All language subtitles for My.Sex.Life....Or.How.I.Got.Into.An.Argument.19596.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

Paul Dedalus is 29.

He's an Assistant Professor
of Philosophy at a Paris university.

Having become
a teacher only reluctantly,

he yearns to quit
this "temporary" job,

but can't bring himself to do so.

Consequently,
he hasn't finished his doctorate

which would make him
a full professor.

In this way,

with his modest earnings,
he lives a half-life,

waiting to begin what he might
call his "life as a man".

Paul lives with his cousin Bob.

For ten years, he's been seeing
the same girl, Esther.

They don't get along.
For almost ten years

they've been trying to break up.

For two years,
Paul's been seeing another girl.

But she happens to be
his best friend's girlfriend.

Paul considers it impossible
to steal someone else's girl.

This is where his problems begin.

- Who's the great office for?
- A new teacher.

No way! Who?

I don't know. It's on here.

Chairman, Epistemology Department
Mr. Rabier

Ma vie sexuelle
(Paul Dedalus' journey)

Yesterday I remembered
the first time I started a novel.

It was a Sunday afternoon
at my grandparents' house.

I was 10... maybe 11.

Because we'd just visited Bruges
with my parents,

my brother, my sister and I
were playing "Venice".

I can remember a window
looking out on a brick wall,

Granny's kitchen table...
It's all very precise.

I wanted to write a Stevenson-like
adventure story. I felt like

doing it as a fake autobiography.

I don't know why,
but I felt it would be better,

more believable,
if it was based on my real life.

I don't know what I intended:
Pirates and treasures, no doubt.

But to imagine these adventures,

I had to wring the neck

of real life.
That is, to write my imaginary life,

I had to start
by a critique of my real one.

That's why I started
with my own story.

It was a form of... revenge.

My literary tenacity

couldn't have lasted more
than ten lines, probably not even five.

I abandoned my "book"

to go play with
my brother and sister.

It must have been something like:

"I'm 10 years old
and was born in the provinces.

"Judging by my parents, who'd have
guessed my incredible destiny?

"I spent my youth
living in infinite terror.

"My father, an honest bourgeois..."

No: "a craven bourgeois,
cringed at his own shadow

and was relieved to see
how every bleak day repeated itself.

"That gloomy house suffocated me.

"On those windy nights,
everyone was in his room

"trembling, shaking like leaves.

"But I was trembling with joy.

"I prayed that disaster
would strike and wake us all.

"I desired what my parents feared:
Adventure!"

It was just a beginning.
I didn't know how to continue.

Then I went off and played.

My mother found what I'd written

while I was playing elsewhere.

She read it, of course.
Our privacy meant nothing to her.

Soon after, she called for me.

It was in the dining room.

My father was sitting.
My mother was standing, shouting.

My grandparents may also have
been there, embarrassed.

Then she started
reading my story out loud.

It was so embarrassing.

She asked for an explanation.

Why did I write bad things
about my father?

Why did I think he was a coward?

Why did I find him craven?
Did I find him submissive too?

I denied it all.

It was only the beginning of a book.

She hadn't read the rest of it.

I didn't know what to say,
but she kept insisting.

My father tried to make her stop.

He smiled at me, as if to say:

"Now you see why
my life isn't a novel.

"Because of this woman."

Except that I hadn't chosen her -
she was my mother.

She kept on at it for half an hour.

"So your father's
fabric-dying business

isn't heroic enough for you?"

But now I like to think

that my father liked this
in some bitter way.

I like to think
we were somehow drawn together

by that stupid piece of paper.

It was lousy. I realized,

as my mother read it aloud,
just how lousy it was.

But maybe it helped him.
Unintentionally,

maybe I did for him
what he never dared do himself:

I denounced that unending crusade
of castration

which my mother
was waging against him.

My mother, always hand in hand
with the ways of the world.

My father, so alone
in his adolescent desires,

so out of touch with reality.

So out of touch
that it makes me angry!

If my father did smile,

it was his way
of asking a silent question.

Not to me, but to my mother -

"How can I enjoy my life with you

"when a child can see
how horrible it is?

"How can you be so sure
about what makes me happy

"when my son can see
what my life really is:

"Constant submission
to the female order of things."

I'd like to tell him

I couldn't write the story
of a man his age

who has all sorts
of adventures and escapades.

Stupidly,
I wanted to bail myself out first.

I'd forgotten that the price to pay

was his dishonor. And I can't live

with that weight on my shoulders.

Not bad...

But it's horrible.

That's why I told it.

Now I feel ashamed.

Maybe it was too long.

Are they coming
to Jean-Jacques' place?

- What do you say?
- You want to come?

We can eat there
and go to the party after.

But I don't know them.

He's her brother.

And it's New Year's Eve.
Isn't it okay?

I'll call Valerie.

Sylvia had a job interview today.

Your stories embarrass everyone.

No, it was very instructive.

I think your mother was terrible.

His mother was a bitch. Like mine.

The Bad-Ass Sisters.

Now you tell me something shameful
about your parents.

You all seem so classy.

I feel I'm the only one
with a shameful memory.

I shared it right away

so you wouldn't find it out
behind my back.

I prefer to be master of my fall.

I can calculate where I'll land.

Paul's scared of a bad fall.

Are you sorry you invited me now?

Real sorry.

So they're your friends.

Bob's here.

Are you ashamed of me?

You're incredibly late.
It's annoying.

I had to make myself up...
like a whore.

Gorgeous.

- Didn't you and Esther break up?
- We're not really together.

I know you don't
believe me anymore...

Esther's not bad.

Are you seeing someone else?

What is it?

I don't know. I need to work.
We broke up.

Now we're back together. It sucks.

Shit, it's New Year's Eve
and I'm with Esther.

Paul admires Nathan.

He does so
in a way that excludes envy.

He likes having a friend to admire.

Nathan's a rock Paul can rest on
when he's tired.

This admiration without rivalry

makes them seem aloof
from each other, if not reserved.

Nathan is the only person
with whom Paul is reserved.

Each has his own territory,

his own skills
which the other acknowledges.

They keep things professional,
revealing their intimacy

only once assured
that there is no danger.

They share an "a-intimacy"
which allows them

to play-act
at mutual confessions.

Whatever they tell each other,

the glue of proximity
can never spoil

this harmonious "a-intimacy".

What does Paul expect from Nathan?

This impression
of an unhysterical friendship

that he's always wanted
but never thought he deserved.

What Paul wants,
and what he's so thrilled to receive,

is to feel worthy of his esteem.

Nathan remarks
with kindly indifference

how Paul thinks of him with respect.

Paul feels it is his duty
to "think" his friends.

For him, thinking them
is a way of caring for them.

He believes that his positive thoughts
protect his friends from danger.

If he stopped thinking,
he'd see that his friends get on fine.

But to "stop thinking" is exactly
what he'll never be able to do.

Eventually, all of Paul's friends

surrender to the loving discourse
in which he envelops them.

Only Nathan resists the charm
of the image that Paul reflects.

Paul is trying to tell Nathan
what he learned that afternoon.

Frederic Rabier
is going to teach at their university.

A former graduate school classmate,

Rabier fell in love with the portrait
Paul had drawn of him.

In their third year,
their friendship ended abruptly.

- It's me.
- Hi, you.

Hey, buddies.

Did I say something weird?

So, J-J...

you know Paul. Esther.

Bob, Paul's cousin.

And... I'm sorry.

Patricia.

Come in.

Sylvia... Are you okay?

Is she your new girlfriend?

But I don't like her.

She's not bad.
Have you seen her behind?

Her ass is to die for!

I prefer Maj Britt.

- Still, she's got some ass!
- Control yourself.

- I'm motivating you.
- Can't you be more inspiring?

Quote someone.

"Is anything more sparkling,
more dizzying, than the possible?"

- Not bad.
- Learn from it.

- Who said it?
- Soren Kierkegaard.

He was Maj Britt's great-great-uncle.

I swear. Maj Britt Kellgren
is his great-great-niece!

Excuse me. How is she?

Great. She hasn't called
since we slept together.

I wish I could forget her.

I was saying
I don't deserve you.

I agreed.
You're much too good for him.

You're all I ever dreamt of.

Imagine a girl saying
that she dreams of you!

Are you stupid?
Marry her on the spot!

No, she's a great find.

I swear. Hold on to her.

Your girlfriend is fucking gorgeous!

Cut it out!

I'll take this in.

Let me through.

I'm a friend of...

Yeah, I know.

- Can I help?
- No, I'm fine.

Come on,
I feel like looking useful.

Your sister-in-law
is looking daggers at me.

I'm afraid to go in there.

I'll feel better
if I'm carrying something.

She's acting herself.
You know her.

No. I really don't.

I've seen her a few times
with Nathan.

I'm using real silver,
so no stealing!

It's weird having everyone here.

Are we imposing?

Are there too many of us?

We move around as a tribe.

I meant
it's like a grown-up dinner.

I don't know.

We're very dignified.

My ring.

- Now?
- Is it too cold out?

- No, it's okay.
- Sorry.

- Are you bored?
- Not at all.

How about a fire, buddies?

What's this "buddies" crap?
Is he angry?

No, he likes us a lot.
Not so much me, but he likes you.

He's trying to be funny.

Maybe he's just normal.
We're abnormal.

We don't understand.

Calling us "buddies"
is normal, isn't it?

Sometimes Nathan talks that way.

It makes me very uncomfortable.

When in Rome,
do as the Romans do.

- He's no Roman.
- He is, in his way.

"Buddies" sounds Roman to me.

