All language subtitles for xz2fcm6v63uq_eng

Ending the Marseille trilogy

that began with MARIUS in 1929

and FANNY in 1931

- What brings you here?
- I had to see you, Elzéar.

You couldn't have attended mass
while you were at it?

You didn't want people
to think you're weak?

I'm afraid I only just made it

because... Panisse is dying.

Poor Honoré is close to death.

- Did he send you?
- No, it's Fanny.

She's meeting her son, my godson,
at the train station.

Yes, I baptized him.

- Who's his doctor?
- Félicien.

He says it's his heart.
He had an attack last year.

That gave us a real scare.

He recovered,

but last night he had another one.
A terrible one.

Come and hear his confession.

Does he know what state he's in?

I think so.

He called us all
to say good-bye this morning,

Monsieur Brun, Escartefigue,
the stoker and me.

But he was unable to speak.

I'll go.

Gustave! Get me an altar boy.

Listen, Elzéar,
I don't think you should tell him.

It can hardly be avoided
if I confess him.

Don't say that's what you came for.

But I'll be bringing the host

and wearing my vestment.

Precisely. You'll scare him.

And Félicien said
the slightest shock could kill him.

Why don't you leave your vestment
and the altar boy downstairs?

You can say you just dropped by

and then break the news gently.

It would easier on him that way.

I know I'm asking you to lie,

but it's for Honoré's sake.

All right.

Thank you, Elzéar.

You're a good man.

Elzéar is on his way.

How's he doing?

He doesn't speak anymore.
Not a word or a sign.

The doctor just left.

- What did he say?
- He said he's done for.

Done for?

Done for.

Poor Honoré.

Monsieur Brun...

Panisse is done for.

What was that?
Did you speak, Honoré?

He said "idiot."

Then he must be feeling better.

Maybe he's dreaming?

I think I'm feeling better.

I can breathe now.

I think you're saved.

I don't know about saved, Félix -

I think so, and I'll tell you why.

Let him speak. He can hardly
breathe and you keep interrupting.

It was going to be interesting.

This is not a day to be interesting.

Come on!
Who's dying here? You or him?

Him!

Well, if he's dying, let him talk!

Honoré,
you have the face of prosperity.

A face we could sit with.

That's what is so annoying.

I'm dying
and I don't even look like it.

My face is like a baby's bottom,

and my bottom, like Félix's face.

Minus the beard, of course.

Yet I'm dying,
and it doesn't feel like it.

It's almost ridiculous.

Dying doesn't affect me...

but I'm scared to stop living.

I'm scared to think I won't see
my wife again, nor my son.

Or all of you.

I'll miss drinking a cold pastis
under the plane trees.

Or playing boules with you.

Don't worry.
We'll find someone else.

- At least wait till he's dead.
- I just don't want him to worry.

I'll miss not shaving each morning
in front of the open window,

looking out on the old port...

thinking about the day to come...

while watching Félix set off
on his first crossing of the day.

I'll miss the little things.

I'll miss the hairs on my chest.

I'll miss my corn.

It never did anyone any harm,
and it forecast the weather for me.

I'm going to lose my corn.

Skeletons don't have corns.

He already sees himself
as a skeleton!

It'll change you more than me.

Someone's coming.

How are you, Elzéar?

I haven't seen you in ages!

Hello, César.

- Hello, Félix.
- How are you, Elzéar?

The Good Lord keeps me going.

What's wrong with you, Honoré?

You're sick apparently?

Yes, it seems I'm ill.

And you, Elzéar,
you're apparently a liar?

Honoré, he's a priest!

Why do you say that?

Why do you pretend
you don't know?

You've no proof I know.

I suppose you just happened
to be passing by.

- Yes, exactly.
- No, not exactly.

More or less, and you just
dropped by to say hello.

- Why not?
- I happened to be passing by,

and it seems
I came at the right moment.

I know what brought you here.

She's got auburn hair
and almond-shaped eyes.

Her name is Fanny.

No, it wasn't Fanny.

But let's say it was.

Let's say your wife came to mass

and I spoke to her afterwards.

What would be odd about that?

After all, I baptized her.
I celebrated your marriage.

It would be quite natural, of course.

Nothing odd about that.

And what if I asked after you?

"How's your husband?
He never comes to church.

He must be knee-deep in sins."

What if she said,

"He's not too well.
Come and see him some time"?

Surely, that's not a crime?

No, Elzéar, quite the contrary.

The truth is, you panic.

You think you're worse off
than you really are.

But, if you're really worried,

if you think your time has come...

I can ease your burden.

Since I'm here
and you seem well disposed,

why not let me confess you?

A confession never killed anyone.

That's true.

Since I'm so well and am
getting younger by the minute,

why not give me
the extreme unction?

Honoré, this is no joking matter.

You're the one who's joking, Elzéar.
You're playing games with me.

You want to hear my confession?
Really?

You think it's urgent?

It's always urgent.

But still, it's less urgent
for Félix or César?

Yes, it's less urgent.

Well, then hear my confession.

Wait a minute.

Elzéar, do we have to be alone?

No, Honoré. The early Christians
confessed in public,

but they were saints.

They had little to say.

I'm no saint,
but I'd like you all to stay.

I don't think it looks good
when everyone leaves.

By the time they're on
the staircase, they start to think,

"What's he confessing?

He must have done a lot
of awful things."

Everyone imagines the worst...

but me,
I've got nothing terrible to tell you.

Not that I've done only good.

But any wrong I have done,

I regret it more
than I regret confessing it openly.

Except maybe before Honorine.

I've committed no crimes...

but some things shouldn't be said
in front of ladies...

even though ladies were involved.

Well, I'll leave... because
of the ninth commandment.

Sit down.

Now, my son,
at this solemn moment,

I must ask you a ritual question
about your earthly life.

My son -

Elzéar, I'll tell you honestly...

if you call me your son, I'll laugh.

- What do you want me to call you?
- Honoré.

As you wish.

Honoré, repeat after me:

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

May God be in your heart
and on your lips,

so that you make
a full confession of your sins.

In the name of the Father, the Son
and the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Now, have you done any wrong
in your life?

Of course.

One can't live without doing wrong,

even if you don't mean to.

- Haven't you done wrong yourself?
- Of course, Honoré. I'm only human.

But I'm not making my confession.

You are.

What wrong did you do?

I don't know.

I mean, I don't know
what you think is wrong.

God's commandments decide,
not me.

César, come over here.

Read God's commandments to us.

You could do with a reminder.

"I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt
have no other gods before me."

That's all right. Fine.

