All language subtitles for OdetteRobert

Pessac Town Hall
Birth Certificate

Grandmothers

Today: Odette Robert

Filmed on 2-12-1971, by Jean Eustache.

Title: Number Zero.

Zero-AB-one.

Tell the principal you were with dad.

Study well now.

Be careful.

- You want some coffee?
- You know I can't drink coffee.

Wait, I'll get some whiskey.

- It's very good.
- Yes.

- You should try some.
- I already have.

I've had some of this whiskey before.

I can't have much, even though it is good.

I want you to...

I want you to speak like last time.

Where do I start? My birth?

- Start at the beginning?
- Your mother's death. - Well...

- I'll start with my place of birth. Fine?
- Yes.

I was born in Noës, a small village.

A very old village, quite forgotten.

I was very happy until my
mother's death, when I was seven.

Those were the happiest years of my life.

- Do you remember?
- Of course I do.

I remember how she used to get us ready
for school in the winter.

She used to curl my hair with candles.

I would wear wool socks
that she made herself,

and a blue or red scarf on my head.

Those were the good days. I'd go
with my brother, who died later...

We'd go to school.

Then my mother got sick. Poor
woman, she had four children,

and worked so hard in her life.

She got tuberculosis, which we
used to call 'the lung disease'.

She was sick for a long time.

Finally she died in January 1907.

Afterwards, my life was easy for
a while, because I was spoiled

on account of mother's death.

My father was in debt, because
of my mother's long illness.

My brother and I moved with
my paternal grandmother.

We stayed with her for a few months.

My grandmother was a saint,

a woman like no other.

She could not take care of us any more.
My father decided to remarry.

So he married Marie. Do you remember her?

She was much older than him. He
deliberately married an older woman

because he didn't want more children.

I'll tell you about those days.

I didn't even know he got married.
The day after the wedding, she came.

She was so different from mother,
who doted on me so much.

She grabbed a comb, and
started pulling my hair.

She was pulling it so hard.
It was very painful.

I cried so much.

And I asked my grandmother: Where
did father find this nasty woman?

I had to get used to it.

She hated me. But she
loved my little brother.

She was so attached to him. We were
talking about it the other day.

I was so miserable. I was often
in hospitals, because of my eyes.

Everyone made fun of my dark glasses.
They were much darker than these.

People didn't understand
such things back then.

They just thought I was infirm.

I was so ashamed of myself.

And life went on, until I was twelve,
and it was time to leave school.

The school principal was very fond of me.

Such hard days. We didn't eat well.
No one had time to cook for us.

My stepmother would come home,
and quickly make us sandwiches.

Anyway, the principal was willing
to keep me on for another year.

I was happy. She wanted me to keep
studying because I was bright.

She suggested to my father
that I stay on with her

and live at school instead of home,

but he refused, on account for my eyes.
He made me work instead.

So I worked until the war, in 1914.

My father went to the
front, like everyone else.

My stepmother was cruel to me. She
was jealous, because I was young.

Those were bad days.

She marked my plates and utensils
with a cross, like I had tuberculosis.

No one else was allowed to touch
them, as if I had a deadly disease.

And yet, here I am, alive at seventy.

My father was away for years.
He couldn't come back.

I worked in a factory
back then, as you know.

Then, I met your grandfather.

He was twenty, almost
four years older than me.

He courted me, but not
like they do nowadays.

He never walked me all the way back home.

That was unacceptable.

My stepmother was mean. She would
wait for me at the factory's door

to make sure I wouldn't meet him.

She sent letters to my father
to complain about my behavior.

He was finally demobilized,
and he came back.

So I talked about it with him,

and your grandfather came by

and asked for my hand to marry. But
father thought I was too young,

so he kept refusing.

Then my uncle, my father's brother,
came back from the war as well.

He came back, covered with
lice, like all the soldiers.

He saw that I was miserable,

and I told him that father
was against the marriage.

My uncle talked to my father,
and tried to change his mind.

He told him that I was not happy at home.

He thought he should let me marry.

He managed to convince father.

I was a little over sixteen.

The war had not ended yet. We got married,

for better or worse. Mostly for worse.

Shortly after, they instated new laws

to help wounded veterans.
Since he had lost an eye,

he was entitled to a
pension and a job.

He applied for a forest
ranger position in Algeria.

I'll tell you why.

When he lived in Algeria for
a while before the war,

he had met a woman there.
He wanted to be with her again.

