A LONG DAY
script by Anna Bianco
A short-film by Anna Bianco
What sort of world is this that makes our flesh creep, that makes us feel alone, like dogs.
When the evening draws in and I have no hope of sleeping, I still go to bed and think.
The day seems so long, some days it never ends.
I wake up early in the morning and turn off the lights early in the evening.
I always recite prayers for the dead, I relax when I pray, it clears my head.
Little by little, thoughts arrive and when there are so many of them, who manages to catch them all?
They accompany me and sometimes even condemn me.
I lose them when sleep comes, and with sleep come dreams and with dreams, another life.
When I was fifteen, I used to go to the dressmaker. I enjoyed it and at least it meant I got out a bit, as at home I was kept in.
Eh, I was really beautiful when I was young,
They used to say I looked like the actress Gina Lollobrigida,
with the same, identical nostrils. Refined.
*********
What a country! We’re behind the times.
The market stall sellers say we’re stingy.
All yobs, rich and tight, with money rotting in the bank.
Under the sun, the rain, with heat and cold, I’ve worked a life,
And now I get tired taking a few steps.
My legs can’t carry me. Sometimes neither can my head.
I note everything down in on a calendar, otherwise I forget.
As I don’t speak to anyone all day, the silence of the house enters my head, my ears hum, so I start to sing.
I’ve never been one for reading or writing, but singing’s my thing!
I left school when I was eight, I didn’t like it even at that age, then they closed it down for soldiers and horses during the war.
When the war ended, I never went back to school.
I can do a nice signature and that’s important.
I was a nurse in a sanatorium.
The first time a patient died next to me, I was in a bad way for three days.
When you’re not used to it, death can be quite overwhelming, then you get used to it.
I don’t know about Church issues.
The goody-goodies know about life, death and miracles of saints and people.
They’re always either at home or in front of the door, yet they know everything about everyone.
Some days I don’t go in or come out and don’t know anything about other people and I think about my own things.
When I was on summer holidays with my father, my mother and siblings, Bartolo, Licia and Rosa, every sacred evening Christ sent to earth, my mother would say:
“Go to bed – it’s late”.
And I used to think: “But late for what?”
I enjoyed listening to adult conversations, if I go to bed now, I won’t get to sleep.
Sadness sometimes accompanies me even in my sleep,
But everything seems better.
I laugh, joke and play like when I was little.
She’s silent.
I see my mother who’s watching me.
Every so often, she’ll smile at me and try and tell me something which I can’t always make out.
Sometimes she speaks and I forget what she tells me.
“Relax Giuseppina, Mummy’s protecting you”.
How I cry when I feel that Mum’s close to me even if she’s not around anymore.
Even my husband watches me in my dreams and how sad he looks when I’m not well.
He makes me feel young again and beautiful like I was before…
How can it be? The dead seem closer to me than the living.
Chatting away, time has passed.
What a long day today, but it’s gone by quickly.
When we think about our memories, time flies.
When you’re old you perhaps become a sort of memory bank,
And if you leave them hidden and closed, even the memories will wither.
script by Anna Bianco
A short-film by Anna Bianco
What sort of world is this that makes our flesh creep, that makes us feel alone, like dogs.
When the evening draws in and I have no hope of sleeping, I still go to bed and think.
The day seems so long, some days it never ends.
I wake up early in the morning and turn off the lights early in the evening.
I always recite prayers for the dead, I relax when I pray, it clears my head.
Little by little, thoughts arrive and when there are so many of them, who manages to catch them all?
They accompany me and sometimes even condemn me.
I lose them when sleep comes, and with sleep come dreams and with dreams, another life.
When I was fifteen, I used to go to the dressmaker. I enjoyed it and at least it meant I got out a bit, as at home I was kept in.
Eh, I was really beautiful when I was young,
They used to say I looked like the actress Gina Lollobrigida,
with the same, identical nostrils. Refined.
*********
What a country! We’re behind the times.
The market stall sellers say we’re stingy.
All yobs, rich and tight, with money rotting in the bank.
Under the sun, the rain, with heat and cold, I’ve worked a life,
And now I get tired taking a few steps.
My legs can’t carry me. Sometimes neither can my head.
I note everything down in on a calendar, otherwise I forget.
As I don’t speak to anyone all day, the silence of the house enters my head, my ears hum, so I start to sing.
I’ve never been one for reading or writing, but singing’s my thing!
I left school when I was eight, I didn’t like it even at that age, then they closed it down for soldiers and horses during the war.
When the war ended, I never went back to school.
I can do a nice signature and that’s important.
I was a nurse in a sanatorium.
The first time a patient died next to me, I was in a bad way for three days.
When you’re not used to it, death can be quite overwhelming, then you get used to it.
I don’t know about Church issues.
The goody-goodies know about life, death and miracles of saints and people.
They’re always either at home or in front of the door, yet they know everything about everyone.
Some days I don’t go in or come out and don’t know anything about other people and I think about my own things.
When I was on summer holidays with my father, my mother and siblings, Bartolo, Licia and Rosa, every sacred evening Christ sent to earth, my mother would say:
“Go to bed – it’s late”.
And I used to think: “But late for what?”
I enjoyed listening to adult conversations, if I go to bed now, I won’t get to sleep.
Sadness sometimes accompanies me even in my sleep,
But everything seems better.
I laugh, joke and play like when I was little.
She’s silent.
I see my mother who’s watching me.
Every so often, she’ll smile at me and try and tell me something which I can’t always make out.
Sometimes she speaks and I forget what she tells me.
“Relax Giuseppina, Mummy’s protecting you”.
How I cry when I feel that Mum’s close to me even if she’s not around anymore.
Even my husband watches me in my dreams and how sad he looks when I’m not well.
He makes me feel young again and beautiful like I was before…
How can it be? The dead seem closer to me than the living.
Chatting away, time has passed.
What a long day today, but it’s gone by quickly.
When we think about our memories, time flies.
When you’re old you perhaps become a sort of memory bank,
And if you leave them hidden and closed, even the memories will wither.
