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HENRY: This then?

This is not a movie.

This is a libel, slander,

defamation of character,

a prolonged insult,

a gob of spit in the face of art,

a kick in the pants to God, man, destiny, time, love, beauty,

what you will.

I'm going to sing for you,

a little off-key perhaps, but I will sing.

I will sing while you croak.

I will dance over your dirty corpse.

Have you seen Boris?

He's meeting someone who may rent the apartment.

Could you loan me 5 francs for a taxi?

You know Mona--

if I 'm not there to meet the boat train,

she's liable to turn around and go back.

Oh, Henry.

O.K. It's too late already. Forget it.

Oh, for god's sake. Here.

She rises up out of a sea of faces and embraces me.

Embraces me passionately--

a thousand eyes, noses, fingers,

legs, bottles, windows, purses, saucers--

all glaring at us,

and we in each other's arms, oblivious.

I sit down beside her, and she talks--

a flood of talk,

wild, consumptive notes

of hysteria, perversion, leprosy.

I hear not a word

because she is beautiful and I love her.

And now I 'm happy and willing to die.

The hotel, where is it?

Can we go to the hotel right now?

No. I got to find Boris.

I thought I 'd never get here.

When you weren't at the station, I...

Hey, Boris!

Henry, how are you? Nice to see you.

Glad to see you.

Here's Mona, my wife.

Hello.

My check didn't come. I haven't got it.

20 francs!

That's all I got on me, fella.

I'll give you half what I got.

Come on, Boris, just...just once?

Eh, all right.

Take it.

Thanks. Really appreciate it.

Yeah, yeah, sure.

Thanks a lot.

Yeah. Sure. Swell.

Oh, yeah. A pleasure.

I'll see you, Boris.

So long, Henry. Yeah.

May I take my dress off?

No.

Oh, I forgot to tell you.

I had a, um, reading for a play

just before I left New York.

It was for Charley Morton's new play.

He liked me. He really did.

But, of course,

they gave the part to the producer's new girlfriend.

Idiots.

Anyway, this...

you know, she's probably going to have to wear a wig.

If they try and color that hair one more time,

it'll turn green.

I need a Kleenex.

Do you have a Kleen--

No, you don't.

What do you ask for in French?

I guess "Kleenex."

They always understand Coca-Cola.

Baby.

Hmm?

Uh, I don't want to alarm you,

but you're covered with bugs.

What?

Aah!

Ha ha ha ha!

You bastard!

Deux cafés, s'il vous plait.

It's out of order, and it stinks.

I must have a bath.

We've--I've got to have a bath.

Ohh.

Oh, it's so cold.

Get my clothes hung up. Get them pressed.

The state they're in.

We look like a couple of tramps.

We must find another hotel, and a clean one.

I want to find a good hotel as soon as they're open.

What time do they open?

7:00, 8:00.

How much money have you got left?

What the hell are you doing?

You trying to get us thrown out?

Qu'est-ce que c'est, Madame?

Uh, thank you.

Très bien. Merci.

Wait. I have to take a bath.

Wait.

Ooh.

Oh, yeah.

Uh-uh. Uh-uh.

Your bath is running.

Isn't it good to be clean again?

How much money have you got left?

Oh, I got enough for tonight.

Oh, no. Uh-uh.

No. Oh, no.

When I realized that she's gone,

perhaps gone forever,

a great void opens up,

and I feel that I 'm falling into deep black space.

And this is worse than tears,

deeper than regret or pain or sorrow.

It is the abyss into which Satan was plunged.

There's no climbing back,

no ray of light,

no sound or human voice or human touch of hand.

How many thousand times

in walking through the streets at night

have I wondered if the day would ever come again

when she would be at my side?

All those yearning looks

I bestowed on the buildings and statues.

I'd looked at them so hungrily,

so desperately that by now

my thoughts must have become

a part of the very buildings and statues.

They must be saturated with my anguish.

I could not help but reflect also

that when we had walked side by side

through these mournful, dingy streets

now saturated with my dream and longing,

that she'd observed nothing, felt nothing.

They were like any streets to her--

a little more sordid perhaps--

and that is all.

I became reconciled to this life without her,

and yet if I thought about her only for a minute,

it was enough to pierce the bone and marrow of my contentment

and shove me back again into the agonizing gutter

of my wretched past.

Somehow, the realization

that nothing was to be hoped for

had a salutary effect on me.

Then it occurred to me like a flash

that no one would refuse a man a meal

if only he had the courage to demand it.

I went immediately to a cafe and wrote a dozen letters.

"Would you let me have dinner with you once a week?

Tell me what day is most convenient for you."

It worked like a charm.

I was not only fed. I was feasted.

Every night, I went home drunk.

And now I could afford to scratch off the ones

who were a pain in the ass.

I calculated your share

of the actual cost of last Tuesday 's meal,

not counting the half-bottle of wine you spilled.

Won't you be late for class?

It comes to 12 francs, 63 centimes--

bringing the total to 1,340 francs and 1 centime exactly.

We're not asking him to pay us back.

I know, but it's very interesting.

[ ring ]

[ dogs bark ]

Hi.

Ah. CÇa va?

Bien. Bien, bien.

Hi. Come on in.

[ dogs yelp in pain ]

[ playing auprès de ma blonde ]

One by one,

I fucked myself out of all those free dinners.

The wives turned against me...

or the husbands.

[ piano music plays ]

Tania, darling, when's dinner?

I'm just finishing my pliés,darling.

We'll have to stop this now he's home again.

Darling, I think the potatoes are burning.

I'll be there in just a second, darling.

Mmm.

Turn the gas down, darling.

Ah, there we are, darlings.

Now give Henry a large helping, Sylvester.

He needs building up.

How was New York?

Oh, terrible.

New York is dreadful. You know that.

