Wings of Desire CD2
Then the flies and the antlers, like branches, flowing down the river.
All that ever grew again was grass...
growing over the bodies of wild cats, wild boar and buffaloes.
One morning, out of the savannah, its forehead smeared with grass...
appeared the biped, our image, so long awaited.
And its first word was a shout.
Was it "ah" or "oh", or was it merely a groan?
We were at last able to laugh, for the first time.
Through this man's shout and that of his followers, we learnt to speak.
A long story.
Sun, lightning, thunder in the sky...
and below on earth, the firesides, the leaps...
the round dances, the signs, the writing.
Then one broke through the cycle and ran straight ahead.
As long as he ran straight ahead, swerving sometimes perhaps from joy...
he seemed free, and again we could laugh with him.
But then, suddenly, he ran zigzag, and stones flew.
With his flight began the history of wars. It is still going on.
But the story of the grass, the sun, the leaps and the shouts...
is still going on, too.
Do you know how one day the road was built here...
which the next day saw the Napoleon retreat...
and was paved later on?
Today it is covered with grass and sunk in like a Roman road...
with the tank tracks.
But we weren't even spectators. We've always been too few.
You really want... - To conquer a history for myself.
What my timeless downward look has taught me...
I want to transmute, to sustain a glance...
a short shout, a sour smell.
I've been outside long enough. Absent long enough.
Long enough out of the world. Let me enter the history of the world.
Or just hold an apple in my hand.
Look, those feathers, there on the water, already vanished.
Look, the tyre marks on the asphalt, and now the cigarette butt rolling.
The primeval river has dried up, and only today's raindrops still quiver.
Down with the world behind the world.
Only the Roman roads still lead somewhere...
only the oldest traces lead anywhere.
Where is the top of the pass here?
Even the plains, even Berlin, has its hidden passes.
And it's only there that my country, the country of the tale, begins.
Why doesn't everyone see from childhood on...
the passes, doors and crevices...
on the ground and above in the sky.
If everyone saw them, there would be history without murder or war.
This time I'm doing it. Funny I'm so calm.
Why red socks with black shoes? Stupid.
Foggy, cold. Put on a pullover, afraid to be cold.
Very good jacket. A bargain. Just the pocket's torn.
She gave it to me.
Pebbles on the roof. Why? So it doesn't fly away? Nonsense.
Once I'd like to fly.
The plane circles over Berlin, one day it'll crash.
It's cold. My hands were always warm. A good sign.
It crackles underfoot. What time is it?
The sun's setting. Logical, the west. Now I know where the west is.
I always took the U-Bahn to the east to go home...
bought 10 tickets, saved a Mark.
The sun in my back, on the left the star.
That's good: sun and a star. Her little feet.
Hopping from one foot to the other. She danced so sweetly.
We were all alone.
Has she got my letter? I don't want her to read it.
Berlin means nothing to me... Havel? Is that a lake?
Over there Wedding, or what? The East is everywhere really.
Strange people, they're shouting. I don't care.
All these thoughts. I'd really rather not think any more.
I'm going, why?
Leave me alone, you swine. - Mother. Mother.
I'll never make it tonight. No trapeze on full-moon nights.
Not the last time, the very last time.
I should wake up from this dream.
The end of the circus. Fini.
And once again I feel as if night were falling inside of me.
Fear... Fear of death.
Why not death?
The essential at times...
just being beautiful, and nothing more.
To look at oneself in the mirror is to see oneself think.
So what do you think?
I think I still have the right to be afraid, but not to talk about it.
You're not yet blind, the heart is still beating.
And now you're crying after all.
You'd like to cry like a very sad little girl.
Do you know why you're crying? For whom?
Not for me. I don't know for whom.
I'd like to know. I know nothing.
I'm a little bit afraid. It's gone, gone away. It'll come back.
It doesn't matter.
Just to be able to say, like right now, I'm happy.
I have a story, and I'll go on having one.
There it is again, this feeling of well- being...
as if inside my body a hand was softly tightening.
When the child was a child, it was the time of these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Isn't life under the sun just a dream?
Isn't that Columbo? - Don't think so.
Not with that moth-eaten coat. - He wouldn't be out here.
Well? - I'm going to enter the river.
An old human expression that I only understand today.
Now or never, moment of the ford.
But there is no other bank, there is only the river.
lnto the ford of time, the ford of death.
We're not yet born, so let's descend.
To look is not to look from on high, but at eye-level.
First, I'll take a bath.
Then I'll be shaved by a Turkish barber...
who will also massage me down to the fingertips.
Then I'll buy a newspaper and read it from the headlines to the horoscope.
On the first day, I'll only be served. For requests, ask the neighbour.
If someone stumbles over my legs, he'll apologise.
If pushed, I'll push back.
The bartender will find me an empty table.
A car will stop, and the mayor will give me a lift.
I'll be familiar to everyone, suspect to no one.
I won't say a word, will understand every language.
This will be my first day. - But none of it will be true.
I'll take her in my arms, and she'll take me in her arms.
