Aferim!

...And them as were still alive,

where'd they go?

Every which way,

like ghosts, on the fields...

By October, the town was deserted.

All you heard was:

"Step aside, it's the undertakers!"

They piled them together,

dead and plagued.

They tried to gather them

from every corner of town

but the dead stayed in the streets

'til the undertakers came.

Then they buried them in gardens.

And the fearsome death kept on 'til January.

- Poor souls...

- Great woe for the Christians!

- There was also thieves dressed as undertakers.

- How so?

With a red scarf 'round their necks.

They went around thieving,

taking money, silverware...

People fled them like death,

for they picked up the ill, too,

threw them into the wagon

and hit them with a bat over the head.

But worse still

were the living abandoned

with no cover

on the frozen fields.

All around you heard the screams

of the miserable souls

in the fields at Dudesti...

Ah, Christ's blood!

And we, the living,

thought ourselves dead

and wandered around, dazed.

WALLACHIA, 1835

Look, Satan's coming!

Oi, aunt, wait!

Good day to you, constable.

As good as your soul!

Are you scared?

No.

Good, the clear sky

fears not the lightning.

- Who are you?

- A good soul.

We'll see 'bout that.

Whence are you coming?

I'm of Geanache's,

Leana by name...

I think I know you.

Where are you going, you hag?

Taking my ol' man

to kiss the Virgin's icon.

He is dying

and will leave me alone.

- What ails him?

- The fever.

Go away! It could be the cholera!

You'll kill us.

You didn't ask.

You should have told us

yourself, stupid cow!

I ought to give your fat ass

a whipping...

F*** you, crone!

- Did you cross the forest?

- Nay, I was afraid.

- Are the Gypsy gold panners still in the forest?

- I don't know.

Where are you taking your man?

I hope to find a nun

to give him some herbs...

She'll give him some bell juice,

priest's song...

...and some spade oil.

Out of my sight!

- Filthy plague rat...

- Barefoot hag...

- We have business with the abbot.

- What business?

A secret from boyar Candescu.

Father Superior!

The poor prays more than the rich,

'cause he has time.

Lord be with us!

Good day, bright lord.

The constable is here

for some enquiries.

If you know anything, speak up.

- How many souls here?

- Thirty souls. Ten died...

- Who's Carfin's sister?

- Me, bright lord.

- Where's he off to, you crow?

- I don't know.

Haven't seen him since I was sold

to the monastery here...

- You don't know, eh?!

- I don't!

- Tell him!

- Stay out of it, that's my craft.

- Crow, what's your name?

- Pena.

- Want to taste this whip?

- Sure I don't.

Where is he, filthy whore?

Tell me, or

I'll whip all you slaves to death!

- Where is he?

- We don't know nothing, sir.

- I'll give you a silver coin.

- We don't know.

The monks beats us all the time,

but we don't know.

- Say what?

- Said we don't know!

He went to the gold panners.

- How do you know?

- He told me when we were sowing.

Said there's more freedom there.

- Fine.

- Merciful lord, the coin!

F*** off, crows!

You'll get the coin when I find him.

Back to work, crows!

- Gypsies, can't change them...

- Don't we know it?!

Our own good brandy.

Enjoy it.

- Worthy of the Wedding at Cana!

- Our thanks, Father.

God be with you.

- How 'bout a riddle?

- Let's hear it.

"Lifeless out of life,

life out of lifeless."

Doomsday...

No.

You say it, Ionita.

The egg,

for the hen lays it lifeless,

and when it hatches,

it comes to life.

The chicken!

Go with the Lord.

I'm getting lame...

Father, I'm cold.

If you caught

that fever, you're f***ed.

Cholera morbus,

as the big doctors say...

You're such a waste of bread!

How's he going to be an officer?

If you slap him,

he'll die of grief.

- Ain't that you?

- No, t'aint.

Watch your mouth.

Honour thy mother and father,

as the Gospel says,

for a father weighs more

than twelve children...

Sure I honour you.

Stab the enemy like a man!

This is a sword from Ianina,

show some respect!

Not bad, the priest's brandy!

Cures any sickness.

- Try some.

- Don't want to.

Drink like a man!

You don't taste good brandy,

you down it.

Crush those Russians!

Look at all those lazy crows.

Where are you going?

Get him, Ionita!

Stop or I shoot!

Carfin, you f***ing bastard!

I didn't steal nothing, bright lord.

Back off, crows!

He didn't do nothin'!

Don't kill him!

Spare him his life!

Stay out, or I'll kill you too!

- Is he from your camp?

- He's our Caldasin.

- Why'd you run?

- For fear, bright lord.

- Can you read?

- I can't.

Here!

Don't drop it.

"...to you, lawkeeper Costandin sin Gheorghe,

this letter gives all power

to catch the Gypsy slave Carfin Pandoleon:

tall of stature, dark of face,

who also speaks the Gypsy language.

This Gypsy fled

from boyar Iordache Candescu

and stole money from a box.

Should you not bring said slave,

we shall put you in chains

and bring upon you great punishment.

These we write..."

Enough.

- Nasty language these crows have.

- Yes.

Fit for devils, not people.

- He only passed by here.

- Where'd he go, then?

Towards Craiova, or to the next county...

When did he leave?

Before sunset, many days ago.

If you lie to me,

we'll spill your guts...

I ain't lying, bright lord.

Some bear-taming Gypsies passed by,

then your man.

My boys gave him some food

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