Where does your boyfriend teach?

Saint Denis or Nanterre?

Saint Denis or Nanterre.
One or the other.

I can never remember which one.

Is he assistant or associate?

If he did a doctorate,
then he's an associate professor.

What's his doctorate on?

- You don't know?
- You never asked?

Why should I bother him?

And he keeps changing his mind.

I don't know. Is that awful?

Let's go.

Aren't you coming?

- She wants to.
- It's late.

Come on...

She has work to finish.
I know, it's too bad.

She invited us to Sao Paulo.

You want to go to Sao Paulo?

Yeah, why not?

Enough.

I want to go.

You're really something.

Seeing you hit on Jean-Jacques
was so embarrassing.

You hit on everyone.

Are you starting again?
You're such a pain!

Esther, can't you just be friendly?

But I am friendly.

Just friendly.
No need to let them lift your skirt.

Every time you meet someone,
you pounce on him.

- Then you hang around his place.
- Bullshit!

What about Marc Bensayag?

We went to his place once.

Don't bring that up again!

So what happened?

I went there one night,
like I said on the phone.

I didn't do anything
funny with anyone.

Yeah, right... I was in Spain,

and you wander in at 6 a.m.
I was calling all night long.

Jesus, for once you were dying
to talk to me!

- Does he have his eye on you?
- Paul?

Why can't you stand him?

What do you mean?
I don't care about him.

What do I know?

You keep shooting him down.

- I wonder why.
- Because he's a pain.

My brother's unhappy, but funny.
Bob is funny too.

But Paul's a pain. He's pretentious.

He can't even finish his doctorate.

Has he finished it?

How would you know?
And that's hardly a crime.

Not when there's a good reason.
But he's just vain.

He's afraid of failure.

I'm allowed to stay out late.
Don't start...

Sorry.
Forget I even mentioned it.

It's just that you didn't know
Marc Bensayag from Adam.

I introduced you.

We spent a nice afternoon,
didn't we?

Two days later, I was in Spain
and you spent the night at his place.

I'm not saying you cheated on me.
It's just annoying.

For Marc, too. 6 a.m. is late.

Did he say so?

No, we never talked about it.

It's just annoying.

You're awful.

No, far from it.

Jean-Jacques lifted up your skirt.

- He was drunk.
- But it's a drag.

He hikes up your skirt,
you get stoned.

For the first time in years!

That's what's annoying!

I don't care if you smoke.
Then it would have been normal.

But you never smoke.
You didn't know Jean-Jacques

before tonight.
You got high like two kids!

When I walked in,
he was hitting on you.

- We were talking.
- It freaks me out!

Think about his wife!

She's a dumb bitch.

No, she isn't.
And we were her guests.

And when the Brazilian sluts
started dancing,

you had to chat them up.

Now I tried picking up
the Brazilians!

No, but can't you choose?

Couldn't you see
how lame they were?

Think about Scharfman and Sylvia.
It's embarrassing.

You're so damned vain!

Are you ashamed? I don't give a shit
about your friends!

I know.
It doesn't make me happy.

Besides, they're no friends.
You never see them.

Bob agreed with me.
I wasn't sure, so I asked him.

I thought maybe I was overreacting.

I can see you two.

I bet Bob said:
"Look at that slut."

No, it was just awful.
I had an awful time.

When I'm with you, it's the worst.

- You don't love me anymore?
- I do.

When we're alone, it's fine.
But we have no fucking life.

Everyone else gets along well.

We have nothing doing together.

When you talk, I want
to strangle you. You're the worst.

We don't get along.

One thing I know is that
if we're together,

it's because I love you a lot.

You're an incredibly lovable person.

But life has favored others
more than us.

One day, it'll end,
because we can't stop living.

We can't love each other
if life's against us.

It'll be sad.

The two of us were better
than the others.

Our love is worth it.
Theirs is trivial.

Do you think we're in love?

I do. Amazing, isn't it?

You like Sylvia?

Lay off her.

You once went out with her?

She's not bad.

She means a lot to you?

Are you seeing her?

No, she's with Nathan.

I like her, though.

Isn't she really pretty?

Yeah, poor schmuck.

Nathan's not bad either.

Nathan's my friend.

Your friends are pretty nice.

I'd be proud if he were my friend.

But I'm not sure he is.

You don't trust anyone.

When is your translation due?

Tomorrow.
I have to set the alarm.

You haven't finished it?

I don't believe it.
Do you like what you've done so far?

I don't know. I worked hard,
but I don't think he'll like it.

You want me to have a look?

How many pages is it?

Three.

I won't do it at 6 a.m.

Not now. It's too late.

I can't work now.
It's too late for me.

It's never too late.

I'm happy to read you.
Where is it?

Where?

He's such a prick
to meet you on January 1st!

I got stuff wrong in Chapter Two,

when he talks about Hegel.
I've never studied Hegel.

I haven't either,
and I don't speak English.

Poor Paul. So unlucky...

Sleep!

I'm lucky as hell.

- I love you.
- Me too.

Pain in the ass!

What a catastrophe!

This is terrible!
He's a colleague.

How awful!

What are you doing at the pool?

Who are you to ask?

This is really embarrassing.

It's no fun for me either.

Seeing you in a swimsuit
is painful.

I'll say!

I'll never come again!
You did it on purpose!

No, I'll stop coming.

I hate it here.
I just pretend to enjoy it.

This is Sylvia. Have you met?

Now you have.

You've ruined my day now.

Fortunately, I have to go to work.

I'm going too.
My stuff is over there.

I'll get my towel.

I hope you don't want
to shower with me.

You've already seen me
in a bathing suit.

Don't worry.

Look after Sylvia.
I have a class...

in 10 minutes. I'm off.

I won't say it was a pleasure,
because it wasn't.

- It won't happen again.
- Okay.

We were in graduate school together.

I know.

It's a nice day.

Shall we go?

My stuff is over there.

Do you have your key? I have mine.

I'm neurotic about taking showers
with other guys.

So I walk through
without showering.

If you want, you can
pick me up at the other end.

I'm going.

So long.

Excuse me...

Are you going out with Nathan?

Yeah, sort of.

What a shame.

Anyway I don't know
how to date a girl.

You're with Nathan.
I don't know you.

So everything's fine.

Maybe someday...

I can give you a call.

- It's sort of...
- I'll write.

Care of your parents.

Care of my parents.

I'll never get over

knowing you.

- Are they asleep?
- I'll go see. Be right back.

How was the party?

What are you doing?

It's for Esther.

Did you see Sylvia?

- She's great.
- She sure is.

Is she going to bed?

Did it go well with Patricia?

I don't care.
I'm going to dump her.

There's no reason to force myself.

I'll tell her tomorrow

or next week.

No.

What?

- You can't dump her.
- Why?

What's wrong?

Is it Esther?

Patricia has a job,

an apartment, everything.
Esther has nothing.

I want her
to get into this school.

You're a wicked liar.
You'll never dump her.

You've said so yourself.

Esther's entrance exam is in May.

You can't leave her before.

If she doesn't get in, I'm screwed.
If she does, it's over!

I swear.

We'll dump them together.

Then I'll do it now.

If you dump Patricia now,
how can I...

It'll look wicked fishy.

We've been together for ten years.

What about you and Patricia?

Two months?

She annoys you,
but you can wait.

I'm asking you to.

You're a pain.

In six months
you can do as you please.

You may wise up by May 26.

You'll thank me.

When will we get our papers back?

I've almost finished correcting them.

I don't want to do a sloppy job.

Next week. I promise.

- Were you friends with Rabier?
- Yes.

Yes and no.
We went to graduate school together.

I read an article
you co-signed in "Commentaries".

Is that still for sale?
Shame they haven't burnt it.

Frederic Rabier
is coming to teach here.

I found that out yesterday.
That's great.

Will he be teaching epistemology?

What do you think
of his latest book?

I haven't read it.
It's in my office.

But I imagine it's excellent.

When will we meet him?

He's having a reception.
That's all I know.

I don't know. Soon, I hope.

What's wrong?

Hi, Auntie.

You're freezing.

Is Ivan here?

Yes, and so is your sister.
But my son is late as usual.

That's Bob for you...

How's Ivan?

He was crying when he came.

Go wake him up.

He's in Bob's room?

He wanted to take a nap
before lunch.

It's you.

I heard you're sick.

No, I'm fine.

You don't look it.

I said I'm fine.

I'm afraid
my life is useless.

Remember when I learned Danish?

We said I was
thumbing my nose at the world.

It was incredibly difficult,
yet futile.

A tiny, faraway country...

It was totally useless.

Then when I got into school,

you said there was nothing
more noble and useful

than politics
for drawing people together.

It's useless.

You're afraid of dying.

No, I'm afraid
of living for no reason.

Of waking up one day and saying:
"Why were you alive?"

And it's too late.

If you have problems,
we can talk.

I'm not the one who's going under.

I feel saved.

It's the opposite of a depression.
It's an ascension.

Something happened.
I had a student named Juliette.

Yesterday
I took my car to the garage

to be serviced:
Oil change, brake pads...

- So did Juliette.
- Did what?

She brought her car in too.

What a place to pick up a girl!
Then what?

Then we sort of went out.

As I watched her, I thought:

"This girl
dancing around in her underwear

is the perfect image
of the Holy Spirit."

Remember the little flames
of Pentecost after Easter?

Pentecost is in May, remember?

Christ ascends to Heaven,

and above the heads of the Apostles

are little dancing flames.

It's the third era of God:
His absence,

which is now a time of joy.

I liked seeing that flame in her.

