Szindbád, bon voyage! Page #4

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and they should be

given every chance

to carry out

this charitable act.

Don't talk about that, Sindbad!

We know each other for a long time.

You're an ugly, grey-haired,

puffy-faced, corrupt man.

I can no longer entrust

my honour to you.

I haven't any memories.

I've always been

a good woman,

the best mother

and a faithful wife.

As it is written

in obituaries.

Some kind of fancy is missing

from my soul.

I'd like to keep a name

in my memories.

It always starts like this.

I'm not starting anything.

It always starts like this.

I'm only sad

that no one will ever whisper

sweet lies into my ears.

Please, sir, lie to me.

To amuse you I could invent

a romantic adventure

about a hysterical princess,

who fell in love with me

at first sight.

But instead I'll tell you this:

Women were good to me,

because they never loved me.

No one?

No one was curious to know

what I wore under my coat.

Yet you must be

an interesting man.

Why didn't women love you?

Because I didn't lie to them.

I clenched my teeth

and the words "I love you"

have never left my lips.

I dreamt about keys last night.

In the book of dreams

Monday means pleasure.

I wonder whether they still drink

strawberry brandy in the Blue Barrel?

Forget-me-nots?

Well, what do you want to say?

I want to die.

And I will die soon.

You'd make a pretty bride

in the world beyond.

Please sir,

would you see me home?

God bless you!

And thank you for walking me home!

Lovely child,

you wouldn't regret loving me.

Please,

wait in front of the house!

I'll throw you a flower

from my window

when I got to my room.

You seem to be a good boy.

Are you there, sir?

You should spare

those two old horses.

What are you looking for

in Cat Street?

You.

You're probably after some girl.

I don't like it when you deceive me

in front of my very eyes.

I was looking for you.

I haven't seen you for ages.

Maybe you've not forgotten me.

I don't forget that easily.

Though I haven't had

the pleasure for three years.

You know, Sindbad,

I no longer... I love you

like a forsaken,

forgotten mistress.

But like a mother.

And I know you so well

as if I had born you.

Remember,

ten years ago

you were ill and could only fall asleep

if I stroked your back.

You promised then

to take me to the circus.

But you never took me.

And I don't go anywhere

with anyone,

but you.

No reproaches, Majmunka!

You went to the circus

quite a lot as a girl.

It's almost the same

as the music hall.

Yes, but the horses!

The horses, the horses...

We've seen enough farces,

Majmunka.

Let me tell you this!

In spring,

when women's handkerchiefs

are full of the germs of love,

we'll go up to the hills together!

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