I've never worshipped other gods,
on my honor.

"Thou shalt not take the name...

of the Lord thy God in vain."

That hits me hard.

I've always sworn a lot.

What Marseillais hasn't?

"Thou shalt not bear false witness...

against thy neighbor."

I must admit I have lied.

- Often?
- Continually.

Several times a day.

When playing boules
or after going hunting or fishing.

Especially to customers.

You see, if a salesman
always told the truth,

he'd never do any business.

For instance,

you couldn't have sold that boat
to Monsieur Brun.

- Tell me about it.
- It's not worth it, Father.

I'm the victim
and I won't file a complaint.

It wasn't really a lie. Just a tall tale.

Thank you, Monsieur Brun.

"Thou shalt lie with no woman...

except thy wedded wife."

Go ahead, Honoré,
relieve your conscience.

I'm embarrassed to tell you.

There are many unfortunate girls
in my parish.

I've heard worse stories, I'm sure.

Go ahead.

Yes,
I admit I've committed that sin.

And what's worse

is that I enjoyed it.

If sinning made us suffer,

we'd all be saints.

How often did you sin?

Often and with relish.

When I was young,
before my first marriage,

I knew a lovely girl -

I trust you confessed that
before your wedding.

I did, so we can forget it.

Tell us. We'd like to know.

Félix, you have no discretion.

It happened again
during my first marriage.

But I confessed
before I married the second time.

And since then?

The devil has tempted me.

In what guise?

The guise
of one of my seamstresses.

Which one?

- The little redhead.
- I always thought so.

Your confession concerns
you alone.

That's a hard and fast rule.

Félix, leave the room.

- Seriously?
- Go on. Leave, you big oaf.

Did you sin for long?

Five or six minutes.

But for how many months?

About a year. Then she married
and didn't want to anymore.

You seem to regret it.

Yes, I regretted it then,

but now I regret regretting it.

And after hearing you talk,
I sincerely regret it.

But you don't know the worst.

When she was finished with me...

I'd better stop confessing.

I can see I'm hurting you.

Honoré, I'm listening
with all of a priest's compassion.

Speak.

When she was finished with me...

I took another.

Now I have a question to ask you.

But, as it concerns a third party,
I would like us to be alone.

Please leave the room, gentlemen.

What is it, Elzéar?

What about the child?

You've never told me
it wasn't yours.

What good would it do?
You already know it.

Everybody knows.

Everyone knows.

But he doesn't know.

Have a drink.

It'll help.

It's Honoré's white wine.

He could really choose them.

It was frightening reading
the commandments, don't you think?

-Well, I -
-Respect the dying.

I'm not a great believer...

but there was something
about that service

I found most comforting.

You don't mind seeing a man
of the cloth with this guy?

One thing worries me.

What if our God isn't the right one?

- Good Lord!
- What are you saying?

I know Muslims,
Hindus, Chinese, blacks.

Their God isn't the same as ours.

A sin for us isn't necessarily
a sin for them.

They may not be right, but imagine
they are, Monsieur Brun?

It's a valid question.

Poor old Panisse is well prepared
for a meeting with Elzéar's God.

But suppose that up there,
in the clouds,

he finds a god
he doesn't know at all.

A red, black or yellow god.

Or one like you see
in antique shops,

with a big belly and lots of arms.

What could poor old Panisse say
to a god like that?

And in what language?
What signs?

Put yourself in his place,
tired by your death...

and dizzy after your journey...

trying to explain yourself to a god
that doesn't understand you.

You pray to him, and he says,

"What? What are you saying?"

In Chinese.

It's tragic. You give me the creeps.

So the Bible's all one, big lie?

Aren't you ashamed to talk like that
in front of an altar boy?

If you went to church a little more
and drank a lot less,

you'd know there's only one God.
Ours.

Yes, ours is the good one.

But people are easily misled,

and I feel sorry for them.

There.

The priest doesn't scare me.

It's what the doctor said.

I have no faith whatsoever
in doctors. They're often wrong.

You're quite right, Monsieur Brun.

Sorry, Doctor.
I was speaking in general terms.

But it's true of Panisse's doctor too.
You're quite right.

- He's regained consciousness?
- For a while now. He's with Elzéar.

Oh, dear, sorry to hear it.

And you're not allowed to go up.
Stay here.

- Yes, Doctor.
- Look at those ears.

Now everything is in order.

I'm sure,
if you're called before God,

he'll be lenient with you.

Don't you feel better for it?

Yes, it did a lot of good.

I thought you'd be worse off
than you actually are.

I had brought the extreme unction
with me.

It would do no harm -

Yes, it would.

When it's too early,
it can do a lot of harm.

What are you saying?

- And you, what are you doing?
- My duty.

But it's too early, and your duty
prevents me from doing mine.

I'm the doctor. I have authority.

Why come here scaring everyone
with your altar boy?

By the way, he has adenoids.

Send him down to my clinic.

It'll help clear his nose.

How are you feeling?

Wait. Let me listen.

Don't breathe, Honoré.

That's not bad at all.

I'd even say
you're doing a lot better.

Of course, you're still weak,

but there's life in the old dog yet.

I'm done for.

Of course you are. And so am I.

Elzéar too.

We all have to die sooner or later.

How long would you give me?

Eternity, if it were mine to give.

I can give him eternity
if he earns it.

Except that your eternity begins
with a funeral.

All that matters
is the soul's salvation.

Two of my patients died last week
because of you and your salvation.

Me?

God knows, I'm no pagan, Elzéar.

When my time comes, I'll call you
to perform your little ceremony.

- It will give you peace.
- That's true.

But the full ceremony, when it's
with the oil and everything,

makes you go before your time.

For you,
who practices religion every day,

it's nothing special.

But, for anyone else, since
it's almost always the first time,

it's very disturbing.

Communion never killed anyone.

Not the first, but the last...

I'd have saved your sexton,
the other week.

He had simple heart trouble.

But I'd hardly gone,
after ordering he stay calm,

when you arrived
with your altar boy.

You made him tell his life story,
anointed him

and off he went.

I don't know if he's in heaven,
but he's certainly not here anymore.

And the tram employee
who had his leg cut off?

He was doing fine
until you came along.

As soon as he saw you,
he was as good as dead.

That was the end of him.
That's two of them.

Let me tell you, Elzéar.
Your duty is not to kill my patients.

I kill enough myself
without your help.

So, I'm a murderer.

No, but you're too eager.

Wait for my call.

And then,
I'd be confessing corpses.

You think God doesn't know
what he's doing?

