Fiorile AKA Wild Flower Page #2

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under your eyes.

This lieutenant is a good soldier.

He won't run away.

Let's go!

Look at him.

He could be one of our kids.

Hold it.

Where are you all going?

I have something to say.

I...

I mean...

That stuff, that gold will only

bring misery to whoever stole it.

Where are you all going?

Benedetti!

I'll hold them for you.

You stay here.

- Speak.

- Me?

What am I supposed to say?

No, no.

I say that I love this town too much.

Since the times of my grandfathers

and great-grandfathers,

it has always been a place

of honest people.

And here, right in this house...

I won't forget it.

There slept our host, Father Dante,

when they threw him out of Florence.

And now, did you hear him?

Tomorrow morning

something bad might happen.

I mean, certain stains

that you cannot wash away

even with a hundred waters.

Don't worry, my son.

Don't think we are cruel.

If you see doors and windows

being shut, it's not to insult you.

This way, he who

will have mended his ways

and who will bring back

the gold and the mule

won't be recognized by anyone.

Will he come, mister?

What?

Will he come?

He will come, won't he?

You were great, Duilio.

Don't close now, Corinna.

Give me a drink.

My legs are still trembling.

I am not used to speeches.

Wine?

Who are you?

That wine...

Two liters have really got me.

Nobody saw him.

Think about Elisabetta!

- Elisabetta has a fever.

- What?

Our daughter.

Go!

What are you looking at?

Don't you know that sh*t

brings good luck?

Who are you?

I won't look at you.

I don't want to see your face.

I don't want to know who you are.

Come, come.

Thank you, mister.

No, no, no!

Go away!

Go away!

What have they done to you?

What have they done to you?

Jean!

Duilio.

I am washing away the hangover.

Then I'll go there, and I'll kill him.

You are a good man, Duilio.

But you can also be a fool.

If you kill that Frenchman,

there will be shame for your daughter

and jail for you.

And ruin for your family.

If it's right that

the Frenchman dies...

I might be a coward,

but don't die.

Michel, my vest.

Elisabetta.

Thank you, my friend.

Jean, the mule, the mule!

Hey, Frenchman.

Would you like some ricotta?

Go away.

Go away!

Ready!

Set!

Fire!

"Dear Elisabetta...

I am taking advantage of the light

of the sunset to write you a letter.

Maybe later, in the dark of the night,

it might happen

that I will scream and cry,

but I hope I won't.

But I can't understand death.

The first instant I saw you...

...I loved you.

It happens sometimes,

and it happened to us.

I would have liked to tell you

about my sudden love for freedom,

which took me as far as here,

in your Tuscany.

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