All language subtitles for Tropic of Cancer xx

This, then, this is not a movie. This is
a libel, slander, defamation of

character, a prolonged insult, a gob of
spit in the face of art, a kick in the

pants to God, man, destiny, time, love,
beauty, what you will. I'm going to sing

for you. A little off -key, perhaps, but
I will sing. I will sing while you

croak. I will dance over your dirty
corpse.

Ever seen Boris?

He's meeting someone who may rent the
apartment.

Could you loan me five francs to take a
taxi to St. Lazare?

Now, you know, Mona, if I'm not there to
meet the boat train, she'll have to

turn right around and go pack.

Oh, Henry.

Okay, it's too late already. Forget it.

Oh, for God's sake, here.

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

A thousand eyes, noses, fingers, legs,
bottles, windows, purses, saucers all

glaring at us.

and we in each other's arms, oblivious.

I sit down beside her and she talks, a
flood of talk, wild, consumptive notes

hysteria, perversion, leprosy. I hear
not a word because she is beautiful and

love her.

And now I am happy and willing to die.

The hotel, where is it?

Can we go to the hotel right now?

No, I've got to find Boris.

I thought I'd never get here.

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

Hey,

Boris!

Henry, how are you? Nice to see you.
Hey, glad to see you.

Here's Mona, my wife.

Hello.

Oh, no.

My check didn't come. I haven't got it.
Twenty francs? That's all I got. That's

all I got on me, fella.

Here, I'll give you half what I got. Go
on.

Come on, Boris.

Just, just once.

All right.

Take it.

Thanks.

Really appreciate it. Yeah, yeah, sure.

Thanks a lot. Yeah, yeah, sure as well.

Oh, yeah.

A pleasure.

I see you, Boris. So long, Henry.

Yeah.

May I take my dress off?

No.

Oh, I forgot to tell you. I had a
reading for a play just before I left

York. It was for Charlie Morton's new
play. He liked me. He really did.

But, of course, they gave a part to the
producer's new girlfriend.

They're idiots.

Anyway, this... You know, she's probably
going to have to wear a wig.

And if they try and color that hair one
more time, it'd turn green.

I need a Kleenex.

You have a Kleenex? No, you don't have a
Kleenex.

What do you ask for in French? I don't
know what to ask. Well, I guess Kleenex.

I always understand Coca -Cola.

Baby, I don't want to alarm you but
you're covered with bugs.

Deux cafés, s 'il vous plaît.

It's out of order and it stinks.

I must have that.

I've got to have that.

Cold.

Get my clothes hung up.

The state they're in.

Like a couple of tramps.

We must find another hotel.

And a clean one.

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

What time do they open around here
anyway?

Seven to eight.

How much money have you got left?

Are you trying to get us thrown out of
here?

Oh, your bath is running.

You want it to be clean again?

How much money have you got left?

Oh, I've got enough for tonight.

Uh uh.

When I realize that she's gone, perhaps
gone forever, a great void opens up and

I feel that I am falling into deep black
space.

And this is worse than tears, deeper
than regret or pain or sorrow.

It is the abyss into which Satan was
plunged.

There's no climbing back, no ray of
light, no sound, a human voice, a human

touch of hand.

How many thousand times in walking
through the streets at night have I

if the day would ever come again when
she would be at my side?

All those yearning looks I bestowed on
the buildings and statues, I looked at

them so hungrily, so desperately, that
by now my thoughts must have become a

part of the very buildings and statues.
They must be saturated with my anguish.

I could not help but reflect also that
when we had walked side by side through

these mournful, dingy streets now
saturated with my dream and longing that

had observed nothing, felt nothing, they
were like any streets to her, a little

more sordid perhaps, and that is all.

I became reconciled to this life without
her, and yet if I thought about her

only for a minute, it was enough to
pierce the bone and marrow of my

and shove me back again into the
agonizing gutter of my wretched...

Somehow, the realization that nothing
was to be hoped for had a salutary

on me.

Then it occurred to me like a flash that
no one would refuse a man a meal if

only he had the courage to demand it. I
went immediately to a cafe and wrote a

dozen letters.

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

Tell me what day is most convenient for
you.

It worked like a charm.

I was not only fed, I was feasted.

Every night I went home drunk.

And now I can afford to scratch off the
ones who were a pain in the ass.

You see, I calculated your share of the
actual cost of last Tuesday's meal. I'm

not counting the half bottle of wine you
knocked off the table.

Won't you be late for class?

It comes to 12 francs, 63 centimes,
bringing the total to 1 ,340 francs and

centime exactly.

We're not asking him to pay us back. Oh,
I know, I know, but it's just very

interesting.

One by one, I fucked myself out of all
those free dinners. The wives turned

against me. Or the husbands.

When's dinner?

I'm just finishing my plies, darling.

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

Darling, I think the potatoes are
burning.

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

Turn the gas on, darling.

There we are, darling.

Now give Henry a large helping,
Sylvester. He needs building up.

He's dreadful, you know that.

All those phonies.

But we're set for a February opening.

And Greg St. Clair will direct.

Yeah. It's good.

Really good.

Really good. What's next?

Well, there's work in progress,
naturally.

I like to call it that.