I found out, and I didn't
want to move there.

He got the position,

and asked me if I wanted to
go with him, and I said no.

I told him I wanted to
stay close to my family.

You know, I would have gone
in other circumstances.

So he decided to stay,
and found a position...

- as mailman.
- One moment.

- Zero, 2.
- Wait.

- Go ahead.
- Zero, 2.

So that's what happened.

My third child was born with
encephalitis and was very ill.

He was the first child I lost.

He was a complete invalid, so helpless.

This lasted for months.

We fed him milk with a syringe,

and gave him daily shots. The
poor thing was as good as dead.

That's when your grandfather
started work in Pompignac,

at the town post office.

It was twenty kilometers away.

He used to go to the station on his
bicycle, and then catch a tramway.

And that's where he started to stray.

He would often not come home.
He always had an excuse.

He wanted to move there, but
I had to stay with the baby.

I asked the doctor how long
he thought this would last.

He said he didn't know. Maybe
one day, maybe six months.

I tried to explain that my husband
needed me to move,

but he said that we should
stay for the baby's sake.

He strongly objected to moving
the child from his home.

Your grandfather was furious. He had
already moved to a house there.

Then, one day in December,

I couldn't wait any longer,
and decided to move.

- I had to do it.
- What year was that?

1922.

- You had three children?
- Yes. Your mother was born in 21.

I had 3 kids in 36 months.

Robert was three years
older than you mother.

We rented a truck to move the furniture.

It was raining very hard that day.

The truck arrived, and we
moved all our belongings,

and then the baby suddenly
died in his crib.

The truck was waiting. I
didn't know what to do.

I wrapped him in a blanket,

took him to my father's
place, and I called the doctor.

I sent the truck to our new house.

I stayed back with the baby.

We buried him,

and two days later, I
moved to the new house.

People were very nice to me there.

- Oh yes.
- What is a small village?

It was large, but sparsely populated.
Around 500 people.

People were kind.

They'd bring me things. A
pumpkin, a rabbit, a chicken...

They were kind because they
knew I had lost a child,

I had two others, and I was
pregnant with the fourth.

Your grandfather on the other hand...
What misery.

I was about twenty four at that time.

I had the baby at my parents'
home, and then went back.

He was bad. He'd often not come home.
We lived on a farm.

You can't imagine how old
and run-down it was.

There was a big barn filled with hay.

It was a huge farm.

We rented a little house on it.

I was alone there all night.
There were vagrants around...

They would sometimes wander on farms,

looking for food, or a place to sleep.

They'd sometimes sleep in
the big barn next to us.

I was so frightened, all
alone with my kids.

There was no lock on our door.

I would stay up all night, waiting for him.

Then, my youngest died.

That was the second child I lost.
We took the body back to Pessac.

My brother-in-law, who was a great man,

and who was retired by that time,

told me that I was clearly
troubled and tired,

and that I should spend a few
days with them to recover.

I didn't want to go back.
I was feeling so low.

He asked me to stay with
them, and I said yes.

I thought it would do me good.

So I went with the children,
and your father stayed back.

If I knew...

- You mean grandfather.
- Yes, god forbid he were your dad.

So we stayed away for a whole
month, and then we came back.

He had started seeing this young girl.
She was a country girl.

Beautiful, with lovely hair...

with great curls. At that time,

short hair was in vogue.

Her mother would not let her cut it.

Girls did not cut their
hair short in the village yet.

- What it 1925?
- Yes, more or less.

So...

So he was always with that girl.
He never came home.

He always had an excuse to go to Bordeaux.
He would meet her there,

and then they'd stay in a hotel.

I suspected he was up to something,
but I was the last to know.

One day, he told me to pack his things.
He was going to Bordeaux.

He was in a big hurry.

So I told him I wanted to come along.

He asked why, and I said
that I felt like it.

I said we could leave the
children with the neighbors.

He decided that he didn't
have to go after all.

I couldn't take it anymore.
I was a laughing stock.

Everyone knew what was happening.

One day, I was so angry. Your
mother probably remembers.

At noon, I had had enough.

I decided to go and confront that girl.

I had a large pair of scissors.

I put them in a bag, and I went.

I remember there was a
light drizzle that day.

I took your mother by the
hand, and we were on our way.

We headed to her village.

She lived on a crowded street, with
a restaurant, a grocery store...

There was quite a crowd.
So I confronted her,

and she was terrified. She was only 17.

I shouted at her in the street,
and I called her a little slut.

