All language subtitles for nisope

Coffee.

Here you go. Thank you, goodbye.
-Thank you.

Come here, little one.

Hi, this is Edith. I
can't come today; I'm not feeling well.

Sorry, it's nothing serious.
Just a bit of a cold.

I'll be back on Monday.

It was.

Oh, you're already there.

Are you leaving?
-No!

I mean, I just got here.
-Okay.

Yes, I...

Still on the bike?

Yes.

And you?

Nee.

Not on my bike, no!
Of course not.

Your flowers. Flowers.

Oh, yes.

I didn't know if you would come.

I wanted to call you
to tell you I was coming.

But I'm not much of a caller.
-I know that.

Have you been to his grave yet?

Yes.

Looks nice.

I'm doing my best.
-Yes.

I was afraid it
would look like a construction site.

Nee.

No, fortunately not.

So we just have to wait here?

Yeah, I think so.

You haven't changed at all.

Then don't get too close.

It still looks the same
as it did 10 years ago.

The tree is gone...

at his grave.
-Yes.

He had some kind of illness.

Yes.

I thought it was because of the poison.
-No, it has nothing to do with that.

Okay.

How many graves do they have to move?

I don't really know.

We'll find out soon enough.

Do you want something?
-What?

Coffee, tea, water?
-Oh, no, no, no! Thanks.

Okay, thank you.

I find this difficult.
-Well...

let's hear
what they have to say first.

No, I...

No, I mean, waiting here together,
and me not having seen you in years.

I don't know about you.

You don't know how I am. I
don't know what to say, and I have to pee.

Well, then you must go.

I mean going to pee.

Yes.

Actually best to drink.

You know what I find strange?

That things only happen
when they no longer matter.

When you don't need it anymore.

Are you talking about me?

So...

you don't care
whether i'm here or not?

I'm not saying that.

That's what it sounds like.

But I don't mean it that way.
I mean it in a positive way.

That...

that you discover that you can do without something,
that you no longer need it.

Isn't that positive?

Yes, but are you glad I'm here or not?
-Yes, I'm very glad you're here.

Okay.
-That we're here together.

Washed up, so to speak.
-So you feel washed up?

Yes.

What...

What was that?

What happened?
-Is he hurt?

Come here.

Is he okay?
- I don't know.

31 december 2012.

It's been a long time, hasn't it?

31 december 2012...

at 10 past 7.

7:10?
-The door closed.

I looked at the clock,
7:10.

I have never forgotten it.

What did you actually do that night?

Or don't you remember?
-Yes.

Of course.

I drove to...

Mom's beach house,
just before midnight.

I stopped at a gas station
and I was going to call you, but then...

I thought, you damn idiot.

I mean, who leaves on a day like this
and then calls at midnight? So...

So, I didn't call.

You know what I noticed?

How often you do things
that you actually don't want to do.

Are you talking about that night?
-No, no!... I mean...

I mean, yeah, probably.

You don't have to apologize.
-I don't either. It's more...

An insight long after the event.
I mean...

we all end up
in the same place in the end.

We do things we'd rather not do...

or we leave things that we would rather do.

Funny, isn't it?
You have to laugh.

Hearing that from you, I find it funny.

You have to laugh.
Yes, hilarious.

It's funny, isn't it?

Are you hurt now?
-No!

You're not suddenly offended, are you?

What are you going to do?

I need to go outside for a moment.

But they can come any time.

Do you want to record?
-No!

Not important?

Don't you find it weird...

to see each other again here after all these years ?

I find it bizarre.

A bizarre twist of fate, right?

I haven't really thought about it.

You're seeing me for the first time in 10 years...

here, in this place.

And you didn't really think about it.

Unbelievable.

Is there anything you've thought about?
-What do you mean?

About that letter, for example?
-Let's hear what they say first.

What are the options, the costs...
-The costs?

Yes, the costs.

We're talking about Jacob
and you start talking about money?

Sorry, I didn't mean it that way.