In the final moments, clarity
returns. We call it euphoria.

It's the best time for confession,
so wait for it.

If you're so eager to use your oil,
make a salad dressing!

Then there's your altar boy.
A good Christian, but adenoidal.

My poor husband had
a strange death.

One day he woke me at dawn,

he put his hands on his chest
and asked,

"What if I died suddenly?"

I said,
"That wouldn't be very smart."

He said, "Well, then,
I'm not very smart," and he died.

No way!

He was 53. The doctor said
he died of an "emboliger."

- An "emboliger"?
- Yes, an "emboliger."

But everyone has an "emboliger."
I've got an "emboliger."

Mine's as big as a silver dollar.

No, it's not a navel.

It's a medical word for a disease.

The doctor told me
it was like a cork in his arteries.

It stopped him dead.
Like cutting off the gas.

What she means is an "embolidre."

Some people call that
an embolism.

That's in Lyon.

As you wish. In any event, he died.

A fine way to die.

For those left behind. But I'd prefer
a poor life to a fine death.

There's the boy.

- Hello, Aunt Claudine.
- Hello, darling.

Hello, Grandmother.

- Hello, boy.
- Hello, Godfather.

How is Father?

He's upstairs.
The doctor is with him.

And the priest.

He confessed in front of us.

Don't go up yet.

He must be prepared.

Besides...

we must hear
what the doctor has to say.

Go upstairs and see.

Don't worry.

You can't do anything about it.

Anyway, he hasn't left us yet.

He's feeling better.

I hope to save him, for now.

But he won't see Christmas.

We're all so ignorant.

At least you have your son.

I'll come around again this evening.

Make him take his medicine
and keep him quiet.

The boy is here.

Tell him gently.

You have to lie to sick people.

Even when they know,
it helps them if you lie.

I have other visits to make now.

See you this evening, Fanny.

I have something to tell you.

Elzéar has pardoned my sins,

but he's still bothered by one thing.

- What's that?
- The boy.

I think Honoré should tell him
the truth before he dies.

No, I won't tell him.

I've been his father all my life.

I want to die that way.

You want me
to lose everything at once?

My life and my son?

Is bringing up the boy
such a terrible sin?

Of course not, Fanny dear.

It's just that
it's not exactly telling a lie,

but it's hiding the truth.

A lie by omission.

I can see this admission
is hard for Honoré,

so it will be even more laudable
and appreciated by the Lord.

It's not exactly a sin,

but just imagine
if Marius had a daughter.

What if Césariot, in ignorance,
married the girl?

That would be incest, a mortal sin.

A terrible state
for two young Christians to be in.

And you would be punished.

An omission
with such awful implications

cannot be absolved.

If Marius had a daughter, I'd know.

Imagine he has a daughter
and doesn't even know?

Imagine you went fishing

and pulled out a bus? Imagine.

Imagine everyone went blind
in one eye.

It would spell ruin for opticians
and a bonanza for monocle sellers.

My suppositions are
less preposterous than yours.

I refuse. I refuse to tell him!

I'll do my time in purgatory
like a good soldier.

I fought at Verdun during the war.

Purgatory can't be worse.

If you go on bothering me,

I'll hide my head
and die straightaway!

Then I'll hear no more about it!

Calm down, Honoré!

Césariot.

Your father wants to speak to you.

He's feeling better,
but don't excite him.

Come along, my boy.

Let's bring Our Lord back home.

Why are you here?

Did they close the school?
Have you been expelled?

Mother sent word that you were ill.

That's certainly true.

I bet you brought
your ceremonial hat for the funeral.

Just in case.

Here's someone who doesn't lie

and doesn't take a sick man
for a fool.

Thank you, my boy.

But I think
I've been given a respite.

I'm sure of it.
I've been given a respite.

Perhaps not for very long,

but enough to make me happy.

First of all, because it's good
to be alive, even when you're ill.

But above all,
because I wanted to see you.

To explain my legacy.

Oh, things like that can -

I don't mean my legal will.
I've dealt with that already.

No,
I'm talking about my moral legacy.

I want to talk to you about life.

To give you advice for the future.

To explain the book
I'd have written for you...

if I'd had more schooling.

I feel like I've still got time left.

So for now, I'd like to sleep a little.

Stay with me.

Will you shutter the window?

Sit there.

Find a book or something to do.

Maybe you think I'm selfish,
keeping you here.

Of course not.
I'm happy to stay by your side.

Try to sleep. It'll be good for you.

Sleep, Father.

- Hello, boy.
- Hi, there.

Want your money?

- I don't deserve it, but it's due.
- Come on, then.

When I think I don't work for it,

your money burns my hands.

Only till you pay your bar bills.

That's what heartens me.

You can laugh,

but at night, I think,
"What have I done for our garage?"

You put 25,000 francs down.

But I didn't earn it. I inherited it
from my aunt in Manosque.

What work did I ever do? None.
All because of my affliction.

And your laziness.

Laziness is an affliction too.
Maybe the worst of all.

Say, Marius.

This morning in the newspaper,
I read an obituary.

That's one way of passing the time.

When you don't like to work,
you have to do something.

Something struck me.
I saw your father's name.

My father?

It's nothing to worry about.

Your father's name was there,
but not in the starring role.

The star was...

Look.

Here it is.

"Madame Honoré Panisse
and her son,

Madame Honorine Cabanis
and Madame Claudine Foulon

announce with great sadness

the death of Honoré Panisse."

That's the star.

"Sailmaker in Marseille,

he departed this life
at the age of 66.

Please pray for him."

Panisse is dead.

Well, he was 66.

There's also another notice

in much bigger print.

It must have cost a fortune.

"César Ollivier
of the Bar de la marine,

Aldebert Brun, customs inspector,
Captain Escartefigue, retired,

Innocent Mangiapan, ex-stoker,
and Doctor Félicien Venelle

have the sad duty to inform you

of the death of Honoré Panisse,
master sailmaker,

their dear friend for over 30 years."

Panisse is dead.

Poor old Honoré.

- You knew him well?
- Very.

I told you about him.

The man
who stole your wife and child?

He took them in.
It was more my fault than his.

Any debt he owed me,
he repaid with interest.

- Without him...
- What, he's the one who -

Yes, he went
to see the lawyers and judges.

He saved us from the courts.

And he secretly helped
with the garage too.

I thought Peugeot gave me that
credit because they trusted me.

Later, I discovered
he had given them his guarantee.

Of course, we paid it back...

but, if we'd bailed,
he would've had to foot the bill.

Well, then, we must go
to the funeral tomorrow morning.

