A conversation between a human and an angel about men and woman, now and forever, borders and passes, the earth and the sky .
Marion: There’s no greater story than ours, that of man and woman. It will be a story of giants… invisible… transposable… a story of new ancestors. Look. My eyes. They are the picture of necessity, of the future of everyone in the place.
Damiel: It’s great to live by the spirit, to testify day by day for eternity, only what’s spiritual in people’s minds. But sometimes I’m fed up with my spiritual existence. Instead of forever hovering above I’d like to feel a weight grow in me to end the infinity and to tie me to earth. I’d like, at each step, each gust of wind, to be able to say “Now.” Now and now” and no longer “forever” and “for eternity.”
Driver: [inner voice] Are there still borders? More than ever! Every street has its borderline. Between each plot, there’s a strip of no-man’s-land disguised as a hedge or a ditch. Whoever dares, will fall into booby traps or be hit by laser rays. The trout are really torpedoes. Every home owner, or even every tenant nails his name plate on the door, like a coat of arms and studies the morning paper as if he were a world leader. Germany has crumbled into as many small states as there are individuals. And these small states are mobile. Everyone carries his own state with him, and demands a toll when another wants to enter. A fly caught in amber, or a leather bottle. So much for the border. But one can only enter each state with a password. The German soul of today can only be conquered and governed by one who arrives at each small state with the password. Fortunately, no one is currently in a position to do this. So… everyone migrates, and waves his one-man-state flag in all earthly directions. Their children already shake their rattles and drag their filth around them in circles.
Marion: [inner voice] Don’t think about anything. Just be. Berlin. I’m a foreigner here and yet it is so familiar. In any case, you can’t get lost. You always end up at the Wall.
Damiel: I want to transform what my timeless downward look has taught me and learn to bear a harsh sight, a brusque shout, a sour smell. I’ve been on the outside long enough, absent long enough. I’ve stood outside the world long enough. I want to enter into the History of the World or even just hold an apple in my hand. Look. See those feathers on the water? Vanished already. See those tire marks on the asphalt and now the cigarette butt rolling along. Look how the prehistoric river has dried up and only today’s rain puddles quiver. Enough of the world behind the world!
Homer: [inner voice] Only the Roman roads still lead into the open. Only the most ancient 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 land of storytelling, begins. Why doesn’t everyone see from earliest childhood the passes, portals and crevices, down on the earth and up in the sky? If everyone saw them, history would continue without killing and war.
Form “Wings of desire” (Der Himmel über Berlin), Wim Wenders, 1987.
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