself in limitation.”
Since you can't distinguish quality from quantity,
I can only come to the conclusion that you are incompetent.
Up with the truth!
Up with the revolution!
UP yours.
In those enlightened times Therese was raped.
By Pitte.
Drinks are on me!
Beer for everyone.
You got something to celebrate?
Are you all right now?
Are you sure?
Sleep well.
He isn't here.
Stand up!
Outside. And quickly.
Stop!
- Be reasonable. - No.
Shut your mouth.
If you move, I'll shoot.
If I had it in me to kill someone, I would kill you.
Instead, I'll curse you.
And my curse will haunt you to the end of your days.
Silence!
If you ever return,
my curse will savage you to death.
If you ever return, my hate will destroy you.
Your bones will break, your teeth will split,
your tongue will erupt with pus.
If you ever return, the water you drink will poison you,
the food you eat will rot in your gut,
the air you breathe will burn in your lungs.
You will beg in vain to be released from the torment that is your punishment
for raping a child.
Help me.
Janne was now lord and master. And he liked his new role.
The village buzzed with rumors, but no one pointed an accusing finger.
They were glad to be rid of the dearly departed.
They're going to perform my composition.
Are you glad?
Suppose so.
The world is a hell,
inhabited by tormented souls and demons.
Schopenhauer?
The proverb is wrong. Time does not heal all wounds.
It merely softens the pain, and blurs memories.
The years passed.
Therese reached the age of 20.
We can assume that the singular chain complex of the empty set equals zero.
With theorem 5.8 this implies that the n-th homology group
is the same as the n-th relative homology group,
if we take subspace as the empty set.
Now we can construct a functor from the category... from the category of Top 2
to the category of chain complexes.
Define the functor S* as follows:
S* sends ordered Xe. A to the singular chain complex
Of the space Xe divided by the complex of A.
She experimented with a few intellectuals, but found them Wanting.
Lt's our neo-capitalistic society
that reduces the political content of socialist alternatives
to non-material adjustments of formal behavior.
Humanity is an intersection of relationships,
which is the initial premise.
Relationships are disturbed,
because society itself makes healthy relationships impossible.
In a male/female dialogue, property becomes a basic drive
whose survival value only exists because society guarantees it.
Their self-indulgent blather insulted Thérèse's intelligence.
Nor was she compensated physically.
What did I do? What did I do?
And Thérèse, who was used to the best,
refused to put up with this.
Simon, Letta's eldest son, was not Therese's intellectual equal.
But their childhood friendship ripened into love and this contented her.
Will you marry me?
I love you Simon, but marriage would be a mistake.
I can't give you enough attention.
But we make such good love.
That's why.
I think I'm pregnant.
Pregnant?
Do you want it?
- Of course she wants it! - Of course she doesn't.
- Sure she does. - She doesn't.
- Of course she wants it. - Of course she doesn't.
- She does. - Why?
Why not?
- Of course not. - She does!
- She doesn't! - She does!
- No. - Yes.
Well?
I'll have to give this serious thought.
Have you no pity for this child?
Wouldn't you rather save it from the misery of life?
Or at least not burden yourself with the cold-blooded crime of giving it life?
This is not time for Schopenhauer. This is important.
I don't know how you can do it, bring another being into this world...
this rotten world...
Therese and Simon had a daughter, and called her Sarah.
What a lovely child.
And a redhead of course. Just like her father.
His father had red hair too. It runs in the family.
Look at her. What a lovely child.
Can I hold her?
You look so nice.
- She looks like her father. - No, her mother.
What a precious child.
Therese's reception of her baby left a little bit to be desired.
But Simon explained why.
I regret to have to tell you, Sarah, but your mother isn't normal.
Time flowed.
Season followed season,
caught up with and leapt over one another,
as if wanting to bring an end to the everlasting dance of birth and death.
Finger, this is for you.
You thought we'd forgotten, didn't you?
Now you can start on Sarah.
We can read Nietzsche together.
Finger, why do you never go out?