Then see her again.
There's no reason to convert!

See her again, screw her
and it'll be great.

Screwing the Pentecost can be fun!

That's not it...

I'm not going to marry her

just because we use
the same mechanic.

Then don't see her again.

It's her humanity that I love.

What!

Just come out
and say she has a nice ass!

No, her ass - and the rest of her -

allows me to understand
the Incarnation.

We feel Christ's presence in His
absence. We're filled with His spirit.

Our flesh is redeemed.
I keep crying, but I'm not sad.

The Holy Spirit
has given meaning to my life.

You enjoyed screwing her.

It's not just that.

It's her humanity that I love.

You're always in love.
You're secular.

What a prick.
Now he wants to be a priest!

- So what?
- Are you a jerk?

You hated it when
I was a communist.

Nothing I do is ever okay!

I'll say, jerk!

She's right.
Ivan, when you're normal,

you don't do something
and its opposite.

Ever hear of dialectics?

Do you believe in the Virgin Mary?
Answer honestly.

- Yes.
- Liar!

In my own way.

You're such a hypocrite!
Are you kidding me?

No, I'm not.

You're not Catholic!
Leave me alone!

- I wanna be a priest, but not yours!
- This pisses me off!

- Come here.
- What's wrong?

This isn't about fanaticism,
but philosophy.

I don't have the faith,
but I don't suffer from it, like you!

What about the Grouper?

He's dating her.

Keep her out of this.

- What about chastity vows?
- Celibacy.

I'll screw her
then let her dump me.

She has kids and a husband -
and I only have two weeks left!

Priests can't screw around.

Auntie, you have to hear this!

Listen to these idiots.

God isn't going to punish me
for screwing.

It's a religion of forgiveness.

We're a living church!

I may be a sinner,
I'm not a calvinist.

Do you know why I got in a fight
with Frederic Rabier?

He'll be teaching at school
and I'll be bumping into him.

I'm wondering
something really stupid:

Do we still say hello?

It's best
if you don't say hello first.

Wait and see if he does.

If he snubs you...

Was I really angry with him?

You were so close.

You never mentioned it,
so I never asked.

- I don't know what happened.
- Me neither.

It's strange...

Was I that monstrous?

But I've changed?

It's hard to say. We're family.

Compared to when?
When you were 9? Not much.

Thanks.

Second-year diploma.

I think this is it.

Couldn't you fill out
your application neatly?

Who cares?

But you were in Liverpool in 1990.

- Summer of '90.
- I forgot...

How could you forget?
You're not careful.

You won't become
a translator by magic.

Three photos.

Shit!

- We have until midnight.
- They won't care.

It's a national entrance exam, honey.
They will.

Too bad. Let's forget it.

You don't look like a translator.

- What do I look like?
- Try this.

Put this on. It's 11:30.

Got any money?

Not too austere.
Not too promiscuous either.

Poised and serious.

Did it go okay?

4 minutes.

This is all there is?

The fourth one's for you.

Like it?

Why are you here at Nanterre?
Don't you go to the Sorbonne?

I came for a course list.

For my PhD.

You're not scared?

- We're all blacks and commies here.
- That's okay.

So this is just a coincidence?

It's funny
bumping into each other.

- I came to pick up a course list.
- What luck.

Actually, I came here to see you.

I read an article on logic
that you wrote.

It was amazing.

- You don't have to...
- No, I'm serious.

It wasn't that great,
but what's done is done.

I disagree.

I loved it and I want you
to be my thesis advisor.

I mean, if you don't mind.

I'll read some stuff for you.

I can't find it.

I'll have to search.

This may be of help.

Would you mind
if we quote Adorno?

Your outline is great.
You have tons of ideas.

Paring them down won't be hard.

It'll be fun.

It's Frederic Rabier.

It was at school.

- We were in the same class.
- Really?

Nathan isn't in it.
He was sick that day.

Where are you?
I can't find you.

I'm here.

No one ever recognizes me
in this picture.

- Have I changed?
- It's you all right.

Same serious look on your face.

What? I was laughing.

Maybe it's because
you're in a shadow.

I think you look dreary.

She wants me to be her advisor.

Did you say yes?

Yes and no. Not yet.

She's crazy and she looks it.

She wears a wedding ring on her
index finger, which is worrisome.

It's just a ring,
not a wedding ring.

So you noticed! She wears
a wedding ring and she's not married.

If it doesn't bind anyone,
it's a ring

without a stone in it.

Even if it's a ring
that has lost its stone,

which I doubt,

the missing stone
makes it a wedding ring.

The fact that it binds no one
makes matters all the more serious.

I'm not impressed.

I think she likes me.
She's pretty.

- You agreed to work with her.
- No, but what would you do?

I wouldn't date her.

She's too freaky.

Her freakiness excites me.
It's a challenge.

You have to be bold!

My mother was a super freak.

I won't be intimidated.

I hate being here.

But it would look worse
if I don't go in.

The whole thing is so bombastic.

- Go say hello to him!
- No way! You do it.

I'll test the waters.

You knew him better than I did.

- And he doesn't like my books.
- He's just an ass.

Don't touch!

That's a work of art.

You know what art is?

Answer me. Do you?

Well, I don't.

I know what is admirable.

Hold on, I can't do this.

What? You can't chicken out now!

Don't count on me to explain it.

It's beyond explanation.
There's no way out.

There is only violence.

Van Gogh is a total mind-fuck!

Was he really my friend?

You were Yin and Yang!

You co-signed articles.

- Is he yours?
- Yes, he follows me everywhere.

Unless I'm the one
who precedes him.

No one knows.

Do you have a soul
or are you a hairy machine?

Look at him.

What was I like all those years?

A little frazzled, but funny.

What the hell was I like?

I didn't tell Patricia,
so be careful.

As long as you don't see
the Holy Spirit!

So you slept together?

Yeah. It was no barrel of laughs.

But you had some fun.

Yeah, it was fun.

Spill the beans.

There aren't many to spill.
It was so-so.

I had my doubts. I thought
she had an ass like Sylvie's.

No... It's more...
No, it's better.

- Like Patricia's?
- No way! Are you kidding?

Is she fake sexy?

No, but she's out of it.

For example, she uses an I.U.D.

- Maybe she has to.
- No, she's insane.

Some girls can't take the pill.

They can't for medical reasons.
That happens.

I think she's insane.

She's kind of "feety" too.

When she's on top,
she's on her feet, not her knees.

It's part of her act.

"Feety" can be nice.

It's affectionate. Touching too.
And it's a nice change.

In theory, maybe.
But she's "feety" to the bone,

to tell you the truth.

Okay but "knees"
can get pretty spooky.

It's like catechism.

- Feety" is cooler.
- No, knees!

It's "guitar-strumming Christian".

It's "I'm at one with my body".

A little.

But "feety" is also

I love myself"...
"I want to eat you alive".

Yeah, it's pretty gross.

And she makes no noise.

Or not much, in any case.

But she acts weird.

- How?
- She trembles.

She does this too...

That's no big deal.

She doesn't smoke.

Now that's no fun at all!

Now you get it!

- What's her problem?
- She's just a pain!

Maybe it's her boyfriend.

At first
you said Patricia was no fun.

Same with Esther.
But it'll get better.

There's something else.

What?

When you kiss her...

- This is really crude.
- Say it!

When you eat her pussy
you get bawled out for going too far.

That's serious.
You can't do anything.

- How about her back door?
- Out of the question!

In a way, you're better off.
You know where you stand.

Yeah, whatever.

At least you scored.

Nothing to write home about.

A little.

Yeah, a little... We'll see.

If Paul and Nathan's love stems
from their accepting their difference,

Bob is persuaded he is Paul,
and Paul vice versa.

Nathan and Paul's difference
allows them to act similarly.

But Paul and Bob's mimicry
is so powerful

that Paul relies on it
to differentiate himself

constantly and radically from Bob.

They are so alike
that they can act differently.

For they know that ultimately,
they are identical.

Their resemblance allows them
to have two lives:

The one Paul lives
and the one Bob lives.

Because Bob wears polos,
Paul, in some vicarious way,

can appreciate them enough
to be able to wear shirts.

Bob is grateful for this.
Simply by watching Paul,

he feels he somehow wears shirts,
that his polos

don't exclude
his taking pleasure in shirts.

Similarly, Paul explores
the pains of breaking up

and Bob, the joys of seducing.

Each time Paul breaks up with a girl,

Bob adds another to his roster.
Their discussions let them share

the brisk pain of separation
and the woeful enthusiasm

of easy conquests.

You look amazing!

It's too big! It's your size!

Don't hurt Paul's feelings.

Sorry, Paul, but you're too small.

Do you mean in general
or for the jacket?

- Is this too much?
- No, it's great. Be bold!

I wasn't crazy about the other one.

Bob, please...

Enough now. Let's go.

Totally hip.

- Not bad, huh?
- Happy now?

It's sleazy!

I didn't enroll to do my thesis.

I'll keep on being an intern
and forget about the rest.

I need time to think.

- About what?
- I don't know.

About what's going on with Valerie.
Between me and her.

What happened?

Not long ago,
Valerie had an abortion.

She was pregnant and got rid of it.

I did nothing to stop her.

It started when she left her
apartment. She had nowhere to go.

She dispersed her things here
and there. Nothing at my place,

but she was there every night -
with none of her stuff,

"so as not to rush things",
she said.

We had one fight.

It was ridiculous.

She was furious
because I didn't have a hair-dryer.

It's normal.
What the hell would I do with one?

We had a huge fight.