All those phonies.

But we're set for a February opening.

And Greg Saint Clare will direct.

Yeah, that's good. Very good.

Very good.

What's next?

Well, there's work in progress, naturally.

I like to call it that.

If he finishes a play in the morning

and there's still time before lunch,

he puts a new sheet of paper in the typewriter

and starts a new one.

That's how to be a writer.

More, Henry, or you've had enough?

I think I can take a little more.

Give Henry some more, Sylvester.

But, you know, he's fantastic.

He never talks about it.

But when he sits down to write,

it just runs out of him.

I believe it.

You smile at me so confidently,

so calculatingly.

I'm flattering the ass off you, can't you tell?

I believe this wine is corky.

I thought that was only supposed to happen in the States.

While I listen to your crap,

she's got her hand on me.

But you don't see that.

Remember?

Yeah, it's in the kitchen.

Henry, nip out and bring in a couple of bottles.

It's on the top...

shelf.

Henry, you fool.

So now I 'm the only one left

who'll cough up the weekly dinner.

Two cognacs, please.

Well, I didn't know Sylvester was so hypersensitive.

Ah, Tania. It was worth it.

So what are you going to do now?

Jesus, I don't know.

Hey, that's Fillmore.

Hmm.

Maybe he's got a spare bed.

Doesn't look like it tonight.

[ Tango music plays ]

Princess, princess, uh, don't be mad.

I, uh, I won't move my hips anymore.

You speak too much, too loud.

And you speak nonsense.

Oh, my nervous! My nervous!

Please give me some Champagne.

It's the only thing for my temperament.

Champagne. Ah, Champagne.

Uh, Champagne, please.

Oh, hi, Joe. Hi, Joe.

Hi, Joe.Hi, Joe.

Fellas...

I want you to meet the Princess Masha.

She's royal, you know.

Fillmore, can I use your sofa tonight?

No, you cannot use the sofa tonight.

What are you whispering for?

You want me not to hear.

Hmm.

Why should your friend not sleep at your apartment tonight?

The poor fellow.

You think he gets me there to make love?

I don't blame you.

You should see me when I am undressed.

I am very beautiful.

But a princess of the blood royale

is not to be bought for a few bottles of Champagne.

And the caviar.

Ooh la la!

[ snaps fingers ]

It's, uh...royal temperament, huh?

But you won't enjoy it,

I warn you.

Well, Princess...

you let me be the judge of that, huh?

All right.

Princess.

Did I tell you I have the clap?

The clap!

And what are you making a fuss for?

It's only gonorrhea.

Only gonorrhea?

Ohh, Americans!

They have no manners at all!

[ glass breaks ]

What's that?

It's me, Henry-- Joe from the bar.

Ahh.

Oh, well.

Joe from the bar.

This blanket are no good.

I'm so cold.

Come here and warm me a little.

Right away, your highness.

I wouldn't if I were you.

You didn't give her a key, did you?

Yes. Will you shut up?

Ahh. All right.

Mmm.

You poor shy boys.

I go to take a little coffee now.

So, you can get dressed.

Oh. Money.

Just a little 10-franc note.

I see you later.

But what a charming place you have.

I'm going to like it here.

Bye-bye.

FILLMORE: Goodbye.

HENRY: Bye-bye.

You grab the door.

I'm going to get the lock changed.

Peckover!

You live around here?

No. I work days, too. Didn't you know?

A dentist's office up the street--

to pay off this set of teeth he made for me.

Don't you read proof at the paper anymore?

Why? What have you heard?

About what?

Well, I know you hang around with Carl and Van Norden.

Did they say anything?

They didn't say anything.

That boss of mine

bawls the piss out of me

if I miss a semicolon.

Yeah? Maybe he needs more help.

I'm a great semicolon spotter.

Well, is there a list I can put my name on for future consideration?

Here. Well, uh, put it on there.

I'll see it gets on the applications list.

Thanks.

Thanks a lot.

Here, take a look at these ads.

Maybe you'll find something good.

If you do, you'll be ahead of everybody in Paris.

Hey, how about this one?

"American needed for teaching in Dijon

"under international exchange agreement.

Room and board."

what's the salary?

There's no mention of money.

It's "your contribution to Franco-American amity."

it's a roof over the head and food.

[ doorbell rings ]

Bonsoir, Monsieur.

Je suis le professeur Americain.

Entrez.

Oh, brother.

Ahh.

Good night, Monsieur Miller.

Ah, good night, Monsieur Lecenseur.

Pray consider yourself welcomed among our walls.

I observe you are astounded

to be listen of English spoke.

It is myself that have till now

instruct the pupils in this language.

But a man occupied as myself have no more for such.

You, Monsieur Miller, henceforth shall talk the English conversation

to the boys.

Uhh...

I, uh, my best will do to follow up your good work.

It is a class in the morning, at 8 of the clock.

Uh, you are speaking French, I hope.

Well, a little.

Un tout petit peu.

Un tout petit peu.

Un tout petit peu.

Peu. Peu.

Excellent.

Your predecessor was not gifted with the tongue.

He was not capable to follow my work.

Also, he did not exercise himself to, uh...

inform us about his departure.

He go, uh, over the wall.

Couldn't he have gone through the door?

The door is locked by key each night at 10:00...

to avoid the infiltration of women.

A contingency at all costs to be avoided.

Exactement.

Now, back to our businesses.

[ children sing frere jacques ]

Thus your personal fire for the week.

Also there is in supplementation

two measures of coal in bucket.

Paper must by yourself be found.

I for it will start looking at once.

Yes.

In times you do not converse with the boys,

you are at liberty.

The town of Dijon is yours.

Amuse yourself goodly.

AÀ toute à l'heure, Monsieur Miller.

Your continuing good health, Monsieur Lecenseur.