You know, if he finishes a play in the
morning and there's still an hour or two

before lunch, he puts a new sheet of
paper in the typewriter and starts right

off on a new one.

That's, uh...

I ought to be a writer.

More, Henry, or you've had enough?

I think I can take a little more.

Give Henry some more, Sylvester.

But you know, he's fantastic.

He never talks about it.

But when he's down to write, it just
runs out of him.

I believe it.

You smile at me so confidently, so
calculatingly. I'm flattering the ass

you, can't you tell?

And I believe this wine is quirky.

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

Well, I listened to your crap. She's got
her hand on me. But you don't see that.

That I chose, remember?

That's in the kitchen.

Henry, why don't you nip out and bring
in a couple of bottles, huh?

It's on the top shelf.

So now I'm the only one left who'll
cough up the weekly dinner. Two cognacs,

please. Yeah, well, I didn't know
Sylvester was so hypersensitive.

All right, Tanya.

It was worth it. So what are you going
to do now?

Geez, I don't know.

Hey, that's Fillmore.

Maybe he's got a spare bed.

Doesn't look like it tonight.

Princess, Princess, don't be mad. I
won't move my hips anymore.

You speak too much.

Too loud.

And you speak nonsense.

Oh, my nervous, my nervous.

Please give me some champagne.

It's the only thing for my temperament.
Champagne.

Champagne.

Champagne, please.

Oh, hi, Joe. Hi, Joe.

Hi, Joe.

I want you to meet the Princess Marsha.

It's right here.

Fillmore, can I use your sofa tonight?

Oh, you cannot use the sofa tonight.

What do you whispering for?

You want me not to hear.

Why should your friend not sleep at your
apartment tonight?

The poor fellow.

You think he gets me there to make love.

I don't blame you.

You should see me when I am undressed.

I am very beautiful.

But a princess of the blood royal is not
to be bought for a few miserable

bottles of champagne.

And the caviar. Oh, la, la.

But you won't enjoy it.

I warn you.

Princess, you let me be the judge of
that, huh?

All right.

Princess.

Did I tell you I have the clap?

The clap?

And what are you making a fuss for?

It's only gonorrhea.

Only gonorrhea?

Americans.

They have no manners at all.

What's that?

That's me, Henry.

Joe from the bar.

Joe from the bar.

These blankets are no good. I'm so cold.

Come here and warm me a little.

Heinz? I wouldn't if I were you.

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

Would you shut up?

All right.

You poor, shy boys.

I go to take a little coffee now.

So you can get dressed.

Oh, Monique.

Just a little ten -franc note.

I'll see you later.

But what a charming place you have.

I'm going to like it here.

Bye -bye.

Guard the door.

I'm going to get the lock chain.

No, I worked days, too.

Didn't you know?

A dentist's office up the street to pay
off this set of teeth he made for me.

Hey, don't you reprove the paper
anymore?

Why? What have you heard?

About what?

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

Did they say anything?

They didn't say anything.

That boss of mine balls the piss out of
me if I miss a semicolon.

Yeah? Maybe he needs more help.

I'm a great semicolon spotter.

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

For future consideration.

Yeah, here, we'll put it on there.

I'll see if it gets on the applications
list.

Thanks.

Thanks a lot.

Oh, here.

Take a look at these ads. Maybe you'll
find something good on there. If you do,

you'll be way ahead of everybody else in
Paris.

Hey, how about this one?

America needed for teaching in Dijon
under international exchange agreement.

Room and board.

What's the salary?

It's no mention of money. It's...

Your contribution to Franco -American
amity. It's a roof over their head and

food.

Bonsoir, monsieur.

Je suis le professeur American.

Oh, brother.

Mr. Miller.

Ah, good night, Monsieur.

Listen, sir.

Pray consider yourself welcomed among
our walls.

Observe your standard.

To be listened of English spoke.

It is myself that have till now instruct
the pupils in this language, but a man

occupied of myself have no more for
such.

You, Monsieur Miller, henceforth shall
talk the English conversation to the

boys.

Ah. I, uh, my best will do to follow up
your good work, Monsieur le Censeur.

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

You, um, are speaking French, I hope.

Well, a little, uh, un tout petit peu.

Un tout petit peu.

Un tout petit peu. Peu.

Peu. Excellent.

Your predecessor was not gifted with the
tongue.

He was not, um, capable to follow my
work.

Although he did not exercise himself to
inform us about his departure.

He go over the wall.

Couldn't he just go through the door?

The door is locked by key.

It's night at ten.

To avoid the infiltration of women.

A contingency at all costs to be
avoided.

Exact amount.

Now, back to our businesses.

Your personal fire for the week.

Also, there is in supplementation two
measures of coal in bucket.

Paper must by yourself be found.

I fear it will start looking at once.

Yes. In times you do not converse with
the boys, you are at liberty.

The town of Dijon is yours.

Amuse yourself goodly.

A tout à l 'heure, Monsieur Miller.

You continue in good health, Monsieur
Lucien, sir.

Oh, Tanya, where now is that warm cunt
of yours, those fat, heavy garters,

soft, bulging thighs?

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

Oh, I'll ream out every wrinkle in your
cunt, Tanya, big with seed. I'll send

you home to your Sylvester with an ache
in your belly and your womb turned

inside out.