You know that too. It's ridiculous
to pretend I meant it that way.

Was it?

Edi?
-I'm hungry.

Here.

You used to be addicted to that stuff.

I'm trying to cut down.

Did you know I was addicted
to sleeping pills?

According to my doctor, they couldn't do any harm...

and it was normal for a woman
in my circumstances.

After everything I had been through,
very normal.

Isn't that reassuring?

That it won't get out of hand.
The addiction.

Well, no way.

Do you know what the worst thing
about addiction is?

That it's so hard to get rid of?
- That it's so easy to get one.

It happens before you know it.

You start with half a piece
and then another, and another.

But not every night. Only
when absolutely necessary, of course.

And it is really necessary.

So many things are increasingly necessary.

Things in small bottles...

or in handy blister packs.

And before you know it,
you're taking one every night.

For a long time I hoped
that I could leave things behind...

could start over again.

Nonsense, of course.

It will never be the same again. No matter what you
try, a new house, new...

friends, new job.

Is that what you want?

Not you?

Erase everything and start over.

Yes, but where should you start?

Where?
-At what point would you start?

What do you want to erase and how do you know that
what comes next will be better?

What a stupid question.

Sorry.

I miss him.

I miss him just as much now as I did then.
Is that strange?

And do you miss him?

I think about him every day,
if that's what you mean.

I mean, do you still miss him?

I don't really know what I would be missing.

So you don't miss him?

I've come to terms with it.

That he's gone?
-No, that I miss him, every day.

I think about him every day.

Suffering is addictive. There should
be rehab centers for it...

with compulsory admission.

Sounds a little crazy, right?

It sounds cold.

Distant.

Like it's not about you.

Yes, it sounds like an opinion people
have when it's not about them.

Such a casual remark.

The idea that you are in control
of your own life...

and also about your own suffering.

Yes, but it is true.

Don't you think so?

To a certain extent...
-No, I don't think so, no!

Do you think it matters
what you do or don't do...

that you are rewarded or punished?

What am I supposed to learn from this?
That question makes me sick to my stomach.

What am I supposed to learn from this?
Nothing.

That life can be shit sometimes,
really shit for some people...

for completely inexplicable reasons.

Why have n't you been heard from for over 10 years ?

Or explain why you left.
-You know that very well.

A little explanation would be nice.
-Okay.

Okay, so if I explain it or if I say
I'm sorry, would that make a difference?

Sometimes it's nice to
hear that you were right.

Okay, sorry.

I'm sorry.

Do you feel better now?

Wow. You really thought about it, didn't you?

Don't know.

Soon I think.

Yes, I will call you back.

Okay. Okay, bye.

Cold, right?
-Yes.

I'm sorry. I was a little...

Oh, I think it's going to rain.
Terribly.

Yes.

You used to love rain.

Have they been while I was gone?
-No!

You know what?

What are you doing?
-I'm going to call them.

Why?
-Why not?

We can wait a little longer, right?

We've been waiting for an hour.
-Are you in a hurry or something?

Isn't that the point?

You have reached Vianden Cemetery.

Unfortunately, we cannot answer your call at this time .

You can
reach us from Monday to Friday.

That's strange, isn't it?

It's strange...

that the ground around the graves
has not been excavated...

and there is no sign
explaining what is going to happen.

He's lying there in that mess already...

10 years.

Can you imagine that?
-Don't. You shouldn't think like that.

You're right.

He's not actually lying there, is he?
-What?

He's not really lying there.

If he's not there, who is?
- You know what I mean.

You haven't changed at all.

Not in all these years.
-I just try to look at it differently.

Nonsense. You're actually trying
not to look at it.

As always.
Here we go again.

Yeah, just walk away again.

What do you want then?
Do you want me to respond?

No, then I would have to adjust my image
of you too much.

Did something happen?
Did something happen while I was away?

A lot happened while you were gone.

No, I mean, right when I left.
-Oh, is that what you mean?