[ bedsprings squeaking ]

Oh, Tania, where now is that warm cunt of yours,

those fat, heavy garters, those soft, bulging thighs?

There's a bone in my prick 6 inches long.

I will ream out every wrinkle in your cunt,

Tania, big with seed.

I'll send you home to your Sylvester

with an ache in your belly

and your womb turned inside out.

Your Sylvester.

Yes, he knows how to build a fire,

but I know how to inflame a cunt.

Tania, I make your ovaries incandescent.

Your Sylvester 's a little jealous now.

He feels something.

He feels the remnants of my big prick.

[ piano music plays ]

I set the shores a little wider...

ironed out the wrinkles.

After me you can take on stallions,

bulls, rams, drakes, Saint Bernards.

You can stuff toads, bats, lizards up your rectum.

You can shit arpeggios if you like,

uh, string a zither across your navel.

I am fucking you, Tania, so that you'll stay fucked,

and if you're afraid of being fucked publicly,

I 'll fuck you privately.

I'll tear off a few hairs from your cunt

and paste them on Boris' chin.

I'll bite into your clitoris

and spit out 2-franc pieces.

Good morning, boys. I am your new professor.

Good morning, Monsieur le Professeur.

Now what shall we talk about?

Anybody have anything they want to talk about?

Poor kids.

Our first subject is the physiology of...

love.

Let's consider how the elephants make love.

Pachyderms,

although they're, uh, pretty heavily built,

they get pretty spry

when a male gets a bone on.

A bone?

Uh, some animals have bones in their penis.

And hence this expression...

Happily, according to Gourmont,

uh, this bony structure is lost in man.

Now, think what would happen

if you had half the human race

walking around with a bone on.

[ class laughing ]

[ speaking French ]

Good morning, boys.

Good morning, Monsieur le Professeur.

Right. Sit down.

Today, we agreed, was question day.

Fire away. Ask anything at all.

All right. O.K.

We'll answer all questions, but one at a time.

Sir, yesterday you was telling us about the whale.

Yeah.

This noble beast

has a penis 2 meters long.

Ce n'est pas vrai.

That's quite true, my boy,

and that's only in repose.

And the kangaroo have two?

That's quite right.

It's a double penis.

It's, uh, one for weekdays

and one for Sundays.

[ laughing ]

[ dance band playing ]

Music was the least of my worries.

I didn't even think of cunt,

so dismal, so chill, so barren,

so gray was it all.

[ knock on door ]

Une telegramme, Monsieur.

"Paris," uh, "Indian pearl merchant

"wants low-life guide to Paris, stop.

How about it? Fillmore."

When's the next train to Paris?

Monsieur?

Le prochain train-- ah, never mind.

Merci. Merci.

[ dance band playing ]

LECENSEUR: Mais oui. Go, uh, over the wall.

In the fullness of night, he disappeared.

Fillmore, my old, my savior.

Get in here and sit down.

Well, where's the pearl merchant?

I'm ready to take him to the haunts

of coot, fern, and fornication.

Well, it's, uh, not the old merchant himself.

It's his only nephew.

What's he looking for in Paris?

Well, as far as I can tell,

his wants are simple.

Don't you worry, though.

The old boy's paying for his education.

Ranji, you can't jump them in the streets.

Wait till we get to Miss Hamilton.

[ rings doorbell ]

Let me tell you,

this is a refined, high-class joint.

Hello, bébé.

Allo.

Take your pick. You get your choice.

HENRY: You'll feel better when you've had a drink.

Ladies.

RANJI: I'll take this one.

Mmm, you have good taste, Monsieur.

I am sure you will be very happy together.

What?

Oh, you can't. They'll be offended.

If you wish.

Let us have rooms next door, huh?

HENRY: If you must.

[ knock on door ]

Yes?

RANJI: Henry, the young lady has gone for her toilet,

but where can I go?

Quick, quick,

tell me before she comes back.

Use the bidet, for Christ's sake.

Oh, thank you.

[ Miss Hamilton shouting in French ]

RANJI: Oh, Madame, I do beg of you.

Have you no shame?

You are responsible to bring a savage to Miss Hamilton,

one of the most distinguished bordel of Paris!

Mais c'est dégoûtant! Oui, dégoûtant!

Dégoûtant!

Hey, man, what did you do?

What did he do?

Come here! I show you what he do!

Ha!

Voila!

Regard your eyes on that!

Oh, brother.

You shouldn't have told me to.

I didn't know it wouldn't go down.

I asked you where to go,

and you told me to use that.

Come along. Let us get out of here.

Pour la femme de chambre.

I would like to get out of here.

Would you like to try another place?

Oh, no, no.

For some reason or other, man looks for the miracle,

and to accomplish it, he will wade through blood.

He will debauch himself with ideas.

He will reduce himself to a shadow

if only for one second of his life

he can close his eyes to the hideousness of reality.

[ drum playing ]

Everything is endured--

disgrace, humiliation, poverty, war, crime, ennui--

in the belief that overnight

something will occur,

a miracle which will render life tolerable.

[ organ plays ]

So I think what a miracle it would be

if at the last moment,

when the banquet table is set

and the cymbals clash,

there should appear suddenly and wholly without warning

a silver platter on which even the blind could see

that there's nothing more and nothing less than

two enormous lumps of shit.

When I looked down

at this fucked-out kind of a whore,

I feel the whole world beneath me,

a world tottering and crumbling,

a world used up and polished,

yeah, like a leper's skull.

If there were a man who dared to say

all that he thought of this world,

there would not be left him

a square foot of ground to stand on.

When a man appears,

the world bears down on him

and breaks his back.

There are always too many rotten pillars left standing

for man to bloom.