She started crying: 'Please,
please ma'am, I beg you...'

I then took my scissors from the bag,

and I told her I was fed
up with her nonsense.

I grabbed her and slapped her around.

You know, I wasn't strong, but I
was possessed by anger.

I got the scissors close to her face.
She was so scared.

I cut off all her curls.
Her hair was so beautiful.

I told her she had to wear
her hair short from now on.

I put her curls in my bag.

The woman in the restaurant
watched the whole scene,

and she said: 'good for you. The
little slut got what she deserves'.

I went back home with your mother.
I think she was five years old.

She must remember that day.

We met your grandfather on the way back.

He had finished his rounds.
He saw that I was furious.

He was extra courteous that evening.
He helped me make dinner,

and then he asked me where I had been.

So I told him I was out
getting him dessert.

I took the curls out of the bag,
and flung them into his plate.

'What have you done?', he said.
I told him I had had it.

'If you can't behave, pack
up and leave', I said.

So you know what he did?
He started packing.

I kept shouting at him until
he stepped out the door.

So I stayed alone with the
kids for about 10 days,

and then he came back, all sheepish.

He begged my forgiveness,

and he said he was willing to move

to another village, away from the girl.

He asked me to come with
him, for the kids' sake.

I had to go along, you understand.
I had no choice.

So we had to move again.

And then what happened? Oh yes.

Your father moved to Modane,
in the Savoie department.

He had found a job, and we
were going to follow him there.

That's when I had my last child.
I was very ill...

He was away for his job.
We had to call him back.

The labor was very difficult. My
grandmother came to take care of me,

but she was very old.

She died a few years later.
She must have been 78 then.

She moved in with us. We had a fireplace...

One evening she made a fire,

and went to bed. Her hips hurt.

I could hear her snoring
in the bed next to mine.

I told her I could smell something burning.

She said not to worry. Poor thing.

Then she checked, and
the fire was spreading.

I was bedridden, and the
baby was in his crib...

I begged her to go get help.

She was so slow to move.

I told her to give me the
baby, and go get help.

The neighbors finally came. I
almost died of fright that night.

Your grandfather finally came back.

Once I recovered, we moved to Modane.

He was back to his tricks soon enough.

There was always a woman. Usually
one of his friends' wives.

So then...

I couldn't take it anymore.
I couldn't stay.

I used your mother's ill
health as an excuse to move.

So we went back

to the old house. He didn't come with us.

My father fell ill the next year.

He was paralyzed for the last ten
years of his life. Poor man.

Your great grandfather...

- He was paralyzed...
- What year was that?

It was... Hold on, it was...

1935. Maybe 1936.

That was the year of your
mother's first communion.

You grandfather was away, as usual.

He rarely came to see us. He was
seeing his dead friend's wife.

He would sometimes visit, and berate me.

He would complain that we
didn't wait for him for dinner,

and I'd say: 'If we waited for
you, we'd die of hunger'.

This lasted for a while.
Then one day, he said

'why don't we separate amicably?
I'll give you 400 francs monthly, '

'and I'll pay your rent, and I'll leave'.
And so he left.

He took his car, his dog and
his riffle, and he left.

A while later, he wanted to come back,
but I said no. I was disgusted.

You were growing up in my house.

My poor father would put you on
his knees while I was at work.

He would sing you songs for hours.

He suffered so much at the end.

You used to always ask
him to sing you songs,

and he never said no. He always sang.

You loved that so much.

You annoyed him a little,
but he did it anyway.

And then your uncle Andre
was taken to Germany.

The poor man, he ended up
in a concentration camp.

He stayed there until the end of the war.
My dad died in 42.

Those years were so bad.

I remember, when I was
a boy, during the war,

many babies died in your house.

- Yes.
- So many dead babies.

Of course. I'll explain. I had
to stay home with my dad,

so I made money by nursing
welfare babies at home.

They were all bastard babies of Krauts.

The mothers did all they could to get
rid of them. They were very weak.

I had taken care of many
babies before the war,

but those were normal, healthy babies.
Those poor babies,

their mothers tried their
best to abort them.

They couldn't manage, and
they were born half-dead.

You see, it wasn't my fault,
those babies were so weak.

Before the war, I raised a little one.
She must be 40 now.

She turned out just fine.
And another one...

I called her the gypsy, because she
looked like a cute little gypsy.

She thrived as well. The war
babies weren't so lucky.