She wanted me to buy her
a hair-dryer.

She wouldn't bring hers -
she had one at a friend's place.

She wouldn't buy one either.
No, I had to buy one for my place.

I wouldn't.

I had no idea what kind she wanted.

It all seemed so dumb.

Then I had an idea.
One day, I said

that guys could be one
of two things:

Either bastards or inadequate.

I was just trying to annoy her,
but it stuck with me.

I'm pretty inadequate with Valerie.

I'm happy, but pathetic too.

My work and all...

It's not Valerie's fault
that I'm pathetic,

but it is her fault
that I'm not a bastard.

So I figured it out.

I had to do something
really terrible to Valerie

so I'd stop being pathetic.

That way, I could at least choose
between the two.

That was the state of things.

Then she got pregnant.

One night she said
she was getting an abortion.

It was really stupid
because she wanted a child.

I was all for it too.

But she decided to get an abortion.
To provoke me.

It was just like the hair-dryer.
She wanted me to say no.

She knew I'd understood
that she wanted me to say no.

Then I realized she wants even more.

More than living with me
and having a kid.

She doesn't want a child.
She wants me to stop her

from being selfish,
or scared, or in love.

What about me? When am I selfish?

When should I stop
accepting her challenges!

As for me,

I'm back to being pathetic,
her object.

No chance of finding a way out.
No solution.

So I decided to give
myself a chance.

She'd have her baby,
I'd be the father.

Great! But I wouldn't say a word.

I thought my silence
would make things better.

We went to bed, happy enough.

Except for one thing:
I hadn't said no.

I said "Oh really,
you're getting an abortion"

The next morning,

she asked me
to take her to the clinic.

I started getting scared.

I told her that I had to work,
and I couldn't take her.

I knew she wanted to have a kid.
She always talked about it.

She was living with me.

She called me at work at 11 o'clock.

They were "operating" at noon
and she wanted me to come.

I told her I couldn't
but that I'd see her that night.

Then I started freaking out.
I thought:

"Jean-Jacques, be a bastard for once.
Don't give in.

"Maybe she's not at the clinic.

"I bet she's at home

"and is calling
so I'll tell her what she wants.

But I won't give it to her."

I got home late. She was in bed.

She woke up.

She was pale.

She said: "Don't worry.
Everything went well."

Then she decided
to go to relax at a girlfriend's.

She never visited her girlfriends

just to relax.

I was gentle. I said "Okay."

She spent the night there.

I went to bed.

I cried. I was scared.

The next day, she came home

to fill out
her health insurance forms.

To show me she'd gone
through with it.

She said: "I'm sorry.

I hope you're sorry too."

I nodded yes.

Since then,
we've despised each other.

Jean-Jacques,

I won't repeat
what I'm telling you.

I'll say it once and for all.

Valerie doesn't want a child

or a hair-dryer.

She doesn't need anything
because she's very strong.

You're trapped.
You want her to fear you

the way - sorry to say it -
she fears me.

You think:
"Shit, she's scared of him,

not me. I must be worthless."

So don't tell me

about your feelings
and "what I should have done".

Valerie has figured out

how to make her existence
an insult to your dignity.

That way,

you loathe yourself for hating her

and she can keep debasing you
and enjoy your paralysis.

The only thing you have to learn

is that hating her
is neither fatal nor foul.

It's normal... and amusing.

And you're going to win.

- I heard about your mother.
- What?

Sylvia told me the story
about your mother.

It's great
how you can talk about your fights

even if it's hard on her.

It's not that hard on her.
She's dead.

It's easy to badmouth your parents
when they're alive.

It's harder when they're dead.

- You're so well-bred!
- Your mother's not dead.

Yes, she is. That shouldn't make
her seem any nicer.

Breast cancer.
She got struck where she sinned.

What?

Her breasts.
She wasn't a very good mother.

I'm not a great son either.

I'll stop.
I'm trying like hell to impress you.

What about your mother?

She's dead, I said.

Stop laughing. It's true.

Dinner for one!

They discuss Valerie's PhD.

Valerie takes Paul home.
They start dating.

Everything seems to separate them.
Valerie is serious and violent,

Paul is ironic and gentle.

For this very reason,
they inevitably fall in love.

Valerie shudders with fury,

then with pleasure,
at Paul's provocations.

Paul finds Valerie's lucidity

deeper than his irony,
which wearies him.

Then Valerie mentions Sylvia.

Finally.

All these years
Paul never dared mention her.

Today,
Valerie restores Sylvia to him.

For years, Paul's silence made
him sick. Now he's feeling giddy.

He says
because Sylvia was never his,

he could have had any other.
Because she gave him nothing

no other girl could give him less
than the one he loved.

He'd had plenty of women,
yet suffered because of one.

One day, a mutual friend,
unaware of Sylvia's affairs,

decided to tell her about Paul.

Paul's a strange guy.

Really?

A borderline professor.
Nathan can tell you.

He's screwing up.
He doesn't do much.

He's been doing a doctorate
for 5 years. Too bad. He could be...

What?

"What?"
Sylvia couldn't help asking.

She hoped he would doom Paul
to the failure which she had predicted

and which had made her
chose Nathan.

Yet she also desired
that he redeem Paul

and the love
she reluctantly felt for him.

- Nothing. He's nice, but...
- Isn't he smarter than you?

Because you're an ass.
A total asshole.

By attacking him,
she was defending herself.

The same mutual friend
once told Paul about Sylvia.

You don't know her?

No. What does she do?

Sylvia? She stopped school.
She floats around.

Nathan wants to get her
into publishing.

She's a loser.

She looks incredibly intelligent!

Paul jumped on the occasion
to admit in public

how charming he found her.

Until then,
he'd pretended not to know her.

Come in, now that you're here.

Paul was a professor.
He wanted to be a writer

and liked to think himself a critic,

a perfect middle ground

between his activities
and his aspirations.

Sylvia wanted to teach,
but was doing secretarial work.

When they were together,
she liked to recall his true function.

You're a teacher.
You even look like one.

"Not a teacher, a critic,"
he would answer.

Behind his false pride, he hid
his sadness at not being a writer.

No, you wrote a couple of articles.

You're just a teacher!

She knew

she was hurting Paul,
who could only acquiesce.

He could only smile

at the pleasure she took
in being mean.

What Paul never understood
about this new-found altruism

was his desire to put her down.

He turned into devotion
the vengeance he wished to inflict

and which made her quiver
when she defied him.

Their affair
would have been so different

had he stood up
to her mean-spirited pleasure.

She hated him
both for ignoring her insufficiency

and for seeing it too well.

She loved him for the same reasons:
She gloated

in his admiration
and felt "redeemable" by his concern

and exertion.

She'd finally met someone
for whom all "this" wasn't easy.

Is it sleazy of me
to tell you all this?

No, it's fine.

Talking to one girl about another...

If you love her, it's only normal.

I'm going to make you angry.

Why?

I have something to tell you...

but you'll think I'm an idiot.

You'll think less of me.
I hate to tell you.

I'll think less of you?

Did you kill someone?
Beat up your parents?

I think...
I want to live with Sylvia.

I've started looking for
an apartment.

Until then,
she'll stay at my place.

See? You do have
a lesser opinion of me.

Not at all.

Look at me.

Not at all. I think it's great.

I don't know what to say.

You should live with a girl.

Why do you say that?

I'm thinking of your pant cuffs.

You're neglectful of everything.

Especially of yourself.

You work all the time.

You look unhappy.
You should live with a girl.

Yeah, sure.

- No, I'm serious.
- I'm sure you are.

Do you need help
looking for a place?

Because Bob has connections...

Why don't you get one for yourself?

That's more complicated.

Sylvia seems great.

Yeah...

She amazes me.

I'm fine.

I fell.

I'm not hurt.

I'm sorry.

You can carry on, thanks.

Can you hold the elevator?

The lamp, too.

Where should I put it?

Before Nathan, I was a mess.
You'd never have wanted me.

I'm a pretty gloomy person.

If I were yours,
you'd see how gloomy I am.

Helping Nathan saved me.
It got me out of my rut.

You can't do anything for me.

You can't even do anything
for yourself.

What would we live off?

Where? Where do you live?

At my cousin's.

I won't live with your cousin!

Where then?

Do you have friends?

Besides Nathan...

Who would we see?
Definitely not Nathan anymore.

We'd both be penniless
and shut away, God knows where.

You'd want to kill me,
I'd want to kill you.

We'd be miserable!

You love me... and that's miserable.

Leave a franc.

Thief.

In the spring,
Esther gets into translation school.

Paul immediately breaks up with her.

Esther cries.

Paul says
she now has a life of her own

and should be proud
of her test results.

Esther says
she doesn't know what to say.

They decide it's best
to stop seeing each other.

Esther breaks her promise.
She visits Paul often

to try to understand.

It's over. We're finished.

I'm breaking up.
I'm not going out with you anymore.

You're too dependent on me.

I can't go out with a girl
if I don't know how it'll end.

That's ridiculous.

No it's not.

Love affairs are meant to end.

They always end!

It's not my fault.
It's universal.

I need to be able
to imagine how it'll end.

You can't imagine our break-up
so you're dumping me?

That's ridiculous.

What a lousy reason.
How revolting.

You depend on me way too much!

I don't depend on you.
Who do you think you are?

Great! You don't depend on me!

It's as if... Jesus!

I carry the burden
of your responsibility.

It's too heavy!

No one can carry anyone else's load.

No one.

I'm trapped.

Can't you see I'm trapped?

I carry your weight too.

- You carry nothing.
- Like hell!