Here's Sylvester. Yes, he knows how to
build a fire, but I know how to inflame

cunt.

Tanya, I make your ovaries incandescent.
Yeah, Sylvester is a little jealous

now. He feels something. He feels the
remnants of my big prick.

I've set the shores a little wider.

Ironed out the wrinkles.

After me, you can take on stallions,
bulls, rams, drakes.

St. Bernard's. You can stuff toads,
bats, lizards up your rectum. You can

arpeggios if you like, a string of
zither across your navel.

I am fucking you, Tanya, so that you'll
stay fucked.

And if you're afraid of being fucked
publicly, I'll fuck you privately.

I'll tear off a few hairs from your cunt
and paste them on Boris's chin.

I will bite into your clitoris and spit
out two frank pieces.

Good morning, boys. I'm your new
professor.

Now, what should we talk about? Anybody
have anything they want to talk about?

Poor kids.

Our first subject is the physiology of

love.

Let's consider how the elephants make
love.

Although they're pretty heavily built,
they get

pretty spry when a male gets a bone on
them.

Some animals have bones in their penis.

And hence this expression, a bone.

Gourmand, this bony structure is lost in
man.

Now think what would happen if you had
half the human race walking around with

bone on them.

Yesterday, he was telling us about the
whale. Yeah.

This noble beast has a penis two meters
long.

That's quite true, my boy, and that's
only in repose.

And the kangaroo have two?

That's quite right.

It's a double penis.

It's one for weekdays and one for
Sundays.

Music was the least of my worries.

I didn't even think of cunt. So dismal,
so chill, so barren, so gray, was it

all?

Interrogant, monsieur.

Paris. Indian pearl merchant wants low
-life guy to Paris stop.

How about it? Fillmore.

When the next train to Paris?

Monsieur? Le prochain train. Oh, never
mind. Merci.

Merci.

In the fullness of night, he
disappeared.

Fillmore, my old, my savior.

Get in here and sit down.

Well, where's the pearl merchant?

I'm ready to take him to the haunts of
Coot, Fern, and Fornication. Well, it's

not the old merchant himself.

It's his only nephew.

What's he looking for in Paris?

Well, as far as I can tell, his wants
are simple.

Don't you worry, though. The old boy's
paying for his education.

For God's sakes, Randy, you can't jump
him in the streets.

Let's wait till we get to Miss Hamilton.

This is it. Let me tell you, this is
really a refined, high -class joint.

Hello, baby.

Take your pick. You get your choice.

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

Ladies!

I'll take this one.

Mmm, you have a taste, monsieur.

I am sure you will be very happy
together.

Oh, you can't be offended.

If you wish.

Let us have rooms next door, huh?

If you must.

The young lady has gone for her toilet.

But where can I go?

Quick, quick.

Tell me before she comes back.

Use the bidet, for Christ's sake.

Oh, thank you.

Oh,

madam,

I do beg of you.

Have you no shame?

to bring a savage to Miss Hamilton?

One of the most distinguished bordels of
Paris.

Hey,

man, what did you do?

What did he do?

Come with me.

Oh,

brother, you shouldn't have told me to.

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

I asked you where to go and you told me
to use that.

Come along. Let us get out of here. For
the femme de chambre?

I would like to get out of here.

Would you like to try another place?

Oh, no.

No.

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

And to accomplish it, he will wade
through blood.

He will debauch himself with ideas.

He will reduce himself to a shadow. If
only for one second of his life he can

close his eyes to the hideousness of
reality.

Everything is endured.

Disgrace, humiliation, poverty, war,
crime, ennui, and the belief that

overnight something will occur.

A miracle which will render life
tolerable.

So I think what a miracle it would be if
at the last moment, when the banquet

table is set and the cymbals clash,
there should appear suddenly and wholly

without warning a silver platter on
which even the blind could see that

nothing more and nothing less than two
enormous bumps of shit.

When I look down at this fucked -out
kind of a whore, I feel the whole world

beneath me, a world tottering and
crumbling, a world used up and polished

leper's skull.

If there were a man who dared to say all
that he thought of this world, there

would not be left him a square foot of
ground to stand on.

When a man appears, the world bears down
on him and breaks his back.

There are always too many rotten pillars
left standing for man to bloom.

The superstructure is a lie, and the
foundation is a huge quaking fear.

If at intervals of centuries there does
appear a man with a desperate, hungry

look in his eyes, a man who would turn
the world upside down in order to create

a new race, the love that he brings to
the world is turned to bile.

What the hell are you doing? What's
going on?

Stupid bastards wouldn't stop.

Look.

Poor old Peckover fell down the elevator
shaft.

Eight stories.

They found him crawling around crying,
looking for these.

Couldn't think about anything else.

He hasn't finished paying for them yet.

And they're quarreling about who's going
to write the obituary.

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

Get up here. What's all this? Don't
worry, my dear. They're friends of mine.

First paycheck in four months.

Here's to Peckover. He would like this.
Thanks to us. He died with his teeth in.

Peckover.

Peckover.

Let's have another bottle of wine. Oh,
no. Look at my dress. You stupid.

Jesus. Now you know not to laugh at
French women.