No, I can't.

No, I don't want
to see my father and Escartefigue.

The whole gang.

They wouldn't like to see me.

And it would make me sad.

Let's put on our hats.
The sun is scorching.

- No one else has his on.
- Someone has to start.

Félix, put your cap on
or you'll have a stroke.

It's all right?

It's better than dying at the funeral.
I'm putting mine on.

You're right.

That's strange.

- What's wrong?
- I took the wrong hat.

Where?

I left it downstairs when I went up
to see our poor old friend.

I must have picked up
the wrong one.

Put on your hat.

No, I can't. It's not done.

Félicien says
you could have a stroke.

Really?

Maybe it belongs to the dead man.

What a ghastly idea!

Look, the initials.

"C.O."

- They're not his.
- Too bad.

César, put your hat on.
Honoré would want it.

You must put on your hat.

César, I order you
to put on your hat.

It's an order?

- I know my job inside and out.
- Of course.

No one's denying it.

An aperitif isn't a medicine
like cod liver oil.

But it's better
and does no more harm.

- Better tasting.
- On that, we agree.

When I say it's harmless,
I should explain.

They say an aperitif is bad
for the liver.

But an aperitif is made from plants.

Wormwood, gentian,

sage, aniseed, orange.

- And alcohol.
- And a vine is a plant.

All right.

None of these plants have livers.

They don't know what a liver is.

- Neither do I.
- Don't interrupt!

They never met a liver.

I can't believe plants would hate
a liver they never met.

What can you say to that?

I know.
I'd say your argument is absurd.

Why?

Sulfuric acid never saw copper.

But it will attack a copper plate.

That has nothing to do
with an aperitif.

Maybe not.

I'm sorry, Monsieur Brun,
this is a scientific matter!

Maybe too much so for Félix.

I'm listening!

You're listening, but you don't
understand. It's over your head.

Tell me what an aperitif
and sulfuric acid have in common.

Probably more than you think.

Spoken like a true Lyonnais!

Diamonds, trumps. Three for me.

Sulfuric acid!

Sulfuric spade!

So, are you playing?

He's really dead.

It's only now that it sinks in.

That empty chair is sadder
than his grave.

The poets have said it all.

In his honor, listen to these lines
written by Sully Prudhomme.

A great writer and poet

who is taken for a fool these days.

Listen.

"It's when you sit as a family
around the table...

when the chairs are further apart...

that you say your real good-bye."

That's beautiful.

Do you have to leave tonight?

It wouldn't matter much if I were
a day late, but what's the point?

Won't you stay for my sake?

If I do,
you'll ask me again tomorrow.

I'd like you to stay one more day

because there are still some things
we haven't talked about.

You mean the will and all that.

Please deal with it, Mother.

I need to get back.
I can't miss any more time.

The finals are in a month
and I could be first of my class.

First in your school?

Well, first in my year.

When you leave school
to become an engineer,

the state offers you a job.

Engineering for canals, ports,
artillery, railways.

Some postings are better
than others.

I'd have first choice.

In a way, it doesn't matter,

since you and father have
provided so well for me,

but it would be a great honor.

I'm just sorry
that Father won't see it.

He couldn't be prouder
than he already was.

He was such a good father.

A wonderful father.

I talk about him sometimes
to my school friends...

and show them his letters.

Like my friend Dubouchet.
The one I go out with on Sundays.

His father only ever wrote to him
to scold him.

Whereas mine...

Others had devoted fathers...

but never one...

as good as mine.

But...

But what?

What were you going to say?

- He wasn't your father.
- What?

The truth is
my husband was not your father.

Mother!

Mother, that's absurd!
It would be frightful.

What are you saying?

The truth.

I know it's going to hurt you.

I know you'll despise me.

But it's the truth.
You are not Honoré's son.

I remember
something my father said.

Or rather, your husband,
since that's all he is to me now.

One day, he told me, "Your mother
isn't like other women.

She's intelligent, devoted.

She's square.

There's no other word for it.

Square. That's what she is."

I know that's what he thought.

That's what Father said.

What will I think of other women
now that I know my mother can lie?

I never lied to him. He knew.

You confessed and he let you stay?

No, dear.

He knew before he married me.

He knew before?

He knew absolutely everything.
I never lied to him.

But you lied to me for 20 years.

I never said he was your father.

But you let me think it.

That was to please him.

He insisted I say nothing.

What could I say?

For 20 years...

he brought me up, fed me.

He loved me.

He devoted himself to me.

- And he knew.
- He knew.

He lived for you and me.

He was a saint.

Almost.

Devoting his life to us
made him happy.

Our marriage was full
of his laughter.

And no one else knew this secret?

Did Grandmother know?

She did.

And my aunt?

She knew too.

I suppose my godfather knew also.

He did.

In short,
the story was well publicized.

I was the only one in the dark.

There must have been
so much whispering and worrying.

It must have made
poor Father look so silly.

What a position.

He was fully aware of his position.
He chose it.

Every day, he thanked me
for giving him a son.

I should have been told earlier.

I loved Dad very much,
but I'd have loved him even more.

I'd have thanked him
for his kindness.

Now, it's too late.

Dear Father...

it makes no difference.

Though you weren't my father,
you were always my dad.

And he always will be!

And my real father?

Césariot.

I just made a painful confession.

It cost me a lot to tell you.

Because you'll despise me.

You already despise me.

I only told you...

because the priest insisted on it
when Honoré was dying.

He said I had to tell you
that you weren't Honoré's son.

But not the rest. After all,
what good would it do?

What good?

So is my pretend dad dead?

Perhaps.

What do you mean by that?

Don't you know?

I don't care much,
but maybe you still do.

Césariot, don't talk
to your mother like that.

I don't want to hurt you,

but since you've gone so far,
why not tell me everything?

Forget it. Let sleeping dogs lie.

Is that really possible?

Maybe you have your reasons
for not telling me.

You've seen him maybe?

You intend to see him.

It would be awkward
if I knew who he was.

You're hurting me.

I'm sorry, Mother.

But it could be a man
I sometimes see here.

So, allow me to think

that if I've lost my father twice...

you may not quite be the widow
I once thought.

Is he still alive?

A moment ago you said perhaps.

I can't be sure.
I haven't seen him in 15 years.

Has he written?

Never.

Do I know him?

You saw him 15 years ago.

I've no desire to know who he is.

Some rich fellow who deserted you.

It's annoying
to have a lout as a father!

He wasn't a rich man.

He didn't know about you
when he left.

Neither did I.

You couldn't have known him long.

So, just like that...

you did that?