You don't know what I do.
Why, how, with who.

What makes me happy,
what makes me sad.

You know nothing.

You're happy with me.

Of course I'm happy with you.

You're the best girl in the world.

Then why are you leaving me?

Because I didn't see the time go by.

You're weighing me down.

It's like saying a dog is mad
just to kill it.

I'm mad because you drive me mad.
You're a beached whale.

You're just tense.

I'm not tense.
I don't have any fucking moods!

I've wanted
to finish my doctorate for years.

I'm having a nervous breakdown.

Compare me to Nathan and Bob.

I'm becoming a loser.

I'm screwing up my life.

If I screw up my life,
I'll never forgive you. It's obvious.

I wish we'd won, but we're losing!

Can't you see? I'm drained.

You can't help me.

Are you in love with someone else?

Yes.

How sad. Do I know her?

No.

Better that way.

It's terribly sad.

What can I say to change your mind?

It's because you don't know
that we're breaking up.

That's dumb. Tell me what to say

and I'll say it.

That's impossible.

You are what you are.
That's what's great.

But I need some distance.

Then I'm not good enough.
What did you need?

I don't know. If you'd said:

"I want us to move in together."

You don't have to!

But I do!

It's obvious you want to.
Can't you see?

I have to tell you so you realize

that you want us to live together.

I already knew I wanted it.

No, you didn't really know.
You felt it.

But I have to spell it out for you.

So spell for me.

I've had enough.

Forget about living together.
It gets you tense.

What can I say to change your mind?

What else can I say?

That you think I love you.

I'm not too sure.

But I can say it:
I think you love me.

There. Is that all?

No. You can also say:
Of course you'll cheat on me."

That's for sure.

"But you can, if you don't
betray me. And if we break up

you'll move out
and I'll get on with my life."

How?

How could I?

"I'll live it differently
because I'm different from you.

"I'm not easy to live with.
I organize my life badly,

"but living with you
won't be stealing your life,

"but a means
of organizing mine better.

"Know that
it's because I'm this way

"that you love me.

"I know you're scared of being

"both money maker
and money manager,

"both friend maker
and friend manager,

"and that you're scared
that without you - I mean, me -

"I'll be 'downgraded', uprooted...

"But this is not true.

"Look at what I've brought you:

Without me,
you'd be so much worse."

I'm not sure
you'd be worse off without me.

I wish you'd said:

"You'll never find someone like me.

I'll survive without you."

Of course I will.

But better off with you, schmuck!

Because I love you and also...

because you're the only guy I know
- it's true - and also

because you have tons of qualities.

No, I'm full of meanness,
bitterness and pettiness.

I can't budge
for fear of breaking you.

- Tell me you don't love me.
- I don't love you.

It's true.

It's not.

I love you more than anyone else.

You're my heart, my blood, my eyes.

I think

you're the meanest bastard
I've ever met!

You're a pain.

You were lousy with me.

I was bored stiff with you.

You're lousy with girls, anyway.

A book by Jean-Luc Marion.

I was sure you'd like it.

- "Prolegomena To Charity".
- Serious stuff.

I'm into theology.
I've read all his books.

I've given it
at least five times already.

I'm so happy to be number six.

I'm touched. You thought...

I thought you'd like it.

You could have given me diamonds!

No, a book
by that pain in the ass, Jean-Paul...

Jean-Luc What's-his-name.

You said you loved
Jean-Luc Marion?

I pity the poor girl.

But she's stupid enough
to want the biggest pain of them all,

Paul Dedalus.

Why not become a rabbi
while you're at it?

At least they can get married.

You're not funny. Stop it.

A beard, a caftan, fringe.

Not fringe. Tsetsim.

Whatever... tsetsim.

Don't talk about things
you know nothing about.

What do you know?
Mr Know-it-all!

I know that I don't know.

Why become a rabbi
if I've had a revelation?

The revelation of the Trinity.

I saw my life figured in the Cross.

- Are they okay with them?
- Of course.

A priest.
What the fuck did I do wrong?

Isn't priest
a step up from teacher?

I'm fed up with you!

I'm disgusted
to have slept with a priest.

- Next week you're going...
- To a seminary. Just for ten days.

- I'll jump the wall at night.
- I don't want a priest.

Don't turn this into a tragedy.
We'll get by.

I won't get by.

I won't become a priest's maid!

- What else can you do?
- What?

You're unemployed.
You won't necessarily be unhappy.

I said "not necessarily". Maybe you
will be, maybe you won't.

We can try.
You weren't free before.

Of course not.
I have a husband and two kids,

one of whom is 7, remember?

Why do you have two kids?
You're too young! You're 30!

You could have waited for me.

For 20 years?

Don't say you started having sex
at the age of 10. I'll faint.

At 10, kids go to school.

You probably started at 22, 23.

That's normal!

You'd have been waiting
for a guy like me for only 7 years.

I've come just at the right time.

So ask me to divorce,
like an adult.

- That's impossible.
- Why?

- Don't ask. You know.
- No, I don't.

- Don't ask me to break a sacrament.
- What?

I can't break a sacrament.
I'm Catholic. I can't cause a divorce.

My ass isn't sacred!
You don't treat it that way in bed!

But it is! Your ass is sacred!

That's what I understand now!
You're a complete human being!

Thanks for the promotion!
What great news!

I needed a revelation
to realize how human you are.

I thought I was living all alone.

That's how it is.

What are you up to?

Not much.
I haven't finished my doctorate yet.

I've come to tell you
I'm resigning from the university.

I'm sending it off tomorrow.
It's final.

You're the only person I've told.

You'll have problems
with the Ministry.

You promised them 10 years.

I'll pay the State back
the two years I owe it.

It's odd.

You were brilliant.

But it's Nathan who started writing.

Rabier too. As for you, nothing.

I've written articles.

I read your piece on Nathan.
It was pertinent. Elegant, too.

You almost made me
want to like his book.

You've written nothing on Rabier.
Have you heard?

He'll be heading
the Epistemology Department.

Associate Professor.

You were so close.
What was your fight about?

I never knew.

What I wonder

is why we stayed friends
for so long.

We were very different.

That's what I don't understand.

It was his energy.
It shook you up a bit.

He's a total numbskull.

How can you say that about a friend,
even a former one?

Why did it take me so long
to realize the extent of his stupidity?

Was I that stupid too?

Was I blind? Too proud?

And I'm distraught that you like him,
because I'm jealous of your affection.

Yet I'm reassured to see you
as I used to be,

fascinated by his stupidity.
I feel less alone.

Don't resign.
You'll make a fine professor, like me.

You don't have the stuff of a writer.
You'll spend

the first 300 pages
apologizing for writing.

Frederic Rabier never apologizes.

I'm not being critical.
Maybe I'm wrong.

I keep seeing

my oncoming bitterness,
and that scares me.

I used to want
to be refined and intelligent,

to impress you
and deserve your esteem.

And now you admire what I thought
you'd taught me to despise.

I wonder
whether I ever learned my lessons.

Can you help me?

Sure.

Do you have tools? A toolbox?

There's no janitor
and I have a shit-awful problem.

There were tools in the corridor.

The monkey's going crazy.

In Boston, he was fine.

But Paris has shaken him up.
He's become violent.

I don't get it. He's scared.

He's stuck behind the radiator.

He may be dead. It's boiling.

Turn off the radiator!

I did already.
But I can't reach him.

The tools are over here.

What's his name?

Don't laugh. I didn't choose it.

What is it?

Laki.

I tried with this.

Let me.

How disgusting.

I'm better dressed for it.

There's no use dirtying your jacket.

Shit.

Fucking shit-head janitors!

His arm...

So?

Is he angry?

No, he's dead.

Oh shit.

He's squashed.

He went crazy.
As if he'd been beaten.

I swear I didn't beat him.
It wasn't me.

I believe you.

My God, this is so disgusting.

I can't have that shit in my office.

Do you have gloves?

Actually it's like a cat.

Fuck, I bothered you for this.

That's okay.

I won't apologize, but

thanks.

I was attached to him, you know.

I'll throw it in the garbage.

You don't know where it is...

The garbage.

No, I don't know where the bins are.

I'll be going then. So long.

Sorry, can you wash your hands first?

- For yourself, too.
- I forgot.

Sorry. There's no reason
for both of us to risk it.

You should go to the lavatory.

I will. Bye.

Are you okay?

Are you okay?

Hi.

Are you okay? Doesn't look it.

What is it?

Move, dammit!

What's this?

Nothing. Just work.

- Ladies shouldn't rummage in trash.
- What the hell?

You're a real dick.

I'm sick of you and your cousin.

Where is he?

- I'm sorry.
- Don't be.

You piss me off.

Come back.

I don't want to wait for him
all alone.

Come back.

Enough already...

You don't want a scarf? Mittens?

How about boots? Is that enough?

It'll do.

Bob's a pain. He never comes back.

I get scared all alone.

You're taking advantage
of my being sick.

I'm dying to sleep with you.
I just wanted to say it.

It hurts me not to be able to.

Of course you can't. I love Bob.

It's simple.

And you're a little over the hill.

Yeah, over the hill.

I ran like an idiot

and then I stopped.

Then I realized

everything was age-old
and incredibly hostile.

As if we were hated.

I was very scared.

Hi. It's Valerie.

Do you mind my calling?

Not at all.

I wanted to know if we could meet.

It's nice out.
I'll tell you about my thesis.

Sure, call me tomorrow.

Can't I see you now?

I'm having some problems.

You too?

In fact, I'm not going out
much because...