I remember the last one I had.
The mother's husband

was a customs agent, and the wife
had the baby with a German.

The husband was about to come back,

so she brought me the baby,
with beautiful clothes,

and she asked me to hide it at my place.

She was so scared. I told
her she was being foolish.

You can't hide a baby all your life.
You have to do something.

I told her to give it to a relative.

The poor baby.

Everyone certainly knew she had it.
Everyone saw she was pregnant.

She was so worried about the husband.
And then the baby died suddenly.

I told her she was lucky. The
baby was going to wreak her home.

What would she had done, I wonder?

That was the last one.

Afterwards, your two grandfathers died.

Things were calmer here.

The war ended, my brother came back...

The poor man spent one year in Russia.

The Russians liberated him. He
crossed Russia in summer shoes,

and finally got back home.

And you kept growing up. What
else do you want to know?

- Many things, but...
- Oh, I wanted to tell you about

when my aunt was elected Virgin.

The year my mother died, in 1907.

They used to select the town's
most virtuous girl every year.

That year, they selected my aunt.

My god, what a party that was.

You've never seen a party like that.

It was magnificent. The
whole village was there.

You know my old village.
You've been there before.

A long street, with houses on each
side, and a well in the middle.

The villagers decorated
the whole street.

They installed flowers and
shrubs on both sides.

Beautiful flowers, all along.

And what music.

Not like today's music.

It was ancient Pessac music,
played by a prize-winning band.

So... I'll have some water.

- So...
- I only have whiskey. - That's fine.

I was dressed beautifully that day.
That was my last nice outfit.

I had on an embroidered white dress,

varnished shoes, and a tiara
with artificial flowers.

I was with a friend of mine, a neighbor.

We both held my aunt's dress train.
What a day that was.

But that was the last
time I put on that dress.

My stepmother, who hated
me, wouldn't let me.

She gave it away. She said
it was too nice for me.

She always dressed me in rags.
I looked like a vagrant.

Oh yes.

I suppose girls nowadays
would like those clothes.

I went to work in rags. The
other girls felt sorry for me.

They said they wouldn't had stood for it.

I had to wear my
stepmother's old under-gowns.

- Give me...
- What do you want?

Water. Here's some. Don't bother.

Can you repeat the last phrase, grandma?

I don't remember what they
called that fabric back then.

It had green streaks, yellow
streaks, black streaks...

Girls nowadays would like it.
It's in style now.

So I went to work like that. For
a top, I wore a sort of negligee...

They were hand-me-downs from
my grandmother's clients.

I was so ashamed to confront
other girls like that.

They couldn't believe I'd stand for it.
I put on a brave face.

It couldn't be helped. She never
let me put anything else on.

The girls didn't understand.

Sunday mess clothes were even worse.
That was my only weekly outing.

I always had on funny dresses.

Once, she bought me a dress...

a black dress, very cute...

but she insisted on lengthening
it down to the ankles.

I didn't want to go like that,
but she made me. I was laughed at.

Afterwards, I said I'd never wear it again.

Aunt Leonie stopped by that day.

- Your father's sister?
- Yes.

She came by every Sunday.

She saw I was upset, and
asked me what was wrong.

I complained about my ugly dress,
and said I wouldn't wear it again.

My stepmother got the
scissors and tore the dress.

Aunt Leonie ordered a
nice stylish robe for me,

with a cute corsage. Very
appropriate for my age.

I never got to wear it.
Marie wouldn't let me.

Aunt Leonie protested, and
asked her to let me wear it,

but she said it was too fancy.
Too fancy for me.

She was so awful. She hated me.

She was jealous, because I was young.

She was so jealous. There's
no remedy for that.

Dear god.

I used to tell those stories
to your grandfather back then.

I went to work in big wooden galoshes.
But not girls' galoshes.

They were galoshes for men. So awful.

Light me a cigarette. So...

I used to write letters to your
grandfather and complain about it,

and he used to reply.

She read them all, naturally.

He used to console me, and tell
me it would get better soon.

'Be patient', he used to write.

He was sweet. We were
still in love back then.

She read the letters, and got mad.
I told her to stop reading mine,

since I didn't read hers.

God, what times.

She was so horrible.

We were miserable. She hated me so much.

And my poor brother Louis...
She gave him hell.

One day, he grabbed a knife.
Father was still at the front.

He must have been twelve at that time.

She had beaten him for
some ridiculous reason.

