Calle Mayor: Juan Antonio Bardem 1956 Page #3

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We're finished with this drunkard.

Don Luciano, Tonia.

- Come here, boy.

- Leave me.

What's the matter with you?

I want to go home.

- What about the newspaper?

- Right, the newspaper is my home.

Come, we're going.

Tell Baldie and the others.

- Will I see you tomorrow?

- How should I know?

I'm going with them.

Come on, stay.

It's Saturday.

No. My wife gets really annoying.

Luis! Want to take my seat?

I'll take care of it.

- So you're staying...

- Yes...

My wife knows that I have a job.

- Bye, pretty face.

- Bye.

- Coming or what?

- Yes, sir.

- Tomorrow, as usual.

- As usual.

Let's go.

- What about Federico?

- I don't know.

- Wasn't he with you?

- He's been waiting for half an hour.

- Why didn't you stay?

- Just because.

- Pretty, isn't it?

- Yes.

What are they doing?

It's a local tradition.

There's a saint's image,

and when people pass here

they leave a few coins.

Like an expiation, I think.

Or just in case, no?

Federico and me

are going that way.

See you tomorrow.

I'll see you on the way out, no?

- Yes.

- Goodbye, goodbye.

Bye.

The public works engineer

and his wife.

The Alcalde's nieces.

- Don't you play Lotto?

- No.

I play ten every week.

He's from the bank.

- Getting bored?

- No, no.

- There is paella today.

- What?

At the Lodge, I mean.

- Want the newspaper?

- No.

Pastry. Everyone buys pastry

on Sundays.

And hojaldres, made by the nuns.

Look, she's great. She's the

notary's daughter, and she's rich.

Don't you greet her? We met her

yesterday on Main Street.

- Isabel.

- Oh, yes.

Luis is right.

She's been around for too long.

That one will be a

bachelorette forever.

No musical companies

ever come here.

Bye. One of those three priests

lives in our lodge.

Goodbye, Luisito.

She's his cousin.

A good catch.

Shall we?

You must eat fast.

You don't want to miss the train.

- Did you pack?

- Yes.

See this? Just one moment ago

the place was packed.

It's always like this

on Sundays.

All of a sudden,

it gets completely empty.

Goodbye.

He's a strange guy. He's a local

but he's always alone.

Do you think

Real Madrid will win?

There's no one around.

Silence, you would say.

Sometimes I remember

one poem or another.

Whose is this?

Sunday, silence. The silence of

three o'clock in the afternoon.

- Good afternoon.

- Good afternoon.

I came to wish

my friend a good trip.

The writer? He's very nice.

I didn't come here for no one.

I come here often.

Just because.

I like to watch the trains.

If you're staying...

Goodbye.

Oh, no. I don't want to

reach home late.

We'll go together,

if you don't mind.

Don't bother. Someone must

be waiting for you.

No. And even if there was...

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