“The best thing of all is not to be born.
Not to be. To be nothing.”
- “The next best thing... - Stop it, Finger!
is to die.”
Look at me!
- Very nice, darling. - No hands!
What happened? Did you fall?
Let me have a look.
Come inside for a bit.
There's iodine in the cabinet.
Daddy will take care of you.
Look! Read what I've written!
But Deedee isn't dead yet.
That's why. So she can read it now.
Do you want to read this?
It's for you.
“Poem for Deedee, dead and gone. Deedee is a gray dove, old and lovely.
I'm glad she isn't dead.
Because when she dies I know I'll miss her a lot.
Because after Great-gran, Mom, Lara and my Gran,
Deedee is the dearest woman in the whole village,
in the whole province, in the whole country,
and in the whole universe.
That's what Deedee is now she's not yet dead.”
Lovely! Lovely!
I'm going to write some more, Great-gran.
Almost as if Sarah's poem had given Death the idea,
suddenly a lot of villagers died.
Letta had given birth to 12 children with the greatest of ease.
The thirteenth was fatal.
Damn it! I did so want to continue.
The Curate left for the city with his 12 disciples,
and became a social worker.
Janne received a well-aimed kick from a much maltreated cow.
Loony Lips died in a tractor accident.
And Deedee was inconsolable.
And still the tragedies were not over.
My dearest Thérèse,
It is absurd to believe that the constant pain afflicting us
is there purely by chance.
On the contrary.
Misery is the norm, not the exception.
Who can I blame for our existence?
Not the accident of the sun which gives us life.
I accuse myself,
since L don't believe in God or a hereafter.
If I did, I could delude myself that life promises a heavenly dessert
after an indigestible main course.
I have never been able to accept the common misconception
that everything one day will be better.
Nothing will be better.
At best or at worst, it will only be different.
I no longer want to think...
Above all else, no longer think...
Hush, now.
Hush.
After Crooked Finger's death, Thérèse was more alone than ever.
And Danielle felt limitless rage at her daughter's grief.
Where's Crooked Finger? Where's everybody?
Crooked Finger's body is burned
and his ashes scattered on the earth.
But...
Nothing dies forever.
Something always remains.
A little something from which new things grow.
So life begins, without knowing where it came from
or why it exists.
But Why?
Because life wants to live.
Isn't there a heaven either?
This is the only dance we dance.
Which of us is going to die first?
If all goes well and I have my way, I'll die first.
But I'm not intending to right now.
I'll tell you when the time comes.
Don't you worry.
I've still got years left in me.
Thank goodness!
Deedee, there's nothing for it. Life's got to be lived.
Time conquered Time.
Children were born, not as many as in Letta's day,
but there were enough to keep the world turning.
Sometimes Time crept slowly onwards like an exhausted tortoise.
Sometimes it tore through life,
hungry as a vulture in search of more and more.
Time didn't care about death or life,
decay or growth,
love, hate or jealousy.
It ignored all those things which are so important to us
that we forget Time.
Don't you feel well?
I'm going to die.
Now?
Today.
I promised I'd tell you.
How awful!
It's not easy.
Go and fetch them, please.
I won't die before you come back.
Even before the sun had risen, Antonia knew her days were numbered.
She knew more than that. She knew this would be her last day.
She would call her loved ones to her bedside,
inform them of her imminent death, close her eyes, and die.
Farmer Bas would make her coffin himself.
Russian Olga would lay her out with her customary discretion.
There would be nothing to be ashamed of.
That's Mad Madonna.
She's calling me to play outside.
Her daughter Danielle would stifle her grief,
which would later explode on canvas.
Her granddaughter Therese would not be able to prevent herself wondering
what was the exact volume of Antonia 'S last breath.
And I, Sarah, her great-granddaughter,
would not leave the deathbed of my beloved great-grandmother,
because I wanted to be with her at the moment when the miracle of death
parted Antonia's soul from her formidable body.
And as this long chronicle reaches its conclusion,
nothing has come to an end.