No, darling.

I'd known him for a long time.

- He loved me.
- And you loved him?

If I hadn't loved him, my dear...

you wouldn't be here to blame me.

If he loved you so,
why did he leave?

He was obsessed with the sea.

He wanted to be a sailor.

It was like a sickness.

Like Marius, César's son.

Like Marius...

César's son.

It was him.

Him?

I'm Marius's son?

Who is that?

- Who's there?
- Me.

- Who?
- Césariot.

What is it? What happened?

- Was there an accident?
- Yes.

It's not Mother, it's me.

- What is it?
- The accident concerns me.

What's wrong? Are you ill?

No. Shut the door so we can talk.

You want me to shut the door, eh?

I'd do it if I could, I wouldn't
give orders to my grandfather.

Grandfather?

Why are you calling me
Grandfather? I look old?

I'm calling you Grandfather
because that's what you are.

Who told you that?

Mother. She just told me.

Is that the accident?

Yes, it is.

Funny kind of accident.

Are you trying to make me talk?

I'd never do that.

Tell me what happened.

When that priest, Elzéar,
heard Father's confession...

he insisted I be told the truth.

Father refused. He left it to Mother.

I've just learned
that Father was nothing to me.

It seems the man who impregnated
my mother is your son, Marius.

So I called you Grandfather.

What do you think?

I've been walking round the docks.

I couldn't decide whether I'd dreamt
or if Mother had gone mad.

I saw that your light was on...

so I knocked.

What do you say to all that?

I say...

I say it's too bad
poor old Honoré had to go and die.

This is madness.

You can say that again.

What about you? How do you feel?

Different.

Yes, but what are you feeling?

Are you happy
that I'm your grandfather?

You were already my godfather.
I've always loved you.

I may not have always shown it.

Yes, I know.

It's not a thing you say. So?

The fact that you're my grandfather
doesn't change anything.

You're offended
to be the grandson of a bartender.

I'm surprised to be Marius's son,
a man who's done so little in life.

- Except maybe you, of course.
- He didn't do it alone.

So your Marius slept with Mother.

I imagine, since you're here.

I'm disgusted.

Why?

- Why should it disgust you?
- It just does.

So where is Marius?

In Toulon, running a garage.

- You haven't seen him since?
- Not in 13 years.

- Toulon isn't far.
- It's far enough.

Why didn't he come back here?

- He wanted to be a sailor.
- I know.

At 21, he joined the navy.

He hardly came here. He didn't want
to see Fanny and her husband.

- I can understand that.
- He came to see me in secret.

Then he met a woman.
That's too good a word for her.

She was a loathsome woman.

The kind you wouldn't touch
with a ten-foot pole.

And he loved her?

He was living with her.

So I have a gaggle of brothers not
to be touched with a ten-foot pole.

No, you're his only child.

Thank God.

This woman introduced him
to a lot of disreputable people

who dabbled
in dubious businesses.

So, he's in jail.

No, it was a close shave,
but he avoided that.

Then one day, I said, "Leave that girl
or don't ever come back again."

It happened here.

And, well...

he replied...

rather rudely.

He swore at you?

Worse than that.

He said,
"I thought you were more tolerant."

So?

Tolerance. All this talk of tolerance!

Just listen to me,
Marius, you hear?

You served in the army,
I can't slap you any longer.

But my father would have thrown me
out for such insolence. Beat it!

- Were you any different?
- I didn't kill him.

- That's stupid.
- Excuse me?

Calm down or you'll have a fit.

- You take advantage of me too.
- Listen, tolerance...

What about it? You too?

Tolerance means being generous,
aware of others.

I know what the word means.

Do you?

Of course, I don't have
an education like yours!

I was washing glasses
when I was ten.

I'm merely trying
to point something out to you.

Marius thought
you were more tolerant.

He expected kindness, yet you
threw him out. Wasn't that stupid?

Right, stupid.

But there wasn't only that.

He also bore me a grudge
for something else.

What?

A year after your mother married...

he came back from Australia.

Honoré...

wasn't home.

He was gone to Paris on business.

Marius visited your mother
that night.

When I found out...

I rushed over.

I arrived just in the nick of time.

- I made him leave.
- But for that -

She loved him, you know.
Too much.

Mind you,
she was glad I came over...

because she was about to give in.

That time, he obeyed me.

I have no education, but I spoke
about our family honor.

I said what had to be said.

At the time he understood, but later
he resented me for what I'd done.

And one evening...

it all came out.

From that night on, it was all over.

He wasn't my son anymore.
You took his place.

- You didn't love him enough?
- Me?

He meant everything to me.

I never married again because
of him. I was his father.

When his mother died,
I had to be his mother too.

Of course, I didn't speak too fondly
to him. It wouldn't do.

And I shouted at him.
That's my way.

I thought he'd understand,
but he didn't.

And one night,
maybe he'd drunk too much...

the irreparable happened.

- Nothing is irreparable.
- Oh, yes, some things are.

I've never told anyone this
because I'm ashamed...

but that night,
while we were quarreling...

I was in such a rage...

that I slapped him.

He slapped me back.

My child hit me.

It's terrible
when a son hits his father.

It's almost patricide.

He didn't hit me hard,
but all the same...

After, he thought I would kill him.

But I didn't say a word.

I opened the door and he left.

I thought I was the son of an honest
tradesman and a decent woman.

But my mother was
a barman's mistress.

And my father and grandfather
were at each other's throats.

What a fine bunch of relatives.

Césariot is leaving this morning,
within the next few minutes.

He's going with the stoker
on his mother's motorboat.

Césariot said that
he was going off to meet a friend.

I would bet it's a girlfriend.

If he said it was a friend,

what makes you think
it's a girlfriend?

He's lying out of discretion.
Don't you know what a lie is?

You're going too far, César!

He asked me if I knew what lying is!

I've done nothing but lie
since I was born!

I lied to my nurse,
my parents, my brothers.

I lied to my boss,
my wife, my friends.

I've lied to everybody!

Who's to say I'm not lying now?

And I don't know what a lie is?

After such a confession, we must
admit he's an accomplished liar.

He says Césariot didn't lie
and it's not a girlfriend.

But then why lie?

I used a word
Félix doesn't understand.

Discretion.

Discretion is a delicate sentiment.

It's subtle, refined, beautiful.

Quite different
from anything you'd know!

Here, take this.

Thanks, beautiful.

Don't be cheeky!

I only called you that
because I admire you.

The words just came out.

Is our captain ready?

He's coming. Are you ready?

I've cleaned and polished
everything. Even the brass.