Spirited girl.

Yeah.

I'd better follow her.

But why?

Because I gave her the key to my place.
That's why.

And if I don't apologize...

She'll be waiting with a broken bottle.

See you later, Joe.

You know what I love most about
Fillmore? His absolute refusal to learn

experience.

Lona now, she had a cunt.

I know because she sent us some hairs
from down below.

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

On every high hill, she played the
harlot. And sometimes in telephone

toilets. She used candles, Roman
candles, and doorknobs.

Not a prick in the land big enough for
her. Not one.

Men went inside her and curled up.

She wanted extension pricks, self
-exploding rockets, hot boiling oil made

wax and creosote.

She'd cut off your prick and keep it
inside her forever.

If you gave her permission.

One cunt out of a million.

Loner. All cunt and a glass ass in which
you can read the history of the Middle

Ages.

how lucky you are to be able to afford
the good things of life.

All the bad things happened to me.

First my little baby, and now my mother
is at home.

Very ill. And there is a doctor to pay
the medicines to be bought.

I'm always in difficulties for money.

Why don't you come over to my hotel and
you can tell me all about it? Oh, I

couldn't do that.

I have to look after my mother.

You could come home with me.

I have an apartment to myself.

It will be peaceful.

Okay, let's go.

I gotta warn you, I only get 50 francs.

50 francs? Come on, you're surely joking
with me.

Why? Made a mistake?

Yeah, you certainly have made a mistake.

Be reasonable.

Okay, I'll be nice to you, you'll see.

You were lying to me then.

I was just lying to you.

Taxi!

My God, this place is in such a state,
this mother has been sick.

I can't find anything when I want it.

No, don't sit there.

Come over here, Shaggy.

Oh, this dress.

The zipper always sticks.

Can you?

Never mind, I've done it myself.

Now, what are you waiting there for?

Hurry up and get undressed.

Have you seen my diploma on the wall?

First class, Hana.

Mama, I need friend for me.

Come on, get undressed. I think you
should hurry, you know.

Where's my kimono disappeared to? I must
go to see mother. Just a moment.

You can have a bath, if you like.

I'll be back in a few minutes.

She's going to die.

She's going to die.

Oh, dear, dear.

If only I had the money for the doctor.

Oh, yeah, the money.

Will you please take this for your
mother? You're very kind.

But the doctor is very expensive.

Yes, things are rough all over. Oh,
you're right.

Come on. Move over.

Oh, darling.

I'm dying for you.

Oh, what are you?

Yes, again. It's so beautiful.

Slow down.

Where's the fire?

Here. Here.

Oh, chérie, c 'est tellement bon.

Oh, c 'est bon. Vite, vite, vite. C 'est
bon, chérie.

Vite.

Take it easy.

Where's your mother? Is she downstairs?

I must

go and see mother.

Germaine was different.

There was nothing to tell me so from her
appearance. I'd noticed her verging

toward me with a curious, trot -about
air of a whore and the run -down heels

cheap jewelry, the pasty look of their
kind.

In a few minutes, we were in a five
-franc room on the Rue Amelot, the

drawn and the covers thrown back.

But she didn't rush things, Germaine.

She sat on the bidet, soaping herself,
and talked to me pleasantly about this

and that. As she stood up to dry
herself, still talking to me pleasantly,

suddenly she dropped a towel, and
advancing toward me leisurely, she

rubbing her pussy affectionately,
stroking it with her two hands,

patting it. There was something about
her eloquence at that moment, and the

she thrust that rose bush under my nose,
which remains unforgettable.

She spoke of it as if it were some
extraneous object which she had acquired

great cost, an object whose value had
increased with time and which now she

prized above everything in the world.

Her words imbued it with a peculiar
fragrance.

It was no longer just her private organ,
but a treasure, a magic potent

treasure, a God -given thing, and
nonetheless so because she traded it.

day in, day out, for a few pieces of
silver. As she flung herself on the bed,

with legs spread wide apart, she cupped
it with her hands and stroked it some

more, murmuring all the while in that
hoarse, cracked voice of hers that it

good, beautiful, a treasure, a little
treasure.

And it was good, that little pussy of
hers.

That Sunday afternoon, with its
poisonous breath of spring in the air,

everything clicked again.

As we stepped out of the hotel, I looked
her over again in the harsh light of

day, and I saw clearly what a whore she
was. The gold teeth, the run -down

heels, etc., etc.

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

hadn't the least disturbing effect upon
me. I encouraged it, in fact.

I liked her so well that after dinner,
we went back to the hotel again and took

another shot at it. For love, this time.

And again, that big bushy thing of hers
worked its bloom in magic.

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

There was Jermaine, and there was that
rosebush of hers.

I liked them separately, and I liked
them together.

You know, I don't think this earthy
stuff is going over too well with Irene.

I think she's kind of an ethereal cunt.

The theory of it not, she's rich. It
should be worth a little effort at

writing. Now, go on. Where were we?

Rabelais, you send me golden apples,
Irene dear, and gifts of shaggy

too.

She hasn't given you anything, has she?

No, but I like that word, shaggy.

But if you followed them, the choicest
gift you brought would be just you.

You know, you say that like you mean it.