The superstructure is a lie,

and the foundation is a huge, quaking fear,

and if at intervals of centuries,

there does appear a man

with a desperate, hungry look in his eyes,

a man who would turn the world upside-down

in order to create a new race,

the love that he brings to the world

is turned to bile.

[ ambulance siren ]

wait, wait! I found them! I found them!

Hey!

What the hell are you doing?

What's going on?

Stupid bastards wouldn't stop.

Look.

Poor old Peckover fell down the elevator shaft,

eight stories.

They found him crawling around crying,

looking for these.

Couldn't think about anything else.

He hasn't finished paying for them yet.

And they're quarreling

about who's going to write the obituary.

Hey, I think you're next in line for his job.

Hey, hey! Get up here.

What's all this?

Don't worry, my dear. They're friends of mine.

First paycheck in four months.

Here's to Peckover. He would've liked this.

Thanks to us, he died with his teeth in.

Peckover.

FILLMORE: Peckover.

VAN NORDEN: now let's have another bottle of wine.

Oh, no! Look at my dress, you stupid!

Oh!

Jesus!

Now you know not to laugh at French woman!

[ whistles ]

Spirited girl.

Yeah.

I'd better follow her.

But why?

Because I gave her the key to my place.

That's why.

And if I don't apologize...

she'll be waiting with a broken bottle.

See you later, Joe.

You know, what I love most about Fillmore

is his absolute refusal to learn from experience.

Lona, now, she had a cunt.

I know because she sent us some hairs

from down below.

Lona--a wild ass, snuffing pleasure out of the wind.

On every high hill, she played the harlot,

and sometimes in telephone booths

and toilets.

She used candles, roman candles, and doorknobs.

Not a prick in the land big enough for her,

not one.

Men went inside her and curled up.

She wanted extension pricks, self-exploding rockets,

hot boiling oil made of wax and creosote.

She'd cut off your prick

and keep it inside her forever

if you gave her permission.

One cunt out of a million.

Lona--all cunt and a glass ass

in which you could read

the history of the middle ages.

Une coupe de Champagne, s'il vous plait.

How lucky you are to be able to afford

the good things of life.

All the bad things happen to me.

First, my little baby,

and now my mother is at home, very ill,

and there is a doctor to pay,

the medicines to be bought.

I'm always in difficulties for money.

Wouldn't you come over to my hotel?

You can tell me all about it.

Oh, I couldn't do that.

I have to look after my mother.

You could come home with me.

I have an apartment to myself.

It will be peaceful.

O.K. Let's go.

I got to warn you. I only got 50 francs.

50 francs?

Come on. You're surely joking with me.

Bye. Made a mistake.

Yeah. You certainly have made a mistake.

Ecoute, cheri. Be reasonable.

O.K. I'll be nice to you.

You'll see.

You were lying to me, then.

I was just lying to you.

Taxi!

[ ticking ]

[ bell rings ]

My god, this place is in such a state

since mother, uh, has been sick.

I can't find anything when I want it.

No, don't sit there.

Come over here, cheri.

Oh, this dress.

The zipper always sticks.

Can you?

Never mind.

I've done it myself.

Now what are you waiting there for?

Hurry up and get undressed.

Have you seen my diploma on the wall?

First class honor.

Mama had it framed for me.

Come on. Get undressed.

I think you should hurry, you know?

Uh, where's my kimono disappeared to?

I must go to see mother. Just a moment.

You can have a bath, if you like.

I'll be back in a few minutes.

She's going to die. She's going to die!

Oh, dear, dear.

If--if only I had the money for the doctor.

Oh, yeah, the money.

Will you please take this for your mother?

You're very kind,

but...the doctor is very expensive.

Yes. Things are rough all over.

Ah, you're right.

[ meter ticking ]

come on.

Move over.

[ panting ]

Mmm.

Oh, darling, I'm dying for you.

Oh, what are you?

Ohh!

Oh, yes, again. It's so beautiful.

Ahh!

Yeah, slow down. Where's the fire?

Here! Here!

Oh, cheri, c'est tellement bon!

Oh, c'est bon, vite, vite, vite!

C'est bon, cheri, vite.

Uh, take it easy.

Take it easy.

Where's your mother?

Is she downstairs?

Oh, c'est tellement bon!

Vite, vite, vite, cheri, vite!

[ bell rings ]

I must go and see mother.

Germaine was different.

There was nothing to tell me so from her appearance,

but I 'd noticed her verging toward me

with that curious trot-about air of a whore

and the run-down heels and cheap jewelry,

the pasty look of their kind.

In a few minutes we were in a 5-franc room

on the Rue Amélot,

the curtains drawn and the covers thrown back,

but she didn't rush things, Germaine.

She sat on the bidet soaping herself

and talked to me pleasantly

about this and that.

As she stood up to dry herself,

still talking to me pleasantly,

suddenly she dropped the towel.

In advancing toward me leisurely,

she commenced rubbing her pussy affectionately,

stroking it with her two hands,

caressing it, patting it.

There was something about her eloquence at that moment

and the way she thrust that rosebush under my nose

which remains unforgettable.

She spoke of it

as if it were some extraneous object

which she had acquired at great cost,

an object whose value had increased with time

and which now she prized

above everything in the world.

The words imbued it with a peculiar fragrance.

It was no longer just her private organ,

but a treasure, a magic, potent treasure,

a God-given thing

and none the less so because she traded it

day in, day out for a few pieces of silver.

As she flung herself on the bed

with legs spread wide apart,

she cupped it with her hands

and stroked it some more,

murmuring all the while

in that hoarse, cracked voice of hers

that it was good, beautiful,

a treasure, a little treasure,

and itwas good, that little pussy of hers.

That Sunday afternoon,

with its poisonous breath of spring in the air,

everything clicked together.