Yes.
-Just now? No, nothing happened just now.

On second thought, I'm not so happy
you're here after all.

Okay, then I better get going.
-Yes, you're good at that.

What do you want from me?
Do you want me to stay?

If that's what you want, just say so.
Now?

Okay.

Coward.
-Oh, no, no! You're not going to do this.

I'm sorry. Sorry.

I don't want that.
-I said sorry.

I don't want that.
That's not okay. You're not doing this.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.
What do you want? What do you want...

What do I want?
-What do you want?

Oh, what do I want?

Stop.
-Oh my God, you're so skinny.

No, no, no, really.
You've lost so much weight. Aren't you eating?

Oh, okay. Stop.

A man alone.
Doesn't take good care of himself.

You should eat a little more.
Don't drink too much.

Doesn't anyone ever tell you that?
-Yes, yes, yes.

Your mother, I suppose.
-No, my wife.

My wife.

Have you known her for long?

About two years.

All this time your mother did
n't say anything to me.

She probably didn't want to hurt you.

Nice.

Sympathetic.

I hate happiness.

Happy people.

They look so...

luckily.

What do you see when you look at me?

Are you laughing? Funny.
Are you feeling better now?

Come on. We're not going
to do any deep psychological analysis, okay?

I just asked what you see
when you look at me.

What do you want me to see?
-What do you see?

I only see flaws.

What isn't there, but should
be there, a history, a past.

A failed past.

Yes, maybe. A failed past.

A failed story.
-You can see that.

Isn't that right?
We're a failed story.

I'm sorry I can't
see it any other way.

Did you know I'm writing a book?

A book?

Are you writing a book?
-Yes.

What kind of book?

Just a book.

A journalistic book, or?
-No!

So it's fiction.
-Well...

No!
Partly, but...

I didn't know you had such ambitions.

Want to know what it's about?

Okay, it's about a man.

You could say it's me,
or partly me, or whatever.

But it's about a man...

And it's about a boy.
-I don't want to know.

And one morning the man wakes up
and notices...

that he does not...

I said: I don't want to know.

I want to tell my side of the story.
-What makes you think...

to write
about something so private?

The world is full of them.
-Oh, my God.

Will it now become world literature?

I understand you're being cynical about it.
-I'm not.

I think it's sad. Isn't it pathetic to parade your grief like that ?

I just want to give it its proper place.

Its proper place. Why do we have to
give everything in life its proper place?

To be able to close the book...

and put it in the closet.

My life is not a book
that you can put on a shelf.

When I'm dead, maybe.
Maybe then, yeah.

So you'd rather be your sadness?
-Yeah, maybe.

Better that than selling it to someone who
will pay 15 euros for it, if you're lucky.

Isn't that from his bike?

Do you want to know that for your book?

A fun little anecdote about your crazy ex.

I have a few more, though,
with juicy details.

Always good for sales.

I didn't expect
you to be happy about it.

Okay.
-Yes.

But in a sense...

I will write it for you too.

Or at least for us.

Okay.

Tell me.

What is 'us' then?

What are we, the two of us,
in your eyes?

We are...

a man and a woman
who have lost a child.

Or maybe I should say,
who lost a child first...

and then each other.

or who lost a child
and then themselves...

and then each other.

Yeah. That's a whole...

clear and concise summary
of us, yes.

If you only feel sad
when you think of someone...

when you think of someone you
loved so incredibly much...

and if nothing comes to
take the place of that sadness...

aren't you doing something
incredibly wrong?

I am sad.

I'm entitled to that. I
lost a child. We lost a child.

Then you have the right to grieve.
-Suppose you still had a child.

Would he then have to deal with grieving parents his whole life
?

Just because they think
they are entitled to it?

I don't have another child.
-Yes, but suppose.

Yes.

Remember when someone said
we should get a new one?

A new one

As if they were talking about a cat.

Maybe we should have done that.

Yeah, I mean, will it get
better if you don't continue? No!