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

Irene, peerless nymph.

Why fear such tenderness as mine?

Now, wait a minute. This is the real
clincher.

Oh, let me have the whole, all, all be
mine, those hands, those eyes divine,

that warm, white, lucent, million
-pleasured breast.

Jesus, that'll do it.

Let's pepper it up a bit.

No, no, no, that's morbid.

Breeze there, man, with soul so dead,
who to himself hath never said,

when I see Irene.

I think of bed.

Oh, it's not the same class.

Besides, it's too pushy.

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

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

If the lady's any good at all, it's
never far from her mind. All you have to

is let her know that you know what she's
thinking about.

Did you pay your rent?

It's from Irene.

Well?

A rendezvous. Christ, you think she's
watching us?

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

Wish you hadn't said that, crude
bastard.

I can't go in yet.

What's the time?

I'm two minutes early.

All right, all right. Let's take a walk
around the block.

Press button two.

Rescue teams have been working
throughout the night in an effort to

miners trapped since last Tuesday in the
Alsatian mining disaster.

Investigation of the cause of the
disaster has revealed that the collapse

due to faulty pit props.

Pit props.

Messages of consolation have arrived
from the government.

I'll bet.

Fill in for me at the office, will you?

Tell the bastard I'm anything.

Tell him I'm dying.

Okay, Carl.

What's happening?

Hello.

Are you Henry Miller?

How are you?

You sound so nice.

Hello, Joe.

She likes you.

I told her all about you.

How we call each other Joe.

She wants us to call her Joe, too. Talk
to you later, Henry.

Ah, yes.

Son of a bitch.

Help me read through these documents,
huh?

What happened to Carl?

He says he's dying.

Oh, so he's dying, is he, the little
prick?

Come on, give me the load on this whole
thing, huh?

He went to visit his rich cunt.

He actually went to call her?

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

Oh, come on, you seem like a decent guy.

Let me in on this rabbit.

It's not a racket. What do you mean?

A little prick like that slips off to
lay a rich, beautiful, hungry cunt, and

you say there's no racket?

Come on, come on.

Will you calm down? I'll tell you
everything as soon as Carl gives me the

details, okay?

Yeah, okay. I like Van Norton, but I
don't agree with his opinion of himself.

He's not a writer. He's just construct.
That's all. 29, 35 and 58, 35 and a

half.

Come on, Carl. You're hanging me up.
Don't torture me. Do it later. Tell me,

it good or was it bad?

Wait. I'm going to tell you everything.

That means it was a failure.

No.

No, it wasn't a failure.

No, it wasn't a success either.

You know, it's pretty strange to think
of all those letters we wrote her

and then to find that, well, she was in
her dressing gown.

There was a bucket of champagne on the
dresser.

The room was pretty dark.

Curtains drawn, not much light.

But her voice was lovely.

I know that. Go on.

It must have been 9 o 'clock.

Because I remember I looked at my watch
to check.

Well, the next time I looked at my
watch, it was 10 o 'clock.

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

At 11 o 'clock, it was all settled.

We were going to run away to Borneo.

Did she have a husband or something?

Oh, fuck the husband. She never loved
him anyway.

She never would have written that first
letter if the husband hadn't been old

and passionless.

And when she says to me, but listen,
dear, how do I know you won't grow tired

me?

What'd you say? What'd you expect me to
say?

I said, how could anyone ever grow tired
of you?

Oh, Carl, you're the cutest. What
happened then?

I don't know.

Oh, I kissed her breasts a lot. She
seemed to go for that.

But then I got sort of tired of them
staring me in the face, so I stuffed

back in her corsage, or whatever they
call those things.

Hey, wasn't that a step backwards?

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

So, then we had another coupe of
champagne.

There I was all the time sitting with my
semicolons, wondering whether I could

afford to go to the can for five
minutes.

And I'm dying to take a leak.

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

I grab hold of her hand, I pull her to
her feet, and I start walking her to the

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

Singapore, you name it. Only just now, I
must go. It's getting late.

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

A woman with a voice like that?

When I talked to her on the phone, I was
stunned.

I wanted to say one true thing to her,
no matter how silly, after all that crap

we wrote her.

Was she beautiful?

She had a streak of gray hair across her
forehead.

I remember that.

But that wouldn't be so bad. You see,
I'd almost forgotten it.

But it was her arms.

They were thin.

They were thin and brittle.

If you're only ten years younger, I
might overlook this streak of gray hair.

And even the brittle arms.

But she's too old.

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

She won't just be one year older next
year. She'll be ten years older.

Another year, she'll be twenty years
older.

I'll be getting younger looking all the
time.

At least for another five years.

How did it end?

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

I promised to meet her Tuesday.

Oh, and that's not all.

I promised to write her a letter in the
meantime.

How am I going to write her a letter
now? I haven't got anything to say.

Oh, shit.

She's only ten years younger.

Listen.

Do you think I ought to go with her? To
Borneo or wherever it is she wants to

take me?

I don't know how to shoot.

I'm afraid of guns and all that sort of
thing.

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

Nothing but humping and fucking all the
time.

I can't do it.

She said she was turning 40.

That means 50.

Or 60.

It'd be like fucking your own mother.