Fanny has never looked so good.

Almost as clean
and shipshape as you.

I just have to crank her up
and we'll be off.

- Where are you going?
- East.

That's the East.
We're heading east.

- Where to?
- No idea.

You know, but you won't tell me.

If I know where we're going,

may the Good Lord strike me dead!

I'd rather go back to war
than lie to you.

You never went to war.

I know, I was only 13.
It was just a figure of speech.

But I swear on my parents' grave
I don't know where we're going!

- You believe me?
- Yes.

Don't.

He's visiting friends
in Les Lecques.

- Then why did you lie?
- For the fun of it.

But you swore you weren't lying.

My parents are dead anyway.
We're going to Les Lecques.

- You're sure?
- May I be struck by lightning -

Listen to what I want you to do.

Phone me every other day.

And give me news of my son.

I don't want to bother Césariot.

There's no need.

I can't leave the shop,
but you'll keep me informed.

Right.

I'll tell you about the people
he meets, the fishing trips, the -

And what if I see him with a girl?

- Do I have to tell you?
- Of course.

If he does anything silly,
let me know.

And tell me who he sees.

If I see him with a woman,
I'll look at her.

I'll photograph her here.

And give you a full description
over the phone.

- This is for cigarettes.
- Thanks.

Clear sky, a good wind. Let's go.

The weather is good.
I wish I could go too.

Next time.

Of course. Anyway, I don't know
these people or your friend's mother.

And I've got
to take care of the shop.

- Let me hear from you.
- Every other day.

I can phone while he's out fishing
and give you the news.

That's it. If you can't phone,
let him call.

- We're not going to Australia.
- I know that, stupid.

I must go now.

Thank Madame Dromart for me.

I'll be off then. Good-bye, dear.

Don't go out in the boat
if it's rough. And keep in touch.

- I will.
- I'll be off then.

- Good-bye.
- Good-bye, dear.

Let's go.

I packed some baking soda!

- What for?
- Your digestion!

Okay. Good-bye.

- Hey, kid.
- Yes?

- What are we doing here?
- You'll see.

Take this screwdriver
and remove the boat's nameplate.

Put this one in its place.

The Pescadou?

Nice name.
You're renaming the boat?

For now.
I found the nameplate in the shop.

- Hand me the pliers.
- Here.

I'm not curious.
I mind my own business.

But I'd like to know
where we're going.

You'll know soon enough.

- Not the same place as you?
- No, I'm leaving you in Les Lecques.

- You're leaving me behind?
- Just for a few days.

You'll go see Monsieur Dromart.
Villa Canaris.

And you'll give him this letter.

And then?

Then I have 500 francs for you.

500 francs?

You'll go to the Palm Hotel...

book a room

and wait for my call.

I might as well tell you, your mother
told me to keep an eye on you.

I knew it.

I'm to call her every morning
and tell her what you've been up to.

And watch out for any girls.

If any come near me,
what are you meant to do?

Make a mental note
of her appearance

and describe her in the tiniest
detail over the phone.

You can report back
once Dromart has read my letter.

I'll call you and tell you
what to say to my mother.

You ought to call her too.

I will, don't worry.

Excuse me, monsieur.

Monsieur Dromart?

You want Monsieur Dromart?

He's dead.

Dead?
He must have died very suddenly.

You can say that again. All at once.

That's too bad.
It changes everything.

Especially for him.

- So young too.
- He wasn't very old.

Seventy-two maybe,
but he didn't look it.

You scared me for a moment.

I meant the young one.
He's not dead, is he?

The chap with the black beard?
He's in Paris with his mother.

- Paris?
- Yes.

Mind you, I don't know exactly,

but my daughter works for them and
she was complaining that they'd left.

When they're away,
she doesn't get paid, of course.

- Thank you.
- You're welcome.

This is serious. What do I do now?

It's a catastrophe!

And it's...

It's most inconvenient.

Hello, monsieur.

What is it?

Madame, one of Césariot's friends
is outside.

From his accent,
I'd say he's from the North.

Let him in.

- Hello, monsieur.
- Madame.

Please come in. My son's friends
are always welcome here.

But I'm afraid Césariot is away
visiting some friends.

- Let me give you a drink.
- That's very kind of you.

You studied together?

Yes, for three years now.

- So you're going into the army too?
- Yes, I'm making it my career.

- You're from Paris?
- No, from Valence.

But I know this area because
we have a house on the coast.

But I had to go back to Valence
for a family wedding.

Now I'm off to the Balearics.

I thought I'd catch up with Césariot.
I'll see him on my way back.

You start your service
in October too?

Yes. I hope you'll let me invite
Césariot to stay with us before then.

We're so close.

- Where are you exactly?
- Les Lecques, near Saint-Cyr.

What is your name?

Dromart. Pierre Dromart.

I met you once.

Last year, in Paris.

I seem to remember,
but didn't you have a beard then?

Fancy you remembering.
I shaved it off for this wedding.

Come in.

- Did he phone?
- Better than that.

Meet Monsieur Dromart.
He's passing though Marseille.

- This is my son's godfather.
- Pleased to meet you.

For my part, I'm so sorry.

- Why?
- Oh, never mind.

No reason at all.

So you're traveling from your villa
in Les Lecques...

and leaving my godson
at your home.

Césariot has
the freedom of the place.

What place?

At Les Lecques.
In your house at Les Lecques.

You invited my godson to spend
a few days with you.

You know that. He's with you.

Oh, yes, of course. Or so I think.

That's why the cook phoned the
other day. I didn't quite understand.

Yes, he must be there.

You lie just as badly as my son.

If they're all like you,
you'll make a fine regiment.

-Fanny -
-I'm sure you know where he is too.

You're aiding
and abetting his debauchery!

It runs in the family!

She's always had a short fuse.

Some people have quick tempers,
but it doesn't mean anything.

Les Lecques is calling you.
Take it here.

It will be news from the Dromarts.

Hello, Marseille?

Is that you? It's the stoker.

How's it going?

Fine.

Say,
what is this Monsieur Dromart like?

Charming. Very well educated.

I like him.
And I think he likes me too.

He gave me ten francs
this morning. He's really very nice.

What are they doing right now?

Playing boules.
I can see them from here.

How's that?

Through the window.
They're having great fun.

Dromart is about to shoot.

Yes, that's him all right.

What a marvelous shot!

It's a wonder you didn't hear it.

Excuse me, monsieur.

I want to speak to Marius Ollivier.

He's under that car.

Right, thanks.

Monsieur Marius Ollivier?

