The Cranes Are Flying Page #3

- Look, give me a break.

Why do you put pressure on him?

- Here's the alcohol.

- Have it diluted.

I got some port wine.

Drink it yourself.

We'll have a more robust drink.

Well, are we all here?

Let's sit down.

It's Veronika.

Aren't you going to welcome her,

friend?

At last!

Is Boris home?

We're from the factory.

Please, come in.

I thought it was the fiancee.

- We've come from the factory.

- What about the presents?

- Sorry. This one's yours.

- Yes... Thank you.

On behalf of the Factory Committee...

Comrade Boris, you must fight

to the last drop of your blood.

Smash the accursed fascists...

...and we, in the factory, will fulfil

and overfulfil our quotas.

We've heard all that before.

You'd better join us

and drink to my son, Boris.

Well, I suppose...

...life in this world of ours

is not yet...

...what we would like it to be.

Now you're going to war, Boris...

- Let's drink.

- To you.

What about Grandma?

We saw my brother off last night.

My mother was crying...

- What about you?

- I was too.

- On whose behalf, the committee's?

- I wasn't thinking about that.

There's no one to see off in our

family, we have 3 girls and Mom.

It's somewhat embarrassing...

I feel left out...

Yes, and when they come back,

you'll really envy us.

The trouble is, not all of them

will be coming back.

For those who don't,

a magnificent monument...

...with their names inscribed in gold.

Irina, don't just sit there.

Fill the glasses.

And you folks in the rear,

fulfil and overfulfil!

Now, Grandma, don't forget.

Mark, stay with Dad.

He'll be all right.

I'll see you off.

About face!

Platoon, forward march!

Take it, Grandma!

- Boris!

- Mamma!

- I won't see him again.

- I'm sorry, Mamma.

Drink it. You'll feel better.

- Where are you going?

- To the hospital.

But you aren't on call now.

Varvara Kapitonovna,

I've got to see Boris...

He's gone.

- Gone? Where?

- To report for the Army.

- Oh, no!

- Come in.

- Where was he supposed to report?

- I don't know.

What is it?

It's from Boris. For your birthday.

There's a note inside.

- Where's the note?

- Why? Isn't it there?

It's not.

Maybe it fell?

Maybe he forgot in a hurry.

- Forgot?

- He'll write to you.

Where were you?

- Where's Boris gone?

- It's the schoolyard near the park.

Calm down, she'll be here.

It would be quite a job

finding someone in this crowd.

What are you doing?

Write to me. Write every day.

Didn't I tell you to ship

the cauliflower?

An airplane is high above,

Over the roofs it's droning.

It's my sweetheart sends his love

From his sky-high soaring.

It was used to be before

That he saw me to my door.

Now it's been quite a turn-off:

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