Will things get better if you continue?

It's worth a try, right?

You are a father.

You're the father of another child, aren't you?

What difference does that make?

Are you the father of another child?
-What difference does it make?

Is it a boy or a girl?
- I don't have another child.

Not yet.

Val is pregnant.
-Val?

Yes. That's her name.
Valerie. Val.

Her name is Valerie.
-Yes.

And Valerie is pregnant?
-Yes.

Yours?
-Yes.

How old is she?

What does that matter?
-Young, of course.

Young. Optimistic.

Happy.
Your mother must love her.

God, you're so bitter.
-Yeah, how come?

You think you're the only one in pain.
The only one with hurt or sadness.

Everything was always your story,
your drama, your suffering, your loss.

As if I had nothing to do with it.
Absolutely nothing.

You didn't see him get
run over. You weren't there.

No, I didn't see it happen.
I wasn't there.

I was sitting in the editorial office
typing some bullshit story.

No, I didn't see it happen,
but I felt it. I feel it.

I feel it...

Here.

When I first came to the Netherlands,
I did a lot of running.

To ease the pain,
that awful pain you feel...

in your stomach and your chest.

I ran for miles
and had no idea where I was going.

I put one foot in front of the other.

But luckily,
at the end of the journey...

a young woman was waiting...

and she opened her arms
and took you into her beautiful home.

No and...

then you knew you had come home.

And after years and years of running...

you were finally where you needed to be.

At home.

At Valerie's.

And before you knew it...

your beautiful, happy wife was
expecting.

And then you suddenly thought: Wait a minute.

I used to have a son somewhere,
long ago...

who was tragically run over
by a motorist...

who tore through the street at 80 km/h.

Yes, it was sad, but you know,
luckily life goes on.

And in that gray brain...

then a brilliant idea emerged.

I'm going to write a book about it.

Yes, a book about me and my son
and how difficult it all was.

Even if you had to dig deep
into your memory...

because you almost forgot
how it all happened.

But maybe I, your pathetic ex-wife, can
help you out a little with the details...

because for me it
never went away, never.

Any moment...

every detail...

everything...

everything...

everything is stored in this head.

Perfectly preserved.

Sorry.

You're angry because
I left. I get that.

Yes.

You left me.
That's a fact.

Yes, I left on New Year's Eve
at 7:10, with two suitcases.

That's a fact.
-Yes.

Let's go over all those facts again
, shall we?

Do you remember what I was wearing?

What kind of weather was it?
-A red sweater.

Memory for details.

I'd almost say a writer's memory.
-Should I apologize again?

Do you want that?
-I'm sorry.

Well, very noble. You're sorry.
Are you sorry?

Of what?
-You didn't do anything.

That's right, I didn't do anything.
-Indeed.

What are you trying to say?
-I left on New Year's Eve...

7:10, two suitcases in my hand.

You didn't come after me,
you didn't try to stop me.

Bravo. You did nothing.

It's incredible how you turn things around.
Still.

I can't believe
how much you wallow in self-pity.

You don't know what you're talking about.

Not a word from you in 10 years.

And then this.
-Then what?

And...

it.

I had hoped
that things had changed.

I was hoping you had changed.

And you?
-I've changed.

I've changed a lot.
-Me too.

In some things...

I have come to terms
with what happened to me.

Sorry. Ons.

I'm not saying I accept it
or understand it...

but I've come to terms
with the fact that this is my life.

I do things, you know.

I have friends, I have a job.

I go to the cinema, I take
my students to the museum.

It's all very normal.

Like a normal life, I mean.

I stand up.

I am having breakfast.

I read the newspaper.

I can talk about things
that are happening in the world.

I'm in.
I'm doing my best.

I'm in.

Do you just want to continue like this
for the rest of your life?

I don't understand you.
Why do you have to understand me?

Because we have a past together.
We share a history,

Which will never go away,
no matter how hard we try.