That's me. How can I help you?

My boat had engine trouble.

A sailor suggested I come to you.

I don't know that I can help.
Cars are more my line.

-If it's a diesel -
-No, it's a Baudoin.

I serviced one of those
for two years.

Monsieur Frėre's boat.
You know him?

- No, I'm from out of town.
- Well, doesn't matter.

Let's go have a look.

I'm going to see a boat.
What's it called?

The Pescadou.

Pretty name.

I'll go fetch my tools.

- Come on, young man.
- Lead the way.

- You like to fish?
- As much as possible.

- You don't fish.
- I'd like to learn.

And yet, you've got
some fine gear on board.

It's my father's. He went fishing
twice a week. He knew where to go.

That's the sign
of a serious fisherman.

Marius knows the best spots
all along the coast.

- Let's go tomorrow.
- You have to get up at 4:00 a.m.

That's fine by me. What about you?

I won't be going. I never go.

- Why not?
- It's too early.

She didn't love you?

Yes, she did, but there was
the family honor to consider.

All that baloney.

So I never got to know my son.
Her husband brought him up.

Did that upset you?

A bit.

Not that much.

They said the true father
was the one who loved the boy.

You didn't love him?

How can you truly love
what you don't know?

I would have loved him,
but the other guy was paying.

So, they said he loved him more.

Why?

Nowadays, loving and paying
are the same thing.

A friend gives you food,
but a father gives you life.

An elephant eats coconuts,
but the coconut tree isn't his father.

An elephant isn't a coconut tree
with a trunk!

Of course not.

We'd better move on.
We're wasting our time here.

The garage is a going concern?

It doesn't make much,
but it's good camouflage.

A good front.

Marius had the idea,
and it's worked well.

You can keep all sorts of tools
in a garage.

Jimmies, for instance.

Locksmith's tools too.

Keys, pick locks. See what I mean?

Above all,
welding gear and blowtorches.

The blowtorch is a fine tool.

And Marius is an expert.

The only stuff we don't touch
is stolen cars. You know why?

No, I'm not an expert.

When a car is stolen,
where do you look for it?

In a garage.

So we don't touch them.

There are other simpler,
more profitable things.

Like what?

For instance, there's
a good opportunity right now.

But maybe I shouldn't tell you.
Marius didn't say anything?

He's shy. He doesn't dare.

But I trust you.

Henri, come here.

Do we tell him about the deal?

All right, but if he doesn't like it,
he must keep his mouth shut.

I'm sure I can trust you,
but I'm warning you. Don't talk.

It would be dangerous.

What are we talking about?

160 kilos of opium.

Your boat isn't suspect.

Join us on the job.
It could be worth your while.

What do you say?

- Marius is in this too?
- Of course.

- I think it's stupid.
- Why?

Because he's a very likable boy.
And no more a journalist than I am.

It's a nasty joke.

Listen, Marius, the false
customs officer will catch us,

-I'll fire a few shots in the air -
-It's completely ridiculous!

When I see the boy,
I'll tell him everything.

It's not funny.

Just because he's educated,
you want to make a fool of him.

He'll think I'm a bastard.

All right. Don't fret.

We'll say it's off.

We'll tell him the truth.

We don't need to say anything.
Look, he's leaving.

There's my boat.

It's hard.

I'm going.

I see you kept busy.

- You better believe it!
- Dromart didn't come?

- No, he didn't.
- He knows I'm here?

- I couldn't deliver the letter.
- Why?

- I didn't see him.
- I don't get it.

Listen and don't get mad.

- I fear the worst.
- You may be right.

But I think I was smart and acted
in everyone's best interest.

I took an initiative,
and it turned out very well.

Now, I really fear the worst.
Say, wait up!

Everyone, here we go.

They're back.
The boat is coming in now.

I'm afraid
Fanny will get angry again.

No, don't worry, it's not worth it.

Maybe, but you look angry.

And you're going to scream too,
César.

Why would I do that?
Why shout at him?

Why should I?
After all, what's he done?

After all, he's 20.

We'll ask him to tell us about
his trip and see what he says.

Right, Grandma?

Hello, ladies and gentleman.

We're back.

What nerve!

Madame Dromart sends
her regards.

My regards to you too.

Is something wrong?

Yes, there is. You and your lies!

It's a wonder
they didn't blow up the telephone!

Get out of here, you little rat.
By the other door!

You said you wouldn't shout.

This is going to be fun, Grandma.

Godfather.

Grandmother.

Aunt Claudine.

Your skin is salty.

- Mother.
- Don't kiss me!

- Why not?
- I don't want to.

- She's been cross since you left.
- I wasn't gone long. Nine days.

- You're sorry you're back.
- No, I'm not.

It's always fun
being with friends by the sea.

I'd feel the same.

How was the fishing?

The fishing?

Oh, yes.
Especially the deep water fishing.

We were lucky with the weather.

At this time of year in Les Lecques,
it seldom snows.

I would have liked to see
the famous masked ball.

Where?

At the Dromarts'.
The stoker told us.

What were you disguised as?

I wasn't disguised.
I mean, it was just a costume.

Well... you know...

What did you go as?

Well, as a...

- A...
- As a liar!

What do you mean?

You're lying. I'm ashamed that
a son of mine could be so stupid!

Why do you say that?

Dromart was here two days ago.
He dropped by to see you.

That was smart.

You should have warned him.

- We said you were at his place.
- He must have been surprised.

It made you look ridiculous.

He tried to lie to help you,
but I threw him out in no time.

I can imagine.

As for the girl you were with,
I'll find out who she is.

Meanwhile,
go see the doctor right away

and have a complete checkup...

while we disinfect your clothes!

- Come on, Mother.
- Take them off!

You shouldn't speak to him
like that.

I'll bring up my son as I wish.

You couldn't keep yours,
so don't criticize me.

She's irascible.

She can't help it.

Maybe
you should have me disinfected.

- You admit it?
- Yes, I do.

I was in Toulon...
with Marius Ollivier. My father.

- You saw Marius?
- I spoke to him.

What did he say?

He never knew who I was.

Despite
what I had heard about him...

I was curious and foolishly wanted
to see for myself.

I saw him and I can't say I'm proud.

He's a bad lot, and I'm his son!

Who told you that?

A man in his gang told me
all about him.

They wanted me to join them
in some drug scam.

They're not criminals,
just shady characters.

Apparently,
they financed their garage

by selling their women to friends.

- Is he all right?
- Don't worry.

He looks very young.
You'd never think he's my father.

He was 20 when you were born.
He's only 40 now.