I think he's drunk. - Yes.
It's got a taste.
Now I begin to understand.
Is that red? - Yes.
Did you hurt yourself?
Is today a good day? - It's okay.
And the pipes? - They're yellow.
Yellow. What about him? - He's grey-blue.
Grey-blue. This one? - Purple.
This one? - Orange. Ochre.
Ochre or orange? - Ochre.
Yellow, red... this one? - It's green.
And what's that over the eye? - That's blue.
Is it very cold? - It'll soon be over.
I'd love to have a coffee.
Do you have money? - Yes... no.
I'm glad everything is fine today.
Coffee. - With milk and sugar?
When the child was a child, it lived on apples and bread, that was enough.
And it is still that way.
When the child was a child, berries fell only like berries into its hand.
And they still do now.
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw, and they still do now.
Atop each mountain it was longing for a higher mountain.
And in each city it was longing for a bigger city.
And it still does.
Reached in the treetop for the cherries...
as excitedly as it still does today.
Was shy in front of strangers, and it still is.
Waited for the first snow, and still waits that way.
When the child was a child, it threw a stick like a lance into a tree.
And it's still quivering there today.
How do I get to Akazienstrasse? - Go up Potsdamer to Kleistpark.
Right at Grunewald past Gleditsch, no right turn at Goltzstrasse.
Turn left, and there you are.
This entrance is for the crew. Extras, the other way, please.
Extra. - That's just what you look like.
They all want autographs.
Come on, Marion. Don't worry. It'll be alright.
I'll send you a postcard of the Eiffel Tower.
See you next season. Don't forget the Alekan Circus.
Bye Archie, see you next year. - Au revoir.
A thousand kisses.
I'll send you a parcel. With some Camembert cheese?
I couldn't say who I am. I don't have the slightest idea.
I am someone with no roots, no story, no country...
and I like it that way.
I am here, I am free. I can imagine anything. It's all possible.
I only have to raise my eyes, and once again I become the world.
Now, in this very place...
a feeling of happiness that I could always have.
What are you doing? - I'm sitting.
Are you sad? - No.
Are you sick? - Yes.
What's the matter? - A need.
Oh, that's it.
A double knot is the only way to make it hold.
A need. A need of food perhaps. - Or a need of drink.
She isn't gone, Cassiel. I know it.
I'll find her.
Something will happen, something important, tonight.
She'll teach me everything.
There are other suns then the one up in the sky, Cassiel.
In the deep of the night, spring will begin today.
Other wings will grow in place of the old ones.
Wings that will at last astound me.
It must finally become serious.
I've often been alone, but I've never lived alone.
When I was with someone I was often happy...
but at the same time it all seemed a coincidence.
These people were my parents, but it could have been others.
Why was the brown-eyed one my brother...
and not the green-eyed boy on the opposite platform?
The taxi driver's daughter was my friend...
but I might as well have put my arm around a horse's neck.
I was with a man, I was in love...
and I might as well have left him there...
and gone off with the stranger we met in the street.
Look at me, or don't.
Give me your hand, or don't.
No, don't give me your hand, and look away.
I think tonight is the new moon.
No night more peaceful.
No bloodshed in all the city.
I've never played with anyone and yet...
I never opened my eyes and thought: Now it's serious.
At last it's becoming serious.
So I've grown older.
Was I the only one who wasn't serious?
Is it our times that are not serious?
I've never been lonely, neither alone, nor with someone else.
But I would have liked to be lonely.
Loneliness means: I am whole at last.
Now I can say it, as tonight I'm lonely at last.
I must put an end to coincidence.
The new moon of decision.
I don't know if there is a destiny, but there is a decision.
Now we are the times.
Not only the whole town, the whole world is taking part in our decision.
Now we are more than the two of us. We incarnate something.
We are sitting on the People's Square...
and the whole place is full of people whose dream is the same as ours.
We are deciding everybody's game.
I am ready. Now it's your turn.
You hold the game in your hand.
Now or never.
You need me. You will need me.
There is no greater story than ours, that of man and woman.
It will be a story of giants.
A story of new ancestors.
Look, my eyes.
They are the image of necessity...
of the future of everyone in the place.
Last night I dreamt of a stranger.
Of my man.
Only with him could I be lonely...
open up to him...
wholly open, wholly for him...
welcome him wholly into me...
surround him with the labyrinth of shared happiness.
It is still going on. It binds me.
It was true at night, and it's true in the day, even more so now.
Who was who? I was in her and she was around me.
Who in the world can claim that he was ever together with another being?
I am together.
No mortal child was begot, only an immortal common image.
I learned astonishment that night.
She came to take me home, and I found home.
It happened once.
Once, and therefore forever.
The image that we created will be with me when I die.
I will have lived within it.
The amazement about the two of us, amazement about man and woman...
has turned me into a human being.
I know now...
no angel knows.
Name the men, women and children who will look for me...
me, their storyteller, their cantor, their spokesman...
because they need me more than anything in the world.
We have embarked.
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