Well, she must have had some. You would
kiss the breast, for Christ's sake.

Kissing her breast? What's that?

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

Look at that.

It's coming apart, the goddamn suit.

I'm coming apart.

Irene is certainly coming apart.

You can forgive a young cunt anything.

She doesn't have to have any brains.

They're better off without any brains.

But an old cunt... See, an old cunt,
even if she's brilliant, even

if she's the most charming woman in the
world, nothing makes any difference.

A young cunt is an investment.

An old cunt is a dead loss.

All they can do for you is buy you
things.

Now, with you, it's different.

You don't have to lay her. You can
afford to like her.

Maybe you would like her. Listen, if
she's rich, I'll like her. I don't care

old she is, as long as she's not a hag.

She's not a hag.

What are you talking about?

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

Ah, if you don't want to, tell her that.

You'd be subtle about it, though.

Perhaps we'll go to Borneo together.

I don't know how to shoot either.

It doesn't matter. We'll drive, we'll
hunt, we'll wear nice things.

You know, if we go to Borneo, I won't
have hemorrhoids anymore.

Maybe I'll develop something else.

Something worse?

Cholera, do you think?

Ah, listen, it's better to die of a good
disease like that than to piss your

life away on a newspaper with the grapes
up your ass and buttons falling off

your pants.

Now, what would you rather do?

Be a cripple all your life or have a
job?

Or marry a rich cunt?

Ah, you'd rather marry a rich cunt, I
can see that.

Supposing you married her, and then you
couldn't get a hard -on anymore.

Well, that happens sometimes.

What would you do then?

No, the best thing would be to marry
her.

and then get a good disease right away.
You wouldn't have to worry about laying

her and you wouldn't have to worry about
the rent either.

That's the best solution for a writer.

Listen, all I want is a good wheelchair
and three meals a day.

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

Well, what happened to you?

You should have stayed around for a pair
now.

Carl talked about that Dame Irene for
two solid hours.

I could use a pair now.

I'm just out looking for Fillmore.

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

What if that guy's putting us on?

That girlfriend of his gave me the
address. It's around somewhere.

But Carl now, that guy's an artist.

He described every detail minutely.

He gave it to me with such accuracy, I
know the whole goddamn thing is a lie.

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

You know how my mind works.

He told you the whole story, didn't he?

What do you think? You think he made it
up?

I think he invented the whole thing just
to torture me.

I don't care about that.

I don't care if the whole thing is a lie
from start to finish. It's the images

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

No? Yeah.

Just like that guy who told me he'd put
it to her six or seven times.

Yeah. Well, that's a lot of shit.

But when he tells me that she rented a
carriage and drove him to the Bois and

used her husband's fur coat for a
blanket...

That's too much.

Listen, I suppose he told you about the
chauffeur, how the chauffeur waited

patiently.

And listen, did he tell you about how
the motor purred all the time?

He's such a cute little liar.

You can't walk away from him.

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

I don't get the mentality behind it.

I think it's a kind of masturbation.
What do you think?

I suppose he told you the whole thing,
huh?

He told you about...

How he stood in the moonlight on the
balcony and he kissed her?

Yeah. But the way that boy described it.

I can just see that little prick
standing there with his arms around the

And already he's writing her another one
of those letters about the rooftops and

all that crap he steals from his French
authors.

That guy never said a thing that's
original. I found that out. But you have

get a clue to whom he's been reading
lately.

And that's damn hard to do because he's
so damn secretive. It's the way he tells

it to me.

You know how he broiders things.

Well, after that scene on the balcony,
you know, he sort of gives me that like

an hors d 'oeuvre.

Well, after that scene on the balcony,
so he says, they went inside and he

unbuttoned their pajamas.

What are you spying for? Was he shitting
me about that?

No, he told me just the same way you're
telling me. Oh.

Well, after that, he says, he's sitting
in a chair with the legs up, you know,

not a stick on.

He's down on the floor looking up at her
and telling her how beautiful she is.

Did he tell you how she looked like a
Matisse?

What I'm getting at is that moment when
he said he was down on his knees and

with his two skinny little fingers, he
spreads her cunt open. Remember that?

He said she was sitting there in the
chair with her legs dangling over the

when he suddenly gets his inspiration.

You know, that's after he's already
given her a couple of lays and given her

little spiel about the Matisse. But now
get this.

With his two fingers, just the tip of
them, mind you, he spreads the little

petals open.

Squish, squish.

Just like a little...

Sticky sound. Almost inaudible.

Squish, squish.

Jesus, I've been hearing it all day.

And then, if that wasn't enough for me,
he said he buried his head in her muff.

And then, by Christ, if she doesn't
swing her legs around his neck.

When he told me that, oh boy, that
finished me.

Can you imagine?

A fine, sensitive woman like that
swinging her legs around his neck. It's

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

Sounds pretty incredible.

Still, you never can tell with a little
prick like that. I suppose anything can

happen.

Maybe you didn't fuck her at all.

Maybe she just let him diddle her.

Well, you never can tell with these rich
cunts. You know what they might expect

you to do.

Well, I better go see Fillmore.

Crazy. Fuck them.

They say I may have syphilis, too.

They say I've got delusions of grandeur.