As we stepped out of the hotel,

I looked her over again in the harsh light of day,

and I saw clearly what a whore she was--

the gold teeth, the run-down heels, et cetera, et cetera.

Even the fact that she had wormed a dinner out of me,

and cigarettes and taxis,

hadn't the least disturbing effect upon me.

I encouraged it, in fact.

I liked her so well that after dinner

we went back to the hotel again

and took another shot at it...

for love this time.

And again that big bushy thing of hers

worked its bloom and magic.

It began to have an independent existence for me, too.

There was Germaine,

and there was that rosebush of hers.

I liked them separately,

and I liked them together.

I don't think this earthy stuff

is going over too well with Irene.

I think she's kind of an ethereal cunt.

Ethereal or not, she's rich.

It should be worth a little letter-writing.

Now, go on. Where were we?

Rabelais--"You send me golden apples, Irene, dear,

and gifts of shaggy chestnuts, too."

She hasn't given you anything, has she?

No, but I like that word "shaggy."

"But if you follow them,

the choicest gift you brought would be just you."

You know you say that like you mean it?

Let's hit her with a little dash of Keats.

Irene, peerless nymph, "why fear such tenderness as mine?"

Now, wait a minute.

This is the real clincher.

"oh, let me have thee whole.

"All, all be mine.

"Those hands, those eyes divine,

"that warm, white, lucent,

million-pleasured breast."

Jesus, that'll do it.

Let's pepper it up a bit.

No, no, no. That's too morbid.

Breathes there man with soul so dead

who to himself hath never said,

"when I see Irene, I think of bed."

Oh, it's not in the same class.

Besides, it's too pushy.

We've got to bring this to a delicate conclusion.

Not too delicate. It's about getting laid, you know.

If the lady's any good at all,

it's never far from her mind.

You just have to let her know

that you know what she's thinking about.

[ doorbell rings ]

Did you pay your rent?

It's from her. It's from Irene.

Well?

A rendezvous.

Christ, do you think she's watching us?

Come on, Carl. She's not going to eat you.

Wish you hadn't said that, crude bastard.

I can't go in yet. What's the time?

I'm two minutes early.

All right, all right.

Let's take a walk around the block.

Press button 2.

"Rescue teams have been working throughout the night

"in an effort to reach the 12 miners trapped since Tuesday

"in the Alsatian mining disaster.

"Investigation into cause of disaster has revealed

that the collapse was due to faulty tit-props"?

Pit-props.

"Messages of consolation have arrived from the government."

I'll bet.

[ telephone rings ]

Yeah.

Henry, it's Carl. Look, Henry...

fill in for me at the office, will you?

Tell the bastard I'm--anything.

Tell him I 'm dying.

O.K., Carl...

What's happening?

Hello?

Are you Henry Miller?

How are you?

You sound so nice.

Hello, Joe?

She likes you.

I told her all about you,

how we call each other Joe.

She wants us to call her Joe, too.

Talk to you later, Henry.

Ah, you...

son of a bitch.

Help me read through these stock prices, huh?

What happened to Carl?

He says he's dying.

Oh, so he's dying, is he? The little prick.

Come on. Give me the lowdown on this whole thing.

He went to visit his rich cunt.

He actually went to call on her?

Where's she live? What's her name?

Let me in on this racket.

It's not a racket.

A little prick like that

slips off to lay a rich, beautiful, hungry cunt,

and you say there's no racket? Come on!

Calm down. I'll tell you everything

as soon as Carl gives me the details, O.K..?

Yeah, O.K..

I like Van Norden,

but I don't agree with his opinion of himself.

He's not a writer.

He's just cunt-struck, that's all.

29, 35 5/8, 35 1/2...

Come on, Carl, you're hanging me up.

Don't torture me.

Tell me, was it good, or was it bad?

Wait. I'm going to tell you everything.

That means it was a failure.

No. No, it wasn't a failure.

It wasn't a success either.

You know, it's pretty strange.

To think of all those letters we wrote her

and then to find that...

well, she was in her dressing gown.

There was a bucket of Champagne on the dresser.

The room was pretty dark,

the curtains drawn, not much light.

But her voice was lovely.

I know that. Go on.

It must have been 9:00 because I remember

I looked at my watch to check.

The next time I looked at my watch, it was 10:00.

She was on the divan with her boobies in her hands.

At 11:00, we were going to run away to Borneo.

Didn't she have a husband?

Fuck the husband. She never loved him anyway.

She never would've written that first letter

if the husband hadn't been old and passionless.

And when she says to me, "But listen, dear,

how do I know you won't grow tired of me?"

What'd you say?

What'd you expect me to say?

I said, "How could anyone ever grow tired of you?"

Oh, Carl, you're the cutest.

What happened then?

I don't know.

Oh. I kissed her breasts a lot.

Then I got tired of them staring me in the face,

so I stuffed them back in her corsage--

or whatever they call those things.

Wasn't that a step backwards?

No. They get hotter if they think you're cooling off.

So, then we had more Champagne.

There I was, sitting with my semicolons,

wondering whether I could afford

to go to the can for five minutes.

And I 'm dying to take a leak!

I had one hard-on, but it faded out.

Ohh.

I pull her to her feet,

and I start walking her to the door.

I tell her I love her. I'll go anywhere she says.

Only now I must go. It's getting late.

Carl, you didn't even tell me whether she's beautiful.

A woman with a voice like that?

When we spoke on the phone, I was stunned.

I wanted to say one true thing, no matter how silly,

after all that crap we wrote her.

Was she beautiful?

She had a streak of gray hair across her forehead.

I remember that, but that wouldn't be so bad.

You see? I'd almost forgotten it.

But it was her arms.

They were thin.

They were thin and brittle.

If she were only 10 years younger,

I might overlook the gray hair and even the brittle arms.

But she's too old.

You see, with a cunt like that, every year counts now.

She won't just be one year older next year,

she'll be 10 years older.

Another year, she'll be 20 years older.

I'll be getting younger-looking all the time,

at least for another five years.

How did it end?

That's just it. It didn't end.

I promised to meet her Tuesday.

Ooh, and that's not all.

I promised to write her a letter in the meantime.

How can I write her a letter now?

I haven't got anything to say.

If she were only 10 years younger.

Listen, do you think I ought to go with her

to Borneo or wherever she wants to take me?

[ jungle noises ]

I don't know how to shoot.

I'm afraid of guns and all those things.

Besides, she'll want me to fuck her night and day.

Nothing but hunting and fucking all the time.

I can't do it!

[ loud jungle noises ]

She said she was turning 40.

That means 50.

Or 60!

It'd be like fucking your own mother.

She must have had something.

You kissed her breasts, for christ's sake.

Kissing her breast, what's that?

Besides, it was dark, I'm telling you.

Look at that.

It's coming apart, the god damn suit.

I'm coming apart.

Irene is certainly coming apart.

You can forgive a young cunt anything.

She doesn't have to have brains.

They're better off without brains.

But an old cunt...

see, an old cunt, even if she's brilliant,

even if she's the most charming woman in the world,

nothing makes any difference.

A young cunt is an investment.

An old cunt is a dead loss.

All they can do for you is buy you things.

With you, it's different.

You don't have to lay her.

You can afford to like her.

Maybe you would like her.

If she's rich, I'll like her,

as long as she's not a hag.

She's not a hag. What are you talking about?

If that's how it is, I'll fuck her.

If you don't want to, tell her that.

You be subtle about it, though.

Perhaps we'll go to Borneo together.

I don't know how to shoot either.

That doesn't matter. We'll drive, we'll hunt,

we'll wear nice things.

If we go to Borneo, I won't have hemorrhoids anymore.

Maybe I 'll develop something else,

something worse.

Cholera, do you think?

It's better to die of a good disease

than to piss your life away on that newspaper

with grapes up your ass

and buttons falling off your pants.

What would you rather do,

be a cripple all your life or have a job

or marry a rich cunt?

You'd rather marry a rich cunt.

Supposing you married her and you couldn't get a hard-on anymore?

That happens sometimes. What would you do then?

The best thing would be to marry her,

then get a good disease.

You wouldn't have to worry about laying her

or the rent either.

That's the best solution for a writer.

Listen, all I want

is a good wheelchair and three meals a day.

Then I 'd give them something to read, those pricks.

What happened to you?

You should've stayed around for a Pernod.

Carl talked about that dame Irene for two solid hours.

I could use a Pernod now.

I was out looking for Fillmore.

Oh, Fillmore 's been taken to a funny farm outside Paris.

Wonder if that guy's putting us on.

That girlfriend of his gave me the address.

It's around somewhere.

But Carl, now...

that guy's an artist.

He described every detail minutely.

He gave it to me with such accuracy,

I know the whole god damn thing is a lie,

but I can't get it out of my mind.

You know how my mind works.

He told you the story.

You think he made it up?

I think he invented the whole thing

just to torture me.

I don't care about that.

I don't care if it's all a lie.

It's the images that get me.

I didn't sleep a wink for thinking of it.

Just like that guy to tell me

he put it to her six or seven times.

Well, that's a lot of shit.

But when he tells me she rented a carriage,

drove him to the bois,

and used her husband's fur coat for a blanket,

that's too much.

I suppose he told you

about how the chauffeur waited patiently.

And listen, did he tell you

about how the motor purred all the time?

He's such a cute little liar,

you can't walk away from him.

I don't understand how a guy writes letters like that.

I don't get the mentality.

It's a kind of masturbation.

What do you think?

I suppose he told you the whole thing.

Tell you about how he kissed her on the balcony?

The way that boy described it,

I can just see that little prick standing there

with his arms around her,

and already he's writing her

another letter about the rooftops

and all that crap he steals from his French authors.

That guy never said a thing that's original,

but you have to get a clue

to whom he's been reading.

That's hard because he's so secretive.

It's the way he tells it to me.

You know how he embroiders things.

After that scene on the balcony--

he gives me that like an hors d'oeuvre--

after that scene on the balcony,

he says they went inside,

and he unbuttoned her pajamas.

What are you smiling for?

Was he shitting me about that?

No, he told me... the same thing.

Oh. Well, after that,

he says, she's sitting with her legs up,

not a stitch on.

He's down on the floor looking up at her

and telling her how beautiful she is.

Did he tell you how she looked like a Matisse?

What I 'm getting at is that moment

he said he was down on his knees,

and with his two skinny fingers

he spreads her cunt open. Remember that?

Her legs were dangling over this chair

when he gets this inspiration.

That's after a couple of lays

and the spiel about the Matisse,

but now, get this.

With his two fingers, just the tips of them, mind you,

he spreads the little petals open.

Squish, squish-- just like that.

That little sticky sound, almost inaudible.

Squish, squish.

Jesus, I 've been hearing it all day.

And then, if that wasn't enough for me,

he said he buried his head in her muff!

Then if she doesn't swing her legs around his neck!

When he told me that, that finished me.

Can you imagine a fine woman like that

swinging her legs around his neck?

It's poisonous!

It's so fantastic, it's almost believable.

Sounds pretty incredible.

Still, you never can tell

with a little prick like that.

I suppose anything can happen.

Maybe he didn't fuck her at all.

Maybe she just let him diddle her.

You never can tell with these rich cunts.

You know what they might expect you to do.

I better go see Fillmore.

It's all over, Joe.

They say I 'm crazy.

Fuck 'em.

They say I may have syphilis, too!

They say I 've got delusions of grandeur.

What did they put me in this expensive room for, huh?

Why don't they put me in the ward?

Or in the bughouse!

I can't afford this.

I'm down to my last $500, Joe.

That's why they got you here, pal.

When you run out of dough,

they'll move you out quick enough.

Don't worry about it.

Here. Hold on to these for me.

They'll rob me of everything I 've got.

I know.

I know you think I 'm crazy,

but I want to atone for what I did.

I want to get married.

I didn't know I had the clap.

See, I...gave her the clap,

and I knocked her up.

I don't care what happens,

but I 'm going to marry her first.

He keeps telling me to wait until I get better.

I'm not going to get better.

This is the end.

Aw, come on, Joe.

I'm dying, Joe!

And Ginette, who's going to take care of her?

Who's going to take care of her after I 'm gone?

After you're gone?

You can take care of her.

You're healthy.

Joe, would you take care of her?

Easy, boy, easy.

Would you? For me.

Where does she live?

You're a good guy, Joe.

That's right. I am.

Where is she living?

Oh, somewhere on the sixth floor.

Everyone in Paris lives on the sixth or seventh floor,

so by the time you get up there, you're incapable.

They're all in on it, hmm?

Yeah.

Sixth floor. Where?

365 Rue la Bosse.

O.K., look, uh...

I'll find the girl, and I 'll hold her hand,

and I 'll explain everything.

Don't worry about anything.

Just lay back, eat your oranges.

You know, they might be charging you rent for them.

Oh, no. Not...

[ knock on door ]

Ginette?

Entrez. Sit down, please.

And you think he keeps his position

when he leaves hospital?

His job, you mean. Oh, I suppose so.

You speak good English, Ginette.

We were pulled together by common tongues.

That must have been nice.

Please tell me what you think.

Jo-Jo want to marry me. He say that.

But if he does not...

you know, a young girl in a delicate condition...

and with the other thing besides...

if he leaves me,

what I 'm going to do?

Dear...

Fillmore is a perfect gentleman,

and he's thinking about you all the time.

I'm certain he'll stand by you.

I'll be the godfather to the child.

How's that?

Oh, you are so good.

All the same, are you certain you want this child?

If you have this condition you spoke of,

it might be born blind.

Don't say such things!

It doesn't make any difference to me.

I want a child of my Jo-Jo.

Are you all right?

Oh, yes.

I was thinking of Jo-Jo and me in the bed.

How we did fight.

You know, he likes to fight with me.

He was a brute!

Do you want some cheese?

[ knock on door ]

Qui est la?

C'est moi, Yvette.

Bonjour, Yvette.

Comment, ma petit?

Here is my friend Yvette.

Monsieur Henry, the friend of mon pauvre Jo-Jo.

Enchante, Monsieur.

Yvette makes a job of national importance.

She's a spy for the police.

Oh, God.

Come on. What does she actually do?

I regulate inspection of the ladies.

Sounds like pretty essential work.

I take you to work in taxi.

I just change my robe, and I come with you.

Ginette is a whore...

and she has no baby neither.

Maybe she has the clap, yes,

but she isn't pregnant.

Well, why does she want to marry him?

She wants someone to take care of her.

No Frenchman would marry her.

She has a long police record.

But if she can marry a rich American...

GINETTE: Henry, write your address

and leave it on the table.

I am with you in a moment.

There's the address. I've got a bed at Boris'.

Mmm.

Good morning.

Mmm!

Who are you?

Hands off, Joe. Elsa's staying a few days

to lend tone to the place.

She'll show people in.

You want some breakfast?

I have some hot croissant and jam.

Don't give him breakfast.

It'll encourage him to stay.

Why don't you move in with Fillmore again?

They let him out of the nuthatch.

Well, Fillmore will probably be living with Ginette,

and I wouldn't want to disturb a happy couple.

It hasn't worried you up till now.

Look, straighten the place up a little.

Artistic disorder is O.K..,

but this is ridiculous.

[ violin music plays ]

He needs a woman.

My...

dear...

one.

Today...

my heart...

is filled...

with...

sorrow.

Ah! Lieber gott!

What's happened to the world?

Oh, let me help.

I have no luck, no luck never.

I tried to write to my lover so far away,

and what's happened?

The typewriter jams.

Oh, poor girl. Poor Elsa.

I am so sad... so sad.

Ah, the Germans.

They take you all over, like an omnibus.

They give you indigestion.

In the same night,

one cannot visit the morgue, the infirmary,

the zoo, the signs of the zodiac,

the limbos of philosophy,

the caves of epistemology,

the arcana of Freud and Stekel.

On the merry-go-round,

one doesn't get anywhere.

Whereas with the Germans,

one can go from Vega to lope de Vega in one night

and come away as foolish as Parsifal.

Always the same.

Always.

Men use me,

and cast me aside.

If you could play the piano like this,

you should have better sense

than to let yourself be tripped up

by every guy with a big putz

that just happened to come along.

But what can I do?

I like it.

And this is the living room.

I can see that.

Henry...

Hey, Fillmore, you old nut.

They let him out?

Yeah, I 'm fine now.

He looks good now, my fiancé.

You're on the move again, huh?

Yeah, Boris kicked me out.

I got to find a hotel tonight, you know,

unless I find someplace to stay.

Ginette, go do some shopping.

We'll be all right. We'll be at the cafe, O.K..?

Come on.

Have another. I don't care.

It's her father's money.

My job's gone,

and we're supposed to get married in a month or so.

Once they get me properly in their clutches,

I'll be nothing but a slave.

O.K., first you get married, then you get divorced.

Meanwhile, she'll be dropping the kid.

Who's going to take care of it?

Some girls are naturally fat around the middle.

Yvette told me that Ginette 's not pregnant.

What do you mean?

I know she's going to have a kid, all right.

I felt it kicking around inside of her.

That Yvette 's a dirty little slut.

You see, Joe, I didn't want to admit this to you.

Before I went to the hospital,

I was putting out for Yvette, too.

When the crackup came, I couldn't.

I felt like I 'd done enough for both of them, right?

No, no, no.

That Yvette 's just sore at me. That's all.

Boy, I wish it were true.

I could get out of this more easily.

They got me by the balls now.

God, here she comes again.

Cheri,I hurried to get backtoyou.

That's O.K.., hon.

We're just having a little drink on your father.

Drink? My father?

My father never drink.

No, honey, uh...

he's trying to explain to you

the fact is

your old man's paying for these drinks.

So now I 'm not understanding English, eh?

Is that incredible?

How do you work yourself into these situations?

You're laughing.

You make fun of me.

You mock at your fiancée with strangers.

Ginette, don't be stupid.

I stupid!

Ginette, I want you to just--

that'll teach you how to behave.

[ crash ]

[ speaking French ]

[ speaking French ]

Come on.

Fuck you!

[ Ginette speaking French ]

Go home!

Why?

Today I awoke from a sound sleep

with curses of joy on my lips,

with gibberish on my tongue,

repeating to myself like a litany,

"Fais ce que voudras."

Do anything, but let it produce joy.

Do anything, but let it yield ecstasy.

So much crowds into my head when I say this to myself,

images--gay ones, terrible ones,

maddening ones,

the wolf and the goat,

syphilis with her wings outstretched,

and the door of the womb always on the latch,

always open, ready,

like the tomb,

lust, crime, holiness,

the lives of my adored ones,

the failures of my adored ones,

the words they left behind them,

the words they left unfinished,

but above all... the ecstasy.

Hey, what's the matter with you?

I have a half-hour to go to the bank and no more.

She keeps tabs on me.

Come on, let's have a drink.

I just don't know what to do anymore.

You're going to have to do something for me, Henry.

I'm helpless.

She won't let me out of her sight.

The French...

you know, I used to rave about them,

but that was all literature.

I know what they're really like.

They're cruel and mercenary and mean.

There's no sympathy, no friendship.

The most selfish people on earth.

They think of nothing but money, money, money.

And so god damn respectable and bourgeois.

That's what drives me nuts.

Sure, I hate those puritanical bastards back home.

I hate them as much as you do,

but I 'm one of them myself.

I don't belong here.

I'm sick of it.

Look here, Fillmore.

What is it you really want to do?

I'd like to be home with my people.

I'd like to hear English spoken.

Listen, if that's what you really want to do,

why don't you do it? Why don't you go?

I'd go today.

Yes, by Jesus, I'd go today

without even saying goodbye to her.

That money at the bank,

is that her father's money,

or is it yours?

That's mine. My mother sent it to me.

I don't want any of her Goddamn money.

Suppose we hop in a cab, go down there,

you check out every last cent.

This afternoon, you hop a train for London.

In London, you catch the first boat for America.

You can't go back and get any of your things.

Let her keep them.

In that French mind of hers,

she'll never suspect you scooted off

without bag or baggage.

No Frenchman would ever dream of doing that

unless he's as cracked as you are.

Here. That's every bit of it.

The closer you get to New York,

the more this will seem just like a bad dream.

What are you going to tell her?

Don't worry about what I 'll tell her.

The important thing is how much you want to give her.

All...

Why give her anything?

Let's give her this French money.

That should hold her for a while.

How much is it?

She has 2 or 3,000 francs.

That's more than she deserves.

Christ, will you don't say that, Joe? Please!

It's a lousy, rotten deal

I'm giving her, you know.

She'll never be able to go back to her parents.

Give her the whole damn thing.

I don't care what it is.

Stop.

Hey, you can't do that. It's too late.

You're getting on that train.

You can't go back there now. It's settled.

I just don't want her to kill herself. That's all.

Kill herself?

As far as the money's concerned, don't worry.

I'll go right to the post office. I'll telegraph it.

[ train horn blows ]

Here, send her a postcard.

Tell her you're sailing.

Tell her you love her. Go on.

I'll see her tonight.

Don't worry. It'll be great. You'll see.

[ train horn blows ]

Hurry up. The train's leaving. Let's go.

Henry! Bye, Henry!

Bye!

Bye, Henry!

Bye!

Cab!

[ speaking French ]

Suddenly it occurs to me

that if I want, I could go to America myself.

It's the first time the opportunity's ever presented itself.

My thoughts drift out toward the sea,

toward the other side,

where, taking a last look back,

I had seen the skyscrapers fading out

in a flurry of snowflakes.

I see them looming up again

in the same ghostly way as when I left.

See the lights creeping through their ribs.

I see the whole city spread out

from Harlem to the battery,

the streets choked with ants,

the theaters emptying.

I wonder, in a vague way,

whatever happened to my wife?

After everything quietly sifted through my head,

a great peace came over me.

Here, where the river gently winds through the girdle of the hills,

lies a soil so saturated with the past

that however far back the mind roams,

one can never detach it from its human background.

Christ, before my eyes,

there shimmers such a golden peace

that only a neurotic could dream of turning his head away.

So quietly flows the Seine

that one hardly notices its presence.

It is always there, quiet and unobtrusive,

like a great artery running through the human body.

And the wonderful peace that falls over me.

It seems as if I've climbed to the top

of a high mountain.

For a little while,

I will be able to look around me,

to take in the meaning of the landscape.

Human beings make a strange fauna and flora.

From a distance, they appear negligible.

Close up, they're apt to appear ugly

and malicious.

More than anything,

they need to be surrounded with sufficient space,

space even more than time.

The sun is setting.

I feel this river flowing through me--

its past, its ancient soil, the changing climate.

The hills gently girdle it about.

Its course is fixed.