It sounds stupid,
but I'm having psychiatric problems.

I'm really scared to go out.

- I'm bothering you, right?
- No, I swear.

I have to go see
my professor, Chernov.

He lives in the suburbs.

I'd have to walk
from the train station

if I went.

But I can't go out, so...

I have a car. I'll pick you up.

No, that's not it.

- See you in a sec.
- No, it's okay.

The first time...

I remember you
telling me something.

No girl ever told you that before?

You mustn't have had much fun.

What's Chernov's first name?

- Leon, as in Trotsky.
- Do you call him Leon?

Of course not! He's a genius!

You're so respectful.

Paul! He lost the car!

Stop it! Leave him be!

It's so horrible being locked up
with him all year long.

- What's going on?
- Don't bore them.

He forgot where he parked the car.
We've searched for hours!

What kind is it?

A white Peugeot.

- Where's the car?
- I can't remember.

Did you park it?

Obviously.
I didn't drive it into the canal.

She's been screaming at me.

It's over. I'm here now.

You misplaced your car.
There's no shame in that.

It happens to everyone.

- What?
- Alzheimer's.

It's the name of the disease I have.

I'll lose my mind.
All my brain cells.

I'll forget everything.
Then I'll stop talking.

Hold on.
Did a doctor tell you this?

It wasn't a doctor?
You read this somewhere.

We'll see a doctor tomorrow.

If it's Alzheimer's,
we're in deep shit.

But until then, we're fine.

For now,
you've just lost your car.

I lost the keys too.

Professor, it's nothing.
A car is annoying,

but a set of keys is
absent-mindedness. That's different.

You see?

- I'm absent-minded.
- That's it.

I'm tired too.

Of course. How about this?

I'll go look for the car.
It must be around here.

Valerie and I will comb the streets.

Are you still seeing...

Mrs Neveux? No!

So it's not there.

You'd remember a quick fuck?

Yes.

I'll go look for it.

I won't mention cars or senility.

I won't burp during meals
or say that Heidegger was scum.

This is amazing!

You'll be working
with Professor Egghead

when he has no more eggs
in his basket!

Seriously, he's cool
and I'm thrilled.

We have all weekend together.

I think I'm incredibly depressed.

And now,

the real world.

I've sent my resignation.

I'll help you with your thesis
and that's it.

I was a dreadful professor.
Now I'll be a measly grad student.

I'm going to be dirt poor.

Chernov agreed
without seeing a thing.

I defend my thesis in September.

What will we do
when we're back in Paris?

Will you call me?

Of course I'll call you.

And... that's enough for you?

Don't scare me. It's not me
who lives with a guy.

You do live with a guy.

I live with my cousin.

Yeah... and I live
with Jean-Jacques.

It's different.

Different
because Jean-Jacques's a cuckold?

He's a cuckold now.

Don't say that.

Why?

Listen to me.

It was nice of you to drive me.
We slept together.

That happens.

- You can tell your boyfriend.
- And we shake hands.

That's not it!

But you're pretty high-strung!

Did Nathan say that?

I'm the madwoman, right?

Take those things off.
You look like...

an Ostrogoth. It scares me.

I'm a horny little doe.

Those things are scuzzy.

I'm not pretty?

Yes, you're very pretty.
But you're hostile.

You're kind of a wimp.

Shall we go down?

You can't wear those
in front of my teacher!

It's humiliating.

- Why?
- I don't know.

Okay then.

Do it and I'll slap you!

Take those fucking things out!

Keep on screaming...

Hello.

Thanks for inviting me.

It wasn't much fun, was it?

We had a little spat.

You're a fucking powerhouse.

Don't start up again.

I came straight from the hospital.

So I see.

Well?

What?

How are things with Paul?

Fine...

Paul's fine.

Are you happy?

No. I think I'm pretty unhappy.

Me too. I'm really unhappy.

- That's good.
- Yeah it is.

Maybe we should stop
seeing each other.

Do I annoy you?

Tired of me?

I think you're gorgeous.

So why are you running away?
You avoid me.

I feel I'm in the way.
If you want to start over...

Start what over?

Paul's not nearly
as good as you, okay?

- And he doesn't want me.
- Then he's stupid.

You don't want to fight for me?

Are you that tired?
Am I that worthless?

I won't fight for you
because I'm worthless.

Christelle and Sophie
are all over you

just dying to be humped.
Don't you care?

Are you that tired?

It's not that
you're of no interest to me,

but that I'm of no interest
to myself

when I'm in your arms.

I want to be a hero.
Alone, I find myself rather heroic.

With you,
I'm filled with self-disgust.

Today I thought we might try...

to pick up...

Excuse me.

Get the fuck out.

I had to come here
because you're never available.

Get lost, I said.
We'll talk afterwards.

Can't you buy me a coffee?

- Not during class.
- Just a coffee

in your shitty little cafeteria.

Can't you spare a second
for your girlfriend?

No, you have to act
Mr. Pompous for the ladies.

In your shitty class.

After my class, I said.

I love listening to you.

The two of us
love listening to you.

So...

You wouldn't dare.

So today...

I'm sorry. Just a minute.

I'm very calm!
We both deserve better than this!

You don't understand.

You're unhappy,
but we don't have to see each other!

You don't understand a thing.

You're with another guy
and with me.

You're too neurotic to deal with it.

But don't take it out on me.
Let's call it quits!

It's as plain
as the nose on your face.

Guys are like babies.
You're all blind.

I was 12. It's over now.

No big fucking deal.

I don't care.

I feel like
a "disaster of the week" movie.

What happened?

I've bothered you enough. Fuck it.

What happened when you were 12?

Jesus, I wish
I had been spared like all of you.

Did someone bother you?

I'm not the only person
to have been...

I don't want to talk about it now.

- Who was it?
- My father.

This stinks.
It's right out of Dickens.

I feel ridiculous.

Did I get you in deep shit?

I shouldn't have...

made you talk. I'm sorry.

Yeah...

real sorry.

You're quiet today.

No, I have nothing to say.

Bob!

One afternoon
our cousins came to play

in our garden.

It was shortly
after Bob's father died.

You know what?

My dad's not dead.

He gets naked with whores.

Mommy thinks he's in the cemetery.
She's like this:

But he's with his whores like this:

"I love it.
Show me your boobs!"

You're going to go to hell!
You're a liar!

It's the truth!

- No way!
- I see him a lot!

Really?

I see him all the time.
In secret.

Okay, I believe you.
So where is he now?

Where!

Sometimes he visits me
in the bathroom!

When I'm doing doody,
he comes and says:

"Robert, it's me.
I'm your father!"

I say:
"Thanks, now wipe my ass!"

And he wipes it!

Liar! Your dad's dead!

Auntie!

They all said it, Bob too.
He's over there.

Come with me, Bob.

What is it?

Bob,
I was laughing like a dummy.

But you were so funny.

Extremely funny.

I didn't know what to say.

Your sadness affected me so.

Of course I'd know now.

Is it me?

I'm glad to see you too.

What?

What is it? Are you okay?

You what?

You doing stuff?

You can't talk?

You're too moved?

Are you working?

Is it going well?

Yes!

It's Esther!

Shall I ask her in?

It's a dormitory.

I need to find a studio...

You better start looking.

I better. I'll be going.

Shit!

- It's not our day.
- My pants!

Sorry. I was just leaving.

- Clumsy is as clumsy does.
- Exactly.

So long, Esther.

Don't smirk. I like her.

I'm not smirking.
I get on fine with her.

Didn't I talk to her?
It's not me who dumped her.

Do you know
why you're friends with Paul?

He's paralyzed.
He can't take anything of yours.

Okay...

Feel better now?

If you know it,
it doesn't pardon you.

Dear Paul, Paul dearest,

I just read "Peer Gynt",
which you often mentioned.

I don't have much work to do,
so I can read.

Sometimes the books
overwhelm me so,

I have to read them slowly.

I finished Ibsen's play in tears.

It would have exasperated you.
But that's the way I am.

I decided to take a walk
to stop my tears.

Then I stopped to write this letter.

Paul, you're not here,

but sometimes I can hear
your absence whispering in my ear.

It keeps me company.
And your absence asks:

"Esther...

"Where am I?
Where was I? Me? Myself?

"The person I am: Paul.

I got so lost
that I can no longer find myself."

And inside my head,
I think: "It's easy.

"You were, and still are,
in my faith, in my hope,

and in my love."

And your absence asks me:

"Am I your child?

Am I guilty? Will you forgive me?"

And inside my head, I answer:

"You made my life enchanting."

And your absence says:
"Hide me. Protect me."

And like Solveig, I answer:

"Sleep, my child.
All the livelong day,

"we played and ran
and sang together.

"Now my child needs to rest.

"So, close your eyes,
my little boy, my lover, my love.

Don't be afraid.
Fear not. I am watching over you."

And your absence falls asleep
against my spirit.

I will protect you.
I think of you often.

Your loving Esther.

It's not her.

You're here.

It looks like her, but it's not.

Shall we go?

Let's.

You don't love me.

Dammit, I'm unloved.

That's why
I'm in this goddamned rut.

- Stop it. I do love you.
- No, you don't.

Because I'm a loudmouth.

Then be less loud.

Fuck that. I don't know how.

It's not my fault.
I'm the same as you.

No.

Yes.

You see yourself in me.

Because you admire me.
I'm flattered.

You see yourself in me, so you want
to destroy me and be the original.

I don't want to share you.

No, you want to tame me.

Or else you'd be kind.
To please me.

To keep me.

You think you're kind?

Bastard.