So you didn't feel anything
when you saw him?

We went fishing together.

He has a mole on his chest
just like mine.

It's lower down.

- You have a good memory.
- Memories are all I have.

- It's monstrous!
- Why?

- Because you obviously loved him!
- Yes, passionately!

You probably still do!

I lost my father three months ago,
and now I feel I've lost my mother.

-A man like that -
-They're all lies!

- Why would they lie to me?
- I don't know, but they lied!

Darling, if you'd known him
when he was your age.

He was such fun. So handsome.

He was strong.

I loved him right from the time
we went to Sunday school together.

He wasn't like the other boys.

They were so rude.

They purposely annoyed girls
with their gestures.

But never him.

He was so gentle.

I already loved him
more than anything.

Later, when I was older...

selling my shellfish...

I could hear him working in the bar.

Sometimes, he'd come outside
and we'd have a chat.

When he spoke to me...

my knees would shake.

In the afternoons,
I often sat on the terrace.

I'd put my legs up on another chair,
pull my hat over my eyes...

and pretend to be sleeping.

He'd come out of the bar,
fold his arms and look at me.

Through the slits in the straw,
I would watch him.

He was so handsome.

In his blue apron.

His arms golden brown.

His hair in his eyes.

You still love him, you always did!

Selfish boy!

No one is more selfish than a child.

First, you took my blood
to make yours.

So your little body
would become strong.

And then, you took my milk.

You woke me each night.
I was your slave.

For your teeth,
your whooping cough,

your homework,
scarlet fever, your exams.

You took everything.

Or rather, I gave it all to you.

- Even the children I could've had.
- What children?

You forced me to marry Honoré.

Because of you, I lost
the children he could never give me.

Me, I haven't had a life.

I spent it watching you grow.

Mother.

And you'd blame me for what
happened before you were born?

Before your first cry,
I wasn't a mother.

I was a woman like any other.

I had a right to my own life.
I was once 18 too.

Don't despise me
because my life began

with a wonderful love story.

Nothing was missing,
neither tears nor secret elation.

Secret elation?

And you've no sense of regret?

Why should I? I paid dearly
to have a right to love him.

Yes, of course.

You're a woman.
I never thought of you like that.

- What's that?
- A bowler hat.

Why didn't you kick it away?

I didn't see the need.

That's because you're from Lyon.
A Marseillais doesn't hesitate.

He kicks it.

He kicks it.

Then what happens?

It's like this.

There's a stone under the hat.

The person who kicks it
will break his ankle.

- And so?
- So that's funny.

We call it a fool's decoy.

You could also call it
the ankle breaker.

- You want to maim someone?
- As many people as possible.

- That's crazy.
- Ridiculous.

Criminal even.

But amusing.

I don't see what's funny about it.

You're egging me on.
There's no stone under that hat.

Yes, there is. Take a look.

See for yourself.

My gosh, it's true.

But it's such a stupid game!

And dangerous too.

Quick. Someone's coming.

He's just the type.

You think he'll fall for it?

My God!

Another Lyonnais!

The mere fact that we are sitting
here makes us accomplices.

- We witness, but we disapprove.
- We even blame.

Here comes another.

- Watch!
- He's the one.

Are you hurt?

If I ever catch
the creep who did that!

It was a trap. Done on purpose.

And with brand new shoes!

Nothing broken?

Yes, my barometer.

- A barometer?
- A corn, sir.

A superb corn.

It can forecast the weather
three days in advance.

I can't feel it anymore.

I'm sorry. I needed that badly.

I feel it in my shoulder now.

My foot will be numb for days.
What an idiotic thing to do!

- Quite criminal.
- No doubt.

I could have broken my leg.

Surely not.

Don't you know that kicking a stone
like that can kill?

No, I don't think so.

You don't believe me?

Put the hat back over the stone.

Wait and see.
Someone may be disabled for life.

And if we're lucky enough to have
an old man come along...

you'll hear his bones snap.

Let's wait.

- What brings you here?
- Business.

- You're alone?
- I'm a big boy now.

You'd better go,
even if you were sent here.

Why are you talking to me
like that?

It's the way I talk to scoundrels.

- Where's my godfather?
- Inside.

Thank you.

- He was quite rude to you.
- He was only joking.

It didn't sound like a joke.

I know him better than you.
He's a journalist from Martigues.

What? Césariot, a journalist?

How would you know?

I've known him all his life.
He's Panisse's son.

- We grew up together.
- But in different schools.

Yes, he went to the Academy.

Did you say he was Panisse's son?

The engine dealer?

- Who died last month?
- Exactly.

Then he's Marius's son.

It's been said.

And many believe it.

What a disaster! This is terrible.

I've committed a crime!

- I'm a criminal.
- Shut the door.

You're certainly a cad.

Call me whatever you like.

It's quite stupid.

Mother,
I have to seriously talk to you.

I've been called up. It's no surprise.

But I have to be
in Fontainebleau tomorrow.

Another thing.

I've just seen the tattooed man
I told you about.

Which one?

The one who knows Marius.

Why talk about him?

He says he lied.
I want you to speak to him.

I don't have to speak to him.
I know he lied.

What's more, Marius is here.

He's come to order some spare
parts. I'm going to see him.

- But why?
- Go to César's and wait.

- What are you doing here?
- Waiting for you.

- Who told you I was here?
- Your partner.

- Where is he?
- With your father.

What's he doing there?

I don't know.
But we were glad to see him.

You know my father?

I'm... Césariot.

Excuse me?

I'm Fanny's son.

What was that?

I'm your son.

I wish I could say
something fatherly.

I wish I could find the words,
but I can't.

Me too. I'd like to say something,

the words a son would say.

It's very difficult.

We must look silly talking like this.

You came to Toulon to see me?

- You knew I was your father?
- Mother had just told me.

I wanted to know you,

but I heard such terrible things,
I had to leave.

You repeated these lies
to your mother?

What did she say?

She was quite upset.

But she didn't really believe me.

Not really, but a little bit, huh?

- Where are we going?
- To your father's. He's waiting for us.

Do you mind?

If it's with you, I'd go anywhere.

I have a cab waiting.

Oh, yes, you're rich.

Here he is.

Fernand, I knew you were an idiot,
but not that you were dangerous.

I know you're going to insult me,

and I'm sure you're right.

- All right!
- But there's no time for that now.

I know there's going to be a scene,
so I'd rather go.

I'll be on the terrace.

Hello, Father.

Yes, it's a family scene,
the first and the last.

I want to vindicate myself.

If that's possible, Marius...

no one will be happier than me