I want to draw a line under this.
I want to draw a line under this together.

Draw a line under it?
-Yes.

You're really good with metaphors, aren't you?
I mean it.

To draw a line under it.

I can really tell
that you are a writer.

Weird. I thought being a writer
was something...

what you had inside you all your life,
what you couldn't ignore.

I didn't know you...

after the age of 50 you could still discover
that you were a writer.

But it's good to know it's still possible.
That even I...

That something can still become something.
That I can still discover that.

What are you going to do?
-I'm going.

Maybe you can do something different
for a change.

When I drove here
I thought of...

you. I thought about when we
met 20 years ago.

I remembered you
had a little dimple in your cheek here.

Right here, when you laughed and...

I wanted to say
that I remembered that.

I wanted to say how much I loved
that memory...

of you when you laughed.

Yep, there it is.

I couldn't start the car.

Well, he wanted to start,
but I couldn't.

Do you know that feeling?

I ran into the manager. I showed
him the letter, and he said...

that they indeed...

They were clearing some graves,
but they were old...

from the early 1900s and that they...

There was a piece about it
in the local paper.

It gave him sleepless nights,
he said.

You hate me, don't you?

No!
If you don't hate me, what then?

You want me to say
I still love you...

so you can say:

Don't know.

Am I like that?
-Yes.

I don't want to be like that.

Yes.

Want to go somewhere else?

Are you sure?

I can take you, you know.

Do you want to go to your house?
-No! Not to my house.

What are you going to do then?

I just want to stay here.
-Okay.

I want you to say that everything
will be okay in the end.

Everything will be okay in the end.

Yes.

On my deathbed, probably.

Is that funny?
-Yeah, damn funny.

Yes.

Sometimes I feel like...

that my head is full of all kinds of things
that I can't...

Can't forget, right?

That I mustn't forget.
-Yes.

Thank you.

I remember walking into the hospital...

through the glass doors, the sliding doors...

and it looked like a supermarket.

There was a restaurant
in the foyer, with tables and chairs...

and we said that we there...

in a week
we would be sitting with Jacob...

and eat ice cream or whatever.

Do you remember?

Yes.

He is there every step of the way.

He is there, everywhere.

Sometimes I see a man with a boy
on the back of his bike...

or playing football in the park
or swimming in the sea.

And then I think: Am I that man,
is he that boy?

You know.

Will it stay this way forever?

What's the point of continuing?

It's not raining anymore.

Fancy a walk?

Yeah.
-Okay.

Do you remember I asked you:

Do you think such things
have any meaning?

And you looked at me
like I was crazy.

And you said that these kinds of things
have no point, no reason.

These things just happen.
They happen by chance.

That was your position. And...

that position that...

sucked me down,
leaving me unable to breathe.

Yeah, I'm sorry.
That's just the way I am.

I don't believe that.

Sometimes I see people who
have been through something much worse...

and learned to live with it.

And they say they are happy.

And I see them being happy.

Then I wonder...

What am I doing wrong?
What's wrong with me?

Do you understand that?
-Yes.

Why did you leave?

Why that evening?

I just couldn't do it.

I couldn't handle it.

Happy New Year.
Counting down to 12 o'clock.

Raise your glass, look at you.
Hug you.

I just couldn't do it.

I still remember the door
closing with a soft click. Just like that.

Like going to work
or going grocery shopping...

as if you would be right back.

And then the car started.

I counted, 30 seconds
until the car drove away.

30 seconds to change your mind.

I kept counting, 15 seconds, until the
sound of the car was gone.

I looked at the clock,
7:10.

You're right.
I didn't do anything.

I just let you go.

With two suitcases in your hands
on New Year's Eve.

It was...

So hard to drive away.
So damn hard.

At every intersection I thought:
go back, go back.

At every traffic light:
go back, go back.

But I couldn't.
I just couldn't.

I sat by the window all evening.
In the dark.

And I kept thinking about the last
moments with Jacob in the hospital.