You still need me to be kind.

With Jean-Jacques,
you don't need anything.

You can't break him anymore.

Fuck you.

Stop harassing me.

Stop it!

Stop!

Help me now.

I'm scared of you!

You've turned me into a monster.
It's true. I'm sullied.

I'm sorry.

Paul is mistaken.
Valerie doesn't need kindness.

Her lack of tenderness
is not hard to explain.

It's simply a question
of Valerie's nature.

As Kundera wrote: "Tenderness
is the fear of adulthood".

Valerie fears nothing of the sort,
having no childhood nostalgia.

A child wholly integrated
into the adult world,

she is furious that anyone else
can stake claim to childhood.

It's no big deal.

It's not the end of the world.

Let me.

Sylvia...

So you've moved in?

Almost...

- Where's the tea?
- Here.

Is it really over with Paul?

I don't know him. Are you crazy?

If you leave Paul,
I'll want to take him.

It's only normal.

Don't touch Paul.

Keep him. I won't know.
If you leave him, I'll take him.

- Don't take him, slut!
- What happened?

I'll never forgive you.

Screw you.

You'll pay for that.

So... what will it be?

Now tell your friends
that I've hit you.

Tell them!

Do you have a cigarette?

I never hit you,

but you hit me the other day.

I did not hit you the other day.

What?

- I smell trouble.
- What?

Say that again!

Yeah, I slapped you.

I didn't hit you. I slapped you.

Enough, Valerie.

That's great.

Humiliate me.

Do you like
making me look like a crackpot?

Hello.

My name is Marie-Christine Carle.

I'll be teaching you
English translation this year.

First let me congratulate you
on being accepted.

Over the year
we'll be working in various domains.

Today I've chosen science...

Imagine you're at a colloquium
about the Earth.

Let's use the booths...

I did my internship

in Maine for six months.

We went to New York
on the weekends. It was cool.

Where did you do yours?

In England. In Liverpool.

Really? Was it depressing?

No, it was okay.

Yeah, why not...

Can I have a bag?

Esther. Born...

February 5, 1967.

Any serious diseases? Operations?

Are you usually regular?

No children, I imagine?

No abortions or miscarriages?

The pill?

I've been taking the pill
since I was 14.

Have you any reason
to think you're pregnant?

Have you forgotten your pill?

I have sexual relations...

but not many
in the past few months.

Last month, I had sex once.

And the month before, three times.

But I never forget my pill

and I've been fine for 10 years.

It bothers me
not to have my period.

What's wrong?

I'm 3 months late with my period.
Has it ever happened to you?

No. Yes, sometimes.

Did you take any precautions
last time with Paul?

Did he take any?

You're fine.
Small, mobile uterus.

It hasn't undergone any changes.

No sign of pregnancy.
At least, not today.

You've had no relations
since the last time?

Have you stopped taking the pill?

I stopped a month ago.

If you took
your temperature correctly,

this curve indicates
that you're not ovulating.

Nothing's off balance. Your ovaries

have yet to resume
their normal function.

When will they?

You're not sick. They will.
It can take time, but they will.

But when?
Can't we do something?

If you want,
we can speed things up.

- How?
- With tablets.

What kind?

It's a hormonal treatment

which will stimulate your ovaries

which have become inactive
after your years on the pill.

We're talking
about female hormones?

Perfectly female.
Don't worry. They're female.

Three months have gone by.
Paul has lost Sylvia and Esther.

He is still seeing Valerie,
who is still with Jean-Jacques.

Paul's resignation was accepted.
He is toiling away at his thesis.

Today Paul will receive
the ultimate humiliation,

which he'll consider
the nadir of his decline.

He does not yet realize
that the humiliation

will open the royal path
to the recognition of others.

Humiliated, Paul will encounter
otherness for the first time.

What Frederic Rabier
will be offering him

is the entire world,
which Paul had lost.

He saw you.

I don't think so.
He didn't say hello.

Worse, he didn't even see me.
I don't exist.

Not at all.
It's worse. He saw you

and clearly chose to ignore you.

Who cares whether I exist for him
or whether he pisses me off?

That's true.

In any case,
you could have said hello first.

Never.

I got rid
of his shitty little monkey!

I'm not asking for thanks,
just a simple hello.

That's all. "Hello".

"For treatment of:

"Colds, allergies, sore throat

and the flu..."

Hi, Paul.

Look, Maj Britt. It's Paul.

Meet Kierkegaard's
great-great-niece.

- Stop that.
- But it's true.

Don't kiss me. I'm very sick.

Serious treatment!

I told you not to say hello.

Fuck that shithead.
He's wicked dumb.

Stop talking like me.
It's annoying.

What? Isn't he dumb?

No, it's the "wicked".
"Wicked dumb."

You do everything like me,
all the time.

Wherever I go,

I can feel you imitating me.
You ape my every move!

Stop it!

Imitate someone else.

Imitate Jean-Jacques.
Give me a break.

Or Nathan, if you think
Jean-Jacques is too dumb.

I hid this in your room.
I just had to have it.

Not bad!

Why is this in my mother's house?

If the Grouper found it at my place,
she'd kill me.

You can't use it yet.

I'm anticipating things.
And I don't use it.

It's nice.

I'd have liked a doctor's kit.

Or a fashion designer's?
Or a magician's?

No, a doctor's.

The Virgin's modernity,
Her radicalness,

is that the doctrine
of the Immaculate Conception

was created at the same time
as gynecology.

In the 18th century,
Sade had no idea what ovulation was.

The spermatozoid was thought
to come from the vas deferens.

Sperm from God.
The Incarnation remained intact.

The question is: Now that ovulation
has been discovered,

how can we defend
Christ's Incarnation?

The Protestants
mustn't scare us silly.

If Paradise isn't for
the here and now, it's useless.

Do you believe?

Yes and no. It's impossible.

Then become Protestant!

I'm not looking for recruits.

Ivan is not Protestant.

I believe in the Virgin,
the Eucharist,

the Saints, the Pope,
the Sacrament...

His studies were faultless.
He is dedicated to Christ.

Inside, I see vanity.

I'm his adviser.
The diocesan delegate

must not consider
applicant's insides.

To all appearances,
he believes in God.

Everyone has doubts.

In the Talmud,

dreaming of a palm tree
signifies royalty.

Rabier was hanging from it.

Then Rabier will be king.

Rabier wants to take
my place as king.

That scares you.

No, I don't want to teach.

I'll finish my thesis and resign.

In the dream,
being king isn't enough for him.

He has to be one at my expense.

But it was your dream.

That doesn't matter.
Dreams come from the unconscious.

That bastard has me dreaming
of his unconscious

so I know how much he hates me.

- I bet he doesn't even realize.
- He must!

He gave you his dream on purpose.

No, I know him.
He doesn't care. It's unconscious.

Did he humiliate me intentionally?

I don't care anyway.

He should have said hello first.

Jesus, Nathan...

How can I settle all this?

Tomorrow is Yom Kippur.

Maybe he'll ask for forgiveness.

Tomorrow is Yom Kippur.

I was joking. He won't come
asking for forgiveness.

If he doesn't,
it's because he thinks

I'll refuse and ridicule him.

He thinks I'm a snob.

If he knew how open-minded I am,
he'd do it.

I was joking. It was stupid.
It doesn't concern you.

No, I have to accept him
as a living human being.

Exactly.

If you deny him the initiative
to ask for forgiveness,

you negate him.

He's himself and you're yourself.

That means
he can want to piss you off, right?

For his own reasons, right?

There's something you don't realize.
People find us cold and harsh.

I keep people at an awful distance.

I'm sure
he'd like to ask for forgiveness.

He thinks I'll take advantage
of the situation

to make fun of him.

- I have to make the first move.
- Don't do it.

You'll kill him.

If I explain to him who I am,
he'll understand.

Ivan!

You don't believe in God!
Why are you praying?

I'm praying for Mom, like you.

Take that off!

It's a joke. Don't worry.

Are you becoming a priest
because of me?

No! What an idiot!

If you have something to forgive me,

go ahead.

Are you okay?

Hello. It's Yom Kippur.

What do you want?

It's hard to explain.

We were friends.

Today I finally feel
I'm at peace with myself.

It's taken years.

I'm thrilled for you.

But I'm not happy yet.

I feel that you humiliated me.

Get lost. I don't know you.

Yes... you do.

And you're not happy either.

It was stupid to humiliate me.
Now I know why.

Yesterday, I didn't know what
you had against me: That I'm a snob.

You're insane.

Miss! Miss!

Of course that's it.

You're reluctant
to ask me to forgive you.

You're afraid
I'll take advantage of you.

Beat it. I don't know you.

I've come to answer
the question you won't ask.

- So you can ask it.
- You're insane!

I have nothing to ask you.

Just one thing!

If you ever want to say
"Paul, will you forgive me?"

I'll say: "Yes, no problem."

Get lost.

Are you okay?

- Can I come in?
- Get lost!

He hurt me.

I'm badly hurt!

He slammed his finger in the door.

Paul Dedalus seriously hurt me!

Father Janvier, Bob.

The records are shit.
We looked around.

- Trying to save the party?
- Yeah, the DJ is a total loser.

Do you know this one?

Is Paul here?

Yeah, but his "wife" came
with her husband.

The Roman?

What are you doing here?

"Log-Buster" is here.

That's why I'm stuck here, waiting.

It's no big deal.
Why couldn't she come alone?

It's not her fault.
She came with her boyfriend.

Got any tranquilizers?

Take one.

Wine, no gin. I'll come back.

Yesterday I had to lie to Paul.