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

Why don't they put me in the ward?

When the bug out!

I can't afford this.

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

That's why they got you here, pal. I
mean, when you run out of dough, they'll

move you out of here quick enough. Don't
worry about it.

Here, hold on.

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

I'm crazy, but I want to atone for what
I did.

I want to get married.

I didn't know I had that clap.

See, I gave her the clap and I knocked
her up.

I don't care what happens, but I'm going
to marry her first.

He keeps telling me to wait until I get
better. Well, I'm not going to get

better. Joe, this is the end.

Come on, Joe.

I'm dying, Joe.

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

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

After you're gone.

You can take care of her.

You're healthy.

Joe, would you take care of her?

Oh, easy boy, easy. Would you? For me.

Where does she live?

You're a good guy, Joe.

That's right, I am. Where's she living?

Oh, somewhere on the sixth floor.

Everyone in Paris lives on the sixth or
seventh floor.

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

Sixth floor.

Where?

365, Rue La Bosse.

Okay, look.

I'll find the girl and I'll hold her
hand and I'll explain everything.

Now, don't worry about anything.

Just lay back, eat your oranges.

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

Entrez. Sit down, please.

And you think he keeps his position when
he leaves the hospital?

His job, you mean?

I suppose so.

You speak good English, Jeannette.

We were pulled together by common
tongues.

That must have been nice.

But I beg of you, tell me what you
think.

Joujou wants to marry me. He says that.

But if he does not...

You know, a young girl in a delicate
condition and with the other things

besides.

If he leaves me, what am I going to do?

Dear, Fillmore is a perfect gentleman.

He's thinking about you all the time.

I'm certain he's going to stand by you.
I'll be the godfather to the child.

How's that?

Oh, you are so good.

All the same, are you certain you want
this child? If you have this condition

you spoke of, it might be born blind.

Don't say such things.

It doesn't make any difference to me. I
want a child of my Jojo.

In the bed.

How we did fight.

You know, he liked to fight with me.

He was a brute.

Oh, do you want some cheese?

The friend of my poor Jojo.

Ivette makes a job of national
importance.

She's a spy for the police.

Oh, God.

Come on, what does she actually do?

I regulate the inspection of the ladies.

Sounds like pretty essential work.

I take you to work in taxi.

I just change my robe and I come with
you.

Jeanette is a whore.

And she has no baby now, though. Maybe
she has a clap, yes, but she isn't

pregnant.

Well, why the hell does she want to
marry him? Does she love him?

She wants someone to take care of her.

No Frenchman would marry her. She has a
long police record.

What if she can marry a rich American?

Oh, Henry, you write your address and
leave it on the table.

I'm with you in a moment.

There's the address.

I've got a bed at Boris'.

Good

morning.

Who are you?

Hands off, Joe. Elsa's staying a few
days to lend tone to the place. She's

to show people in when they come to see
the apartment.

You want some breakfast?

I have some hot croissant and jam.

No, no, don't give him breakfast. It'll
encourage him to stay. He's been here

long enough.

why don't you move in with Fillmore
again? I hear they let him out of the

Nuthatch. Well, you know, Fillmore will
probably be living with Jeanette, don't

you know? And I wouldn't want to disturb
a happy couple. It hasn't worried you

up till now.

Look, straighten the place up a little,
will you? Artistic disorder is okay, but

this is ridiculous.

Today, my heart is still

weak.

I know.

Liebergot, what happens to the world?

Oh, let me help.

I have no look.

No look, never. I tried to write to my
lover so far away, and what happened?

Did that brought that back?

Oh, poor girl.

Poor Elsa.

I'm so sad.

So sad.

Ah, the Germans.

They take you all over like an omnibus.
They give you indigestion.

And the same night, one cannot visit the
morgue, the infirmary, the zoo, the

signs of the zodiac, the limbos of
philosophy, the caves of epistemology,

arcana of Freud and Steckel.

On the merry -go -round, one doesn't get
anywhere.

Whereas with the Germans, one can go
from Vega to Lope de Vega all in one

and come away as foolish.

as Parsifal.

Always.

Always.

Men use me and back me aside.

You know, if you can play the piano like
this, you should have better sense than

to let yourself be tripped up by every
guy with a big putz who just happened to

come along, you know?

But what can I do?

I like it.

This is the living room.

I can see that.

Henry. Hey, Fillmore, you old nut!

They let him out, huh? Yeah, yeah, I'm
fine now. He looks good now, eh, my

fiancé? I see you're on the move again,
huh?

Morris kicked me out.

I've got to find a hotel tonight. You
know, unless I can find some place to

stay. Jeanette, why don't you go do some
shopping? Yeah, it'll be all right.

We'll be right there at the cafe, okay?

Have another. I don't care.

It's her father's money.

My job's gone. We're supposed to get
married in a month or so.

properly in their clutches, I'll be
nothing but a slave.

Okay.

First you get married, then you get
divorced.

Meanwhile, she'll be dropping the kid.

Who's going to take care of it, huh?

Hey, some girls are naturally fat around
the middle.

Yvette told me that Jeanette's not
pregnant. What do you mean?

I know she's going to have a kid, all
right. I felt it kicking around inside

her.

