- Didn't you dream of something? - No.
A way out, something to hold on to.
No, no. I didn't have time.
Of course, you wake up in the morning, the kids,
some to nursery, others to school...
And me, to work.
Sure, I've worked in Arrasate, in Bergara, in Donosti...
I had to make a living. And when you finish...
you still have housework to do.
I didn't have time to have dreams like that...
Things came out wrong.
He put up with her while she was ill.
He was worn out.
Now that she's well, he wants to get back with her.
But they're divorcing, the case is pending.
Was I supposed to speak while watching it?
No.
Wow...
It's a tornado.
All of them have a... how can I say...
a characteristic in common.
It focuses on the woman,
in her private life and in the workplace.
Those two aspects.
- Do you want to repeat something? - I've already done them.
I had that one marked, too, maybe we could record it.
What about this?
This is what happens in Chez Xina?
Yes, everything happens in the bar.
All the passages, yes.
And the thing about... Yes, this is about the abertzale.
Maybe we can record this.
And this? Maybe this, right?
OK.
Up to here, “abertzale...”
Yes, OK.
- That as well? - "At home and at midnight in the city."
- It's just the one before. - Yes, the part before.
Now the priests don't go into bars anymore.
Back then they had to convert us.
- Now they don't waste time on that. - Now they do it via the Internet.
This one, yes.
This one, love. A bit of love.
It's true we need a bit of love.
Yes, maybe up to here. Until the part about the abertzale.
The part about the abertzale priest as well?
Yes, all right.
A bit of love.
I'll start from here.
Love... just love.
It's a real story from the 80s
with a jukebox and everything...
Imagine, all that has gone now!
We were walking down the street
when an old man looked at us strangely
as if we were suspicious.
Those were hard times in Euskal Herria...
GAL assassins
fired shots in the bars with their faces uncovered.
We certainly didn't like those looks the old people gave us.
In the fifth week of our big love
we debated, we dug deep, we analysed the issue:
Why were the old people leaders in this society?
Good question.
We were intellectuals
we put forward issues, we reflected on them
and we took action on the streets.
By then, we had already examined seven issues.
Klara laid out the thesis in the first two days.
I did the antithesis on Wednesdays and Thursdays
and we finally drew up the summary on Fridays and Saturdays.
Like God, our day of rest was on Sunday.
On that day we kept quiet,
we buried ourselves like moles, or else we slept.
That week, we debated the following:
We said that old people were seizing work from young people
for fear of losing their class privilege.
Even though we had no wish to work at all,
we knew that more than two million people
were desperately searching for a job.
The old people were racist. Completely.
We also remarked that they were given
to reporting young people to the police for any reason.
Finally, the majority, or rather all of them,
voted right-wing,
preventing progress in this outdated society.
We decided to fight constantly
to break the iron bars of the prisons built by the old people
to undo their mechanisms of repression,
which are: one, violence disguised as respect,
and two, scorn hidden in paternalism.
We began writing hard-hitting pamphlets
without bearing in mind the consequences.
Otherwise, we would have been more careful.
Nevertheless, the typewriter didn't play along.
We left our passionate feelings for the next outrage.
Here.
Are you sure I have to read this?
- You were the one who wrote it. - Yes, yes.
I was very young when I wrote it. I wasn't aware.
Even now I'm not always, but...
I'm going to read it without recording...
"The pure and simple abertzale movement."
When I wrote this text, at that time
I didn't expect to reach 55.
That's why it's difficult.
What is the pure and simple abertzale movement?
We developed this topic...
in the third week of our extraordinary love.
If we acknowledge that the general abertzale system
is copied from the one created by the priests,
or that it is a true reflection of it,
we could say that it was invented in order to give
political and cultural continuity to our people.
On the path to becoming abertzale
you always ran into some watchful priest,
crouched behind the bramble bushes.
Through him you would achieve
the necessary revelation, grace, vigour and fire.
Impossible to get away from this framework.
As young writers, we also crossed those same highways.
But no sooner had we joined, than we abandoned them,
unfortunately for us.
As revenge,
we were pushed aside into the terrible solitude that marginalisation entails.
In the end, we said,
the abertzale mindset
was as moralising as those of the priests,
full of prohibitions, frustration...
and often, guilt.
For that reason, Klara and I didn't find a place in Basque society
to protect our pagan mysticism.
We didn't want to abandon our country.
Too many people had already taken the road to exile
in search of adventure or wealth, as the official historians used to say.
How many fled from the sacred authority of the father,
or from the overwhelming hysteria of the mother,
so that their sense of difference
wouldn't be crushed by the blows of society?
How many had left with the intention of living
a suitable life in the best way they could?
Klara and I, when we felt pessimistic at night,
considered with resignation sitting for some public exam...
and to flee like that, with no regrets, to some other city.
But no.
Our sweet love for the rain...
made us forget the attempts at domination by our coercive society.
Every afternoon,
when we walked the streets of the town
talking, sometimes singing or whistling,
we were free.
Even though Klara was marginalised
and I was classified as a second-rate writer
for my incorrect usage of Basque.
Free, free...
Overwhelmed by existential angst
we left the bar staggering...
before the owner closed our workplace.
Furious, we put on our tatty blue K-Ways.
If it weren't for the rain
it wouldn't be easy to be in this town.
It rained gently.
We loved the rain.
It rained gently.
We loved the rain.