It was easy.
He came up with it himself.

He's such a coward.
I had do it so he'd understand.

In a way,
what I told him isn't a lie.

Telling him I'd been raped

made him understand
what it means to be a woman.

I'm coming.

Ready to go?

I found your bag.
You have no picture of me.

Give me one then.

I was wondering
whether you still see your father.

I'm pretty courageous.

So why didn't I go to the cops
for a vaginal smear?

I have a hard time
believing your stories.

What stories?

You don't need

shit like that to keep me.

If only I was sure...

You don't need that
to keep me.

So tell me the truth.

You're pretty plucky.

I like that. So am I.

You want to hear about a rape?

Will that excite you?
You want details?

- It doesn't excite me.
- It does, and that's normal.

- What do you know about rape?
- Nothing.

You're enjoying yourself.

Shut me up
with fake tales of woe.

What are you taking out on me?

- We're together.
- Then give me your keys.

What's this key shit?
I'm all yours.

I'm alone. I wait for you.
You come and go...

I wait until you're free.

Why are you so violent?

You're not reliable.
Give me something.

Stop! Answer me!
What is this all about?

The real question is:
Do you love me?

You have no love to give.

You have to believe me.

I believe that you're in pain.
But you're lying.

Are you for abortion?

Stop it...

Are you for or against?

It's impossible for me.
It doesn't exist.

Too bad.
It's going to be hard to choose.

Oh shit.

They'll do without you.
They've lasted 2000 years.

They'll manage.

I've been slaving away for 8 months.

- My shitty sacramental life!
- Relax, you'll be a daddy.

Three kids is better than two.
Less jealousy.

It's not the end of the world.

Let's go to your place.

Answer me.

- What goes on in my head counts?
- Answer me.

Or does your head
always get priority?

Your head on a platter.
Mr Martyr.

Do I scare you?
Your cock on a platter.

You want to go mingle
with your cock on a platter?

- And the harpy who cut it off?
- Stop!

You're the scary one.

I'm not scary.

We're the same.
I'm not scary either.

Valerie!

Will we see each other?

Listen, you're sad.

Me?

I'm happy. You're the sad one.

You want connections and ties.

You want to enter my mind
and me to enter yours.

That's because you're sad.

And because I'm happy,
I love you as an object.

I found you pretty.
I wanted to reach out,

to touch you, to grab you.

I'll die without you.

No, you'll be fine.
You're in great shape.

There's one pleasure
I'll always feel,

even when I'm depressed,
or in a rut, or when I can't move.

It'll never change.
It's the surprise

when I stick my hand in the panties
of a girl I don't know.

It scares me each time.
It's always different.

And it's so strange.

I'm no Don Juan.
I haven't slept around that much.

But it's the moment
when I feel alive.

Some people say it's always the same.
That a pussy's a pussy.

That boys are different
and girls are the same.

But each girl is
so incredibly different down there!

It's not about infidelity.

Even with some girls I know,
when I put my hand there, it's weird.

It's hard to explain.
When you tell people, they say:

"Just get used to it. Grow up."

Or they tease you:
"You must be a lousy lay."

It's funny when you know
how most people screw.

Some people frown and say: "I hope
there's more to your life than that!"

And there's no more to their lives,
not even that!

That's my greatest pleasure,
when I realize life's worth living

even if it's unbearable.

It's not Heidegger
climbing some fucking mountain.

No, it's the girl's face,
it's your fear,

as you pull back the elastic,
her belly... You see?

Don't let people say:
"Give it up. There's better."

There's nothing better in life.
So make the most of it.

It's a lot as it is.

- Are you in good shape?
- Sure.

Can I see?

No way!

- Are you okay?
- Yeah.

What are you up to?

Same as you.

I don't want to be friends.

If we see each other,
we sleep together.

We're not together now.

What kind of love do you have?

Of course we're not together.
And afterwards?

After, you'll see other girls.

You'll think: "Our relationship
is no good anymore."

You'll have "adult relationships".

But what kind of love
can come to a halt?

You tell me all sorts of stuff.

That it's better for me to grow...
What a stupid thing to say!

If you heard a guy telling
a girl about becoming an adult,

you'd think he's an asshole!

I want more! A lot more!

I want you...
to love me to death, forever!

Now you'll have
to love me without me

because you decided to leave me.

I don't want you to grow old.
Stay as you are.

Because it pleases me.
I like you the way you are.

It's depressing to hear you talk
about being sensible, like:

"We need to mature." Before you
know it, you ripen and rot!

I'll love you forever.

More than you think.
You'll be sorry.

I know.

You agree
we can't get back together.

Of course. Just don't tell me
you've matured, or learned things.

We never should have gone out.

I knew it when I was 17
and you kissed me for the first time.

Of course you make me unhappy.

Is that why you say
you never really loved me?

How stupid!

Are we right with some loves
and wrong in others?

I don't want anything to do
with love where we're right.

Should I find a translator
who wants to be a daddy?

How fucking miserable. Don't worry.
I'll do it, sooner or later.

It's miserable
because it's inevitable.

It's like when people say:

"Think ahead, youth fades."

How stupid!
Because we grow old and die,

should we date fuddy-duddies?

Will you live
thinking about growing old?

Of course. You'll be surprised
once you've grown old.

It'll be too late.

And I bet you
do date fuddy-duddies.

But don't tell me. It's the part
of your life that's worthless.

I'm the infinite part.

You're my homeland.

I won't get better
as I grow older.

We'll make do.

I'm the best part of you.
Don't lose me.

Even if we're not together,
you're mine.

No, I'm not.

I don't want you to be my widow.

I don't need your consent.

Don't worry. I'll have fun.
I'll be a merry widow.

So I'm dead?

Leaving me was your death.
It serves you right.

I have to go.

You sound like a priest!
Kiss me.

Better!

Hello, Paul?

For me, you're dead!

I like it.

- Really?
- Yes. A lot.

Have you withdrawn
your resignation?

My thesis is over.

Now I can pump gas.
I'm so happy you like it.

I'd have hated myself.
I've been so unbearable.

I think it should be published.

By you?

You'll have 200 readers
and the pay is lousy.

But I don't know
who else would want it.

It's great
and it won't interest a soul.

You're publishing me?

In three months.
But I won't be able to do everything.

Do you know anyone who can
proof-read and do the index?

No. No one.

Why don't you ask Sylvia?

She's good.

It'd bother her. I barely know her.
I'll do it myself.

Ask her. She's not busy these days.
She'll be stopping by.

I wouldn't want her to do it
because of you.

It would be dishonest.

I just finished Paul's thesis.

400 pages. Very dense, very good.

I thought you might help
with the publication.

Give me the keys.

Good idea, no?

I'll leave you to discuss it.

Anyway, it's decided.

I don't know how to thank you.

I'll meet you downstairs
in a minute.

It's not my fault. I didn't ask.

Don't run off yet.

Not so fast.

I don't know you.

Stay a minute for Nathan's sake.

We can't start acting
hysterical now.

We look stupid. For Nathan's sake,

we'll sit it out for 10 minutes.

You're pathetic. You're gloating.
I won't give in.

You're pissed about Valerie.
You didn't want me.

Don't blackmail me, asshole!

I don't care.
The two of you disgust me.

I'm dying to be with you.

Yeah, I know,
you're with Nathan and I'm thrilled.

It's a no-win situation.
You expect me to fight it?

I always knew you'd never
leave Nathan. That's not the point.

But one day I realized
I loved you more than any other girl.

Now I think you loved me too.

But it didn't get me anywhere.
I wanted you to say it.

I'm not lucky enough to be with you.

I'm not lucky and I wanted you
to say it. Or the opposite.

Tell me you don't love me
if you didn't love me.

I don't love you.

But I don't believe you.

You see?

All I see
is that you're not insisting.

If I say it,
it wouldn't be enough.

Stop it!
That's just empty rhetoric.

I've been battling
for you to say something.

I'm tired now.

If you don't love me,
you should have said so before.

I wouldn't have spoiled your life.

You didn't spoil my life.

Can't you say
that I made it great for you?

Wouldn't that be nicer?

It'd be just a white lie.

Can't you tell me
that life with me was great?

Come on.
You're asking a lot there.

Listen,

I'll give you something.

Are you listening?

I changed you.

In your pompous way,
you think you can't be changed

because you're so smart.

You're a little smart,
but just a little.

That's for your pride.

Before me, you were worse.

A whole lot worse.

Then we had our thing...

and now you're a little different.

It's great that you can change.

Are you sure you changed me?

Yeah, it's totally obvious.

It's nice of you to tell me.

I'll hang up now.

Just one thing.

Did I change you?

Yeah, a lot. But you know that.

No, I don't.

Sleep well.

'Night.

Since leaving Esther,

Paul was haunted by the idea
that he'd never known her.

For ten years, she filled a role

which had existed before her
and would exist after.

This involuntary cynicism

seemed to destroy ten years
of memories. He only loved himself.

"I changed you." Sylvia's words
restored Esther to Paul

and Paul to the world.

Of course he could know others,
because others changed him.

His blindness mattered little.

Sylvia, with whom
he'd had only a few trysts,

whom the rules of adultery
forced him to ignore

the few times he saw her
with Nathan,

Sylvia sufficed to change him.

He remembered the idiot he was
before she tamed him.

If their slight affair
provoked such a miracle,

then Esther must have
thoroughly changed him.

Though he was no longer with her,

he carried her within
himself indelibly.

He would always be "Paul who'd
been 10 years with Esther."

The old Paul was dead.
He did not live for naught.