That a vet's a dirty little slut.

You see, Joe, I didn't want to admit
this to you, but before I went to the

hospital, I was putting out for a vet,
too.

Then when the crack -up came, I
couldn't. I mean, I felt like I'd done

for both of them, right?

No, no, no, that a vet's just sore at
me, that's all.

Boy, I wish it were true.

I could get out of this more easily.

Drink my father my father never drink
No, that's trying to explain to the fact

is your man spam for these drinks So now
I'm not understanding English. Hey Is

that incredible?

Pal, how do you want yourself into these
situations?

You're laughing.

You make fun of me. You mock at your
fiancé with strangers.

Jeanette, don't be stupid.

How am I stupid?

Jeanette, I want you to just... Yeah,

that'll teach you how to behave.

What a shame!

But you don't have the right to touch a
pregnant woman!

Oh, you, you'll pay for it, you poor
girl!

Oh, God, I've never seen a woman treated
like that! You crazy girl!

Woke from a sound sleep with curses of
joy on my lips, with gibberish on my

tongue repeating to myself like a
litany, Fais secavudra.

Do anything, but let it produce joy.

Do anything, but let it yield ecstasy.

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

Images, gay ones, terrible ones,
maddening ones, the wolf and the goat.

syphilis with her wings outstretched in
the door of the womb, always on the

latch, always open, ready like the tomb.

Lust, crime, holiness, the lives of my
adored ones, the failures of my

adored ones, the words they left behind
them, the words they left unfinished,

but above all, the ecstasy.

What's the matter with you?

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

She keeps stabs on me.

Come on. Let's have a drink.

Come on.

I just don't know what to do anymore.

Gunna have to do something for me,
Henry. I'm helpless.

She won't let me out of her sight.

The French.

You know, I used to rave about them, but
that was all literature.

I know what they're really like.

They're cruel and mercenary and mean.

There's no sympathy, no friendship.

The most selfish people on earth. They
think of nothing but money, money,

And so goddamn respectable and
bourgeois. That's what drives me nuts.

Oh, sure, I...

Hate those puritanical bastards back
home. I hate them as much as you do, but

I'm one of them myself.

I don't belong here.

I'm sick of it.

Look here, Fillmore.

What is it you really want to do?

I'd like to be home with my people.

I'd like to hear English spoken.

Listen, if that's what you really want
to do, why don't you do it?

Why don't you go?

I'd go today.

Yes, by Jesus, I'd go today without even
saying goodbye to her.

That money at the bank, is that her
father's money or is it yours? That's

My mother sent it to me. I don't want
any of her goddamn money.

Suppose we hop in a cab, we go right
down there.

You check out every last cent.

This afternoon, you hop a train for
London. In London, you catch the first

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

Better keep them.

See, in a French mine of hers, you'll
never suspect that you've scooted off

without bag or baggage.

No Frenchman would ever agree with doing
a thing like that.

Unless he's as cracked as you are.

Here.

That's every bit of it.

The closer you get to New York, the more
this will seem just like a bad dream.

What are you going to tell her?

Don't worry about what I'm going to tell
her. I'm going to tell her.

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

I don't know.

Why give her anything?

Oh, Joe.

Okay, let's give her this French money.

That should hold her for a while.

How much is it?

Oh, she has two or three thousand francs
there. That's more than she deserves.

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

I mean, it's a lousy, rotten deal I'm
giving her, you know.

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

Give it all. Give her the whole damn
thing. I don't care what it is.

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

You know what? You're going to go get on
that train.

You can't go back there now.

Settle. I just don't want her to kill
herself, that's all.

Kill herself?

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

Though I hate to give it to her, I'll go
right to the post office. I'll

telegraph it.

Here. Send her a postcard. Tell her you
saved her.

Tell her you love her. Go.

I'll see you tonight. Don't worry. It's
going to be great. You'll see.

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

Suddenly it occurs to me that if I want,
I could go to America myself.

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

My thought... Drift out toward the sea,
toward the other side, where, taking a

last look back, I had seen the
skyscrapers fading out in a flurry of

I see them looming up again in the same
ghostly ways when I left.

See the lights creeping through their
ribs.

I see the whole city spread out from
Harlem to the Battery. The streets choke

with ants.

The theater's empty.

I wonder, in a vague way, whatever
happened to my wife.

After everything quietly sifted through
my head, a great peace came over me.

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

so saturated with a past that however
far back the mind roams, one can never

detach it from its human background.

Christ.

Before my eyes there shimmers such a
golden peace that only a neurotic could

dream of turning his head away.

So quietly flows the sand that one
hardly notices its presence.

It is always there, quiet and
unobtrusive, like a great artery running

the human body.

And the wonderful peace that falls over
me, it seems as if I have climbed to the

top of a high mountain.

For a little while, I will be able to
look around me to take in the meaning of

the landscape.

Human beings make a strange fauna and
flora.

From a distance, they appear negligible.

Close up, they're apt to appear ugly and
malicious.

More than anything, they need to be
surrounded with sufficient space.

Space even more than time.

The sun is setting.

I feel this river flowing through me.
Its past, its ancient soil, the changing

climate.

The hills gently girdle it about.

Its course is fixed.

Bye -bye.