The Poll Diaries

When I was still a child,

my father taught me that

the world is a place...

from which I will simply

disappear one day.

Nothing will remain of me.

None of my feelings will outlive me.

It will be...

as if I had never existed at all.

For as long as I can remember,

my father lived for Death,

which he was very fond of,

maybe even fonder of than me.

It's Karpow.

He's brought some with him!

Well, he can dine with us.

I have to go to the laboratory.

Who will pick up your daughter?

Shall we send Paul?

He's still in the cupboard.

So, did you think it over?

Yes.

So what is the twelfth psalm?

The Lord shall cut off,

flattering lips and proud tongues.

What's going on, my dearest?

Please excuse me! The Russians are

asking to be billeted.

Of course, just a moment.

So, Paul?

Should the bodies be

taken to the saw mill?

Pardon?

Should they be taken to

the saw mill, the bodies?

Laboratory.

It is a laboratory. La-bo-ra-torium.

- Laboratory.

- So that means yes?

There is no saw mill anymore,

Mr. Mechmershausen.

Laboratory.

Very well, professor.

The twelfth psalm?

The Lord shall cut off flattering lips,

and proud tongues.

You'll not lie anymore?

I won't lie anymore.

Why isn't Papa picking us up?

Soldiers have been

billeted with us today.

That's why Uncle Ebbo couldn't come.

That looks heavy!

They caught a few anarchists.

There are anarchists here?

Is there ice in this?

Of course there's ice in it.

To keep mother safe.

I was 14 years old,

as young as the century itself.

I had never been to Poll before,

my family's ancestral home.

But now, of all times,

I encountered this abyss...

of place, time and danger,

from which none of us should escape.

The story of my father

is not my story.

But my life has

retained certain traits of the catastrophe

that papa caused.

So I have to

include him and his arts

to a certain extent.

I never thought these arts

would one day prove to be

the roots of all evils.

I thought they were,

like all forms of art,

the blossom of the world.

My dear, here you are at last!

Come in here!

Come on, grab him!

- Papa!

- Come, into the kitchen!

Millalu!

Open the door!

What's this, little Oda?

Papa's present! From Berlin.

He'll be thrilled.

- But not here.

- He asked for it.

- I said not here!

- 2,000 Werst!

She carried that for 2,000 Werst!

We say kilometres.

Come here, Oda!

Put it over here.

It's from professor Heimer.

He sends his best wishes, Papa.

Twins, that's nice.

Would you like to assist me?

Come over here, it's alright.

Do you want to suture him?

I don't want Oda to suture him.

You will be careful, alright?

We will do it very carefully.

Ebbo, I don't want Oda to do the stitching.

We will do it together.

He's your patient, Ebbo!

He's my coachman!

This is a child!

This is my child!

And this is my kitchen!

It's no place for things like this.

Have you gone mad?

Why doesn't your daughter speak Russian?

She's from Berlin.

They don't speak Russian there.

Oh well, she will learn it

soon enough, here in Poll.

Really? It feels like Berlin here,

among you Germans!

Now you're exaggerating!

We're Russians but we speak German.

- We're subjects of the Tsar.

- The Tsar's subjects, yes.

- That was a joke.

- Good.

- Good Night, Papa.

- Good night, my child.

The Balts are no longer appreciated much

in the holy Russian Empire.

Half of Petersburg spoke German once.

Am I right, Apapa?

Yes, of course.

St. Petersburg was the cultural capital.

Yes, you can certainly say that.

- The Balts were everywhere.

- Yes, that's why this country exists.

There are only five Balts

in my cadet school.

- But they are the most competent, right?

- Yes, mother.

- You know Paul has been accepted

in Petersburg? - Yes, very good indeed.

Maybe he will be the Tsar's adjutant

one day!

- Mother!

- And now he always says "mother"!

Yes. How nice.

But Oda surely still says "mama",

am I right?

I can't say "mama" anymore.

Tomorrow we will all bury Oda's mother.

We will bury my wife.

Your divorced wife.

I think it's beautiful that

your mother wanted to be buried here.

In her homeland soil!

She'll lie next to your husband, Millalu?

The question is,

will she get to the cemetery at all.

Where else?

Let's just say:
La-bo-ra-torium.

You're a remarkable man,

your pronunciation. So Latin.

Can I see the laboratory?

No. Let's talk about something else.

Always this talk about Balts and Russians,

Russians and Balts.

I'm sick of hearing about it.

- Let's talk about the Estonians?

- No!

- No talk about the Estonians either!

- Why can't I see the laboratory?

Because of the Estonians.

You're drunk, Mr. Mechmershausen!

- Which Estonians?

- Dead Estonians!

They are "Maessajads"!

Anarchists! Criminals!

They are not exactly God-fearing people!

Did God somehow command them

to be gutted like these fish?

How dare you speak to my husband

like that? In front of the children!

You say that although you have

experienced the revolution?

That's interesting!

- His predecessor was nailed to

the church door! - Drowned!

A sack over his head and drowned.

Shall I tell you something?

People like you cause the revolution!

Do you want me to trash your arse?

Ebbo!

What was it, I wondered,

while I lived through the days of summer,

what was it,

that connected me with these people?

Their loneliness so different to mine,

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