He grabbed a big knife, and said:
'if you ever touch me again, '

'I swear I'll gut you'. He was so mad.

She was so scared. Then he left.
He vanished for five days.

She was worried. She didn't
know what to tell father.

He was at my maternal grandmother's house.

He came back. She never hit him again.
The poor boy...

She used to pull my hair. She
used to grab me by my tresses

as hard as she could.

I was always terrorized by
her, because of my eyesight.

And the toys... My paternal grandmother

was a saint, a great woman.
But never in her life

did she buy us a gift. She was so
poor. Sometimes she'd get us candy.

My maternal grandmother made very
little as a washer-woman.

Every Monday, she went by wagon to
Bordeaux to deliver the laundry.

She used to wash the laundry in a
little stream. It was beautiful.

You could see little fish at the bottom.

I used to play there beside her.

Her clients were store owners:
Grocery stores, clothing stores...

Every year, on new year's day,
she would get us something

from one of her clients' stores.

Once she got me a flatware set.
God, I still remember. So pretty.

Plates, forks, spoons. Porcelain.
So beautiful.

I never got to use it, naturally.

The same year, my grand feather's
sister, she was in the coal trade,

got me a doll. God, was a
beautiful doll it was.

A big, porcelain doll,

in a pink dress, and a little hat.

My stepmother hid it in her closet,
and I never got to play with it.

You remember the house. The ground
around it was paved with concrete.

We used to play out there. One
day, my aunt and my grandmother

confronted her. They asked her why
she never let me play with my toys.

'She'll break them', she said.
'That's fine', said my grandmother.

Grandmother was always on our side.
Do you know what Marie did?

She got the doll, and the flatware,

and she threw them outside. The doll
lost its head, the plates broke...

That's how she was. It was unbelievable.

Like many young people back
then, I enjoyed drying flowers.

I still remember a lilac branch
I dried between two sheets.

I kept it in my room. I shared
the room with my brothers.

I loved it so much. It was a joy to me.

She came snooping around.

Not only did she take it away...

she shredded it to pieces,
and made sure I saw she did.

Once, I won a small powder-box
at a fair in Pessac.

Back then, they had beautiful
fairs on holidays.

A white powder-box.

I put it on a nightstand in my room.

In the morning, I found
it outside, shattered.

It was too good for me.

My god. May she rest in peace.

She was so cruel to my father at the end.
She beat him.

She made his life a living hell.

In his last days, he was incontinent.

She got mad and beat him real bad.

He was dying, and they shared a bedroom.

There was a window in the room. His
last 5 or 6 days, as he was dying,

the draft from the window
bothered him.

He begged us to close
the window, so we did.

She opened it again during the night.
So, aunt Leonie

screamed at her: 'why are you so cruel?
He's dying'.

'Why don't you leave the window shut?
The poor man is suffering'.

My father was crying. He told
us how she mistreated him,

how she beat him and insulted him.

The poor man. A few years later,
it was her turn to suffer.

She'd shout at us: 'I want a shot.
I want Odette to come'.

She used to stand in the
middle of her room and scream.

She was obsessed with thieves. She
had nothing of worth in her house.

My father had left her a small pension.

It was 100 francs per month.
It was nothing.

She was delirious. They'd give
her shots to calm her down.

Morphine shots. They made her...

crazy. She was delusional.

She could not stand your mother.
You uncle, yes, but not your mom.

She had a large, very fine piece of cloth.

It was beautiful. And a
very delicate nightdress.

She was saving it for when she
was dead, she used to say.

We had nothing to wear during the war.
Your mother complained.

She wanted to use the fabric
to make clothes for herself.

I asked her, and she said no.

I asked her, and she said no.

I eventually just gave it to your mother.
She was very happy.

And she turned the nightdress
to a nice dress as well.

One day, Marie said to me:

'I didn't want to give
her that nice cloth.'

I told her she was being foolish.
It was no longer of any use to her.

She said she was fine
with giving it to her.

She didn't know I had given
it to her a long time ago.

She was certain that we stole her things.
It was all ours anyway.

One day, I had a big fight with her.
I was 15.

I don't remember the reason anymore.

My father was at the front. It would
have been different otherwise.

Whenever we fell and got hurt,

she'd complain about our weak health.
My brother hurt his knee once...

It took time to heal. She said
it was our mother's fault.

She said our mother had
weak, consumptive children.

I was a little older by then, and
I was working in the factory,

I learned a lot of things
about her past. I got very mad,

and I snapped at her. I could
no longer hear this nonsense.

