Let me ask you the question: Aren't we all guilty?

I am in a state of deep emotion,
you can imagine, I am confused.
I am bewildered and shocked.
Yet I must pull myself together.

Though right now all I can say is that
I share in this broken-hearted mother's misery
in a mother's never-ending mourning and sorrow
is the grief of losing the one who is dearest to our hearts.

This tragic event weighs us all down with sadness.
I don't think there's anyone who would disagree with me.

And now the hardest thing is
with our teeth clenched, to get our minds over the heartbreak,
to defy our tears when our voices fail us.

For, and I would like to call your attention to this:
Before the police start investigating, nothing can be more important for us
than to reconstruct
the shocking events,
which led to the terrible death of an innocent child.

You'd better expect the inspectors from town
to come and make us responsible for this terrible event.

Yes, my friends, they're going to ask us.

For, to be quite honest,
with a little caution, care and attention
we could have prevented it.

Just imagine this vulnerable creature
wandering all night long in the pouring rain,
at the mercy of the first passer-by, of the first tramp, of anybody.
She was whipped by the wind, she fell an easy prey to the elements,
and she must have been around here.
She may have looked in through this window and seen
that you were all drunk and dancing around.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to accuse anyone personally,
I am not accusing the mother, who is never going to forgive
herself for getting up too late in the morning of that awful day
I am not accusing the victim's brother
nor other members of the family.
I am not accusing anyone.

But let me ask you the question:
Aren't we all guilty?

You will, of course, answer we are innocent.
But then, what do we call this poor child?
The victim of the innocent? The martyr to the pure? The prey of the blameless?

No, she's the only innocent one.

I spent the night turning in my bed till I realized that
not only we do not know how the tragic event happened, but we have no knowledge
whatsoever of what happened exactly.
I am quite convinced that this tragedy was to happen.

Now you seem to suspect that.
It is not enough, however, to suspect something... things are to be understood.
And said with no delay.
You didn't dare mention it to each other, but deep down, you knew before coming here
that the farm was doomed.

From now on, you'll have to let your fate slowly unfold.
You are slouching around in this decay,
far away from everything that means life.
Your plans come to nothing, your dreams, still blind, are shattered.
You expect some miracle which will never come.
But what kind of fate are you the victims of?
Is it the crumbling plaster...
the roofs without tiles... the crumbling walls,
the sour taste our friend Futaki keeps talking about?
Isn't it the shattered prospects,
the broken dreams,
that bends our knees that wears us numb?

I'm speaking harshly but let us be honest.

If you felt the farm was ruled by misfortune why didn't you try to do something about it?
You thought a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
But this is a coward's way, it is disgraceful and careless and it has serious consequences.
This is called impotence, sinful impotence.
This is weakness, sinful weakness.
This is cowardice, sinful cowardice.

Because, and keep that in your minds -
it's not just to others we can do unforgivable things but also to ourselves.
And this, my friends, is even more serious.
Yes, if I think about it, all kinds of sins are
sins against ourselves.

But, you know, my friends,
if I think back and see you lying half dead on the chairs and tables,
on top of each other, dribbling, exhausted,
my heart sinks and I cannot judge you for I will never be able to forget this.
From your panting, snoring and groaning
I heard your cry for help which I have to answer.

We know each other well.
I have been keeping my eyes wide open for decades,
I bitterly observe that under the thick veil of trickery and deception,
nothing has changed. Misery has remained misery.
The two extra spoonfuls of food we can have
only makes the air thinner in front of our mouths.

But I realized what I have done so far is nothing.
A much deeper solution is needed.

So, using the opportunity,
I decided to get some people together
and set up a model farm which will ensure a stable living...
and bind this tiny group of the dispossessed together.

I am creating an island
where no one is powerless, where everyone will live in peace and will feel safe.
That is why I left for the estate in Almas.
The main building is in good condition, the contract is a simple matter.
There's one problem...
no use to try and keep it a secret, money.
Without a penny the thing is dead.
Capital is needed for production but this is a bit complicated,
there's no point in going into details.
And you'll understand that the circumstances of our meeting
made me feel uncertain, whether you would be able to do it.
Whether you would be able to part from
your little money, the result of hard work and
much difficulty, to realize a sudden plan.

Think about it...
Do not decide straightaway.
But if fate decides that from now on we stay together, inseparable:
Do remember the price that has been paid.

Do not forget the child...
who may have had to perish
to make our star rise.

Who knows, my friends?
If it is so...
life is very hard upon us.

[Taken from Sátántangó, Béla Tarr, 1994; verses-like speech by Irimias; for a detailed analysis of the speech please refer to this excellent scribbling.]