A história da Irlanda resumida num simples e brilhante monólogo
01:02
«I went there when I was twelve. Big cross-country race for the boys, and
we were all in the back of a minibus headed towards Derry one morning.
And this is big time. I mean, this is like International Athletics for
us, because we’re racing against boys in the South, and we have this
thing to do, “Belfast Pride”. Two of the boys are Prods; the rest of us
are Catholics. It’s a cross community event. I suppose the good people
on the side think this is great stuff. “Let’s get this wee team over
from Belfast” and all that patronizing shite. Anyway, we’re through the
border; the boys are all singin’ pop tunes and all, but I’m just in the
back of the bus lookin’ out the window. We’re going through the
mountains. You know where Mount Errigal is and everything? It’s a
beautiful sight, Dom. Donegal has to be the most beautiful place in
Ireland, I reckon. … Anyway, we’ve arrived at Guidor, what a place, and
it’s hoppin’ with about two hundred boys, and they’re getting into
their gear and membering up. The whole event’s run by Christian Brothers
and they’re clapping young fellas around the back of the ears,
basically trying to maintain some order. Our team goes off for a wee jog
to stretch out the legs. We’re surrounded by fields of barley, and we
dip down into a wee valley where there’s a stream and woods running
through it. The woods and stream are out of bounds, so naturally, us
Belfast boys have to go check them out. Woods and the stream seem just
like the Amazon to us. And we come across these young fellas from Cork,
and there’s some banter about our accents; they could barely talk; we
couldn’t understand a word they were saying. We had the idea that
they’re lording it over us a bit, you know; looking down on us; I’m
sensing it, anyway. We run along, and we come up with this idea to go
down to the stream and check it out for fish. So we’re down by the
river, downstream. There’s half a foot of water in there. Little silver
fish, but nothing substantial, ’til one of their boys calls us further
down. Lying in the water is a wee foal, four or five days old. He’s all
skin and bones, gray collar, and he’s got flecks of blood on his coat,
’cause he’s cut himself up really badly on the sharp rocks. We’re just
standing over him and you can see his back leg’s snapped. And he’s
breathing, he’s alive, but just about. So this big conversation gets
started up between the boys who suddenly reckon themselves the leaders,
and they’re deliberating as to what we should do. Someone says “Drop a
rock on his head”, but I’m looking in their faces and I can see they’re
either scared stiff or clueless; it’s all bravado. And this foal on the
ground, in real pain, all this chitchat going on, going nowhere. Next
thing, one of the priests sees us, sees the foal, tells us not to move
and we’re done for, really done for. Group of boys will always get the
blame for hurting a foal. Group of Belfast boys will get a hammering for
sure. So it’s clear to me in an instant, and I’m down on my knees, and I
take the foal’s head in my hands and I put him underwater. He’s
thrashing around a bit to start, so I press down harder until he’s
drowned. Priest arrives, though. He’s grabbing me by the hair, dragging
me through the woods, promising me a proper hiding, but I knew I did the
right thing by that wee foal, and I could take the punishment for all
our boys. I had the respect of them other boys now, and I knew that. I’m
clear of the reasons, Dom. I’m clear of all the repercussions. But I
will act, and I will not stand by and do nothing.»
Bobby Sands (Michael Fassbender), em Hunger (Fome), de Steve McQueen.
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