'Show my mother respect.', I said.
'You sleep in her bed', I said.

'You took everything that was hers.
Have some shame'.

'I forbid you to call us
consumptive children.'

I was so mad, I beat her. My
grandmother rushed over.

She asked what was going on. I
told her to keep her away from me.

I said I was going to kill her.
I couldn't take it anymore.

She had been calling me consumptive
and insulting mother since I was 6.

This slut, I said, isn't afraid
of sleeping in my mother's bed.

I made quite a scene. That
put her in her place.

I was fed up. Since I was 6...
Anyway, we used to sit for dinner...

As I told you, my plates were marked,
because I was 'consumptive'.

My brothers' plates
weren't, for some reason.

She used to say: 'Time to feed the swine'.
Can you believe it?

'Feed the swine. Quick.'

'If we hadn't so many hogs
to feed, we'd be rich.'

One day I said: 'We never
asked for any of this.'

I was getting pluckier as I grew up.
'We didn't ask to be born, '

'what do you want us to do?'

'If we hadn't so many hogs to
feed, we'd be rich', she'd say.

Just like that.

That was that.

I was happy until I was 7. My
marriage years were hard, too.

Back then, I took a lot
of abuse in my stride.

Others would have not gone
along with it, but I did.

The clothes she made me wear...

Those big galoshes...
And the undergarments.

My grandmother was a washer-woman,

so she washed all of them once a
year, like they used to do.

I'd ask for new garments on Saturday
or Sunday. She'd take a look...

and say I could wear them for another week.
I worked with straw...

The straw was very dirty. It
smelled so bad. It didn't matter.

She wasn't even the one washing them.
My grandmother did.

Good god. Anyway... I had your
mother when I was young.

I took my maternal grandmother with me.

I was 20. Or 21.

My grandmother stayed with us.

She was staying with her daughter,
but her son-in-law threw her out.

She was 75. It wasn't her fault.

They owned cows. This is the
aunt that was Virgin of Pessac.

They had four kids. They used to boil
water in the winter for the cows.

So the three-year old, an
adorable child, my goddaughter...

was jumping around the cauldron.

She tripped and fell in the boiling water.

She died in the night. So my
uncle, my aunt's husband...

blamed my grandmother for it.
The poor woman was heartbroken.

He threw her out, and I took her in.

I was only 21.

Robert was only 3 or 4, and
your mother was just a baby.

She lived with us. She was
sick for a long time.

I couldn't handle it.

I had the kids, and your grandfather
was always away for work.

I wrote my aunt, and told her I
was bringing grandmother back.

I explained that I was overwhelmed
and I couldn't do it.

My grandmother didn't want to go back.

We took her back, and she died 8 days
later. The poor thing...

But I couldn't help it.
I was all on my own.

The poor thing.

What else should I say?

I am about to turn 71. Your son told me...

I told him I hope I'd
live until he was 15 or 16.

'You'll see my own
children', he said to me.

I am just peacefully waiting to die.
I have nothing left.

What else is there?

I only hope you manage your life well,
and take care of your children.

Your son is so charming.

I want to see him grow.
He's already quite nimble.

Lucky for us. He does all the shopping.
He's got a good head.

A little man.

Quite a man.

So, I'll be 71 soon.

On June 16th.

I think others have had it worse.

I believe that.

My poor son died suddenly two years ago.

My brother too, 3 or 4 years ago,

in 1966 or 1967. Let's
hope for better years.

Maybe 5 or 6 more years.

I hope I'm there for your
son's 16th birthday.

He's already 11.

5 years. I don't really care.

I'm not interested in living.

I really mean it.

What kind of life is this? I can't sleep...

I can't climb the stairs...

I can't go to the movies.
I can't go on visits.

I still manage to go to mass, but
it's quite hard when it's crowded.

I sometimes go to church when it's empty.

I pray for all the dead.

And that's it. There's nothing else.

Sometimes I watch television.

- But not today.
- No.

I'll probably put it to my room tonight.

- How's the light? How was I, mister Theo?
- Very good.

That's all.

- Did you use all your reels? - Yes.
- Wait for the silence.

Yes, I used all of it.

- How was the whiskey?
- I'm a little drunk.

- That's fine - Yes, I guess.

Boris asked me, 'where will we sleep?'

I told him we'll throw you
out, and sleep in your bed.

He liked that.

We're done.

Subtitles by Kanafani