You on one side of his bed
and me on the other...

and someone said:
We're going to disconnect him now.

How long do we have left?

A few minutes.

A quarter of an hour.

And I thought, this is not the time
to cry.

So I held him tight.

For the first time in weeks,
I held him tightly.

Without any tubes attached to his body.
Without that...

The sucking sound of the ventilator.
The beeping of the monitor.

Just him and me.

I felt his chest rise and fall...

and his fingers in my...

Warm blood, beating blood.

Just me and him.

The world stood still.

Somehow
it was a complete moment.

Me and him.

9 minutes.

In the end it was 9 minutes.

How did you come up with the idea
for that letter?

Well, there was something in the paper about...

the clearing of old graves
and all the fuss about it.

And that from the ground?

That was at the old gas factory.

Those two things were on the same page.

I know you think I'm crazy.
-Yes.

Yes.

Did you get help?
You didn't want it, but did you seek it?

I've been everywhere.

Psychologists. Therapists.

They all said the same thing.
Yes, it's hard.

Yes, it will never be the same again.

Yes.

I want to be happy again.
Is that too much to ask?

No, I don't think so.

I want someone to save me.

That's not how it works.
-That's easy for you to say.

You are saved.

You have a new wife
and soon a new child.

Do you want to know what really saved me?
-Yes.

Yes. Are you sure?

Promise you won't laugh.

Promise me.
I won't laugh.

Promise me.
-I promise.

Okay.

I went to sing.

You said... It's funny.
You said you... Okay.

It's funny, isn't it?
No, it is funny.

Say you joined a church choir.

Well, it's a choir. It's a choir.

It's a choir.

I think it's great that you are in a choir.

That's nice of you.
Okay, so, I...

We rehearse at a school.

And one day...
This is really true.

One day I was very early
for rehearsal. I stood there...

waiting for the others.

And I heard this man singing...

and he had a beautiful voice.

A voice that makes you tremble.
That goes right through you.

And it was like I was singing it myself,
you know?

It was...

And suddenly I thought...

what if this is it?

Okay? What if there's nothing better,
nothing more beautiful...

Then this comes along.
What if this is it?

Okay? And I...
-That sounds terrible.

No, but...

It would be a relief, wouldn't it?
In a way. I mean...

not...

wanting something different,
expecting nothing different.

This is it.
-That's absurd.

Happy because there's nothing left.
No more expectations.

It would be reassuring, wouldn't it?
-But not very hopeful.

What do you want?
Hope or peace?

Both.

You heard that man sing
and thought:

What if everything stays as it is now?

Yes.
-What then?

Then I was just...
I was at peace, you know?

Yes.

I don't believe that.

It doesn't matter whether you believe it
or not. It happened.

I hate that.

These kind of stories
just happen to some people.

Stories that don't make sense,
that you can't repeat yourself.

The idea that you
have to see the light first.

Only no one ever tells you
how to do that.

Do you sing often?
-About once a week.

And you?
-No!

You always sang for him.

Did you know?
-Yes.

When he was a baby.
-Yes.

And also in the hospital.

Did I sing in the hospital?
-Yes.

Yes.

Do you remember?

On the day he died.

In...

I held you
and you held him...

You had pressed your lips against his forehead
and I saw your lips moving.

And you sang for him and...

I couldn't hear what it was, but...

Don't you remember?

Are you sure?
-Yes.

Yes, yes.

How are you?

Yes, I want to get out of here.

Not?

Yes, now.
-Right now?

Right now.
-Because of what I just said.

No, no, it's...

It's because of everything today.
Everything.

I just want to get out of here.
I want to go home.

Do you want me to take you?
- No, I just want to go home.

Okay.

I don't want to leave you like this.

I'm so sorry, Lucas.

You have to believe me.
I'm truly sorry.

I don't want to leave you like this.
-It's okay.

Is there anything I can do for you?
- No, nothing, thank you.

No, nothing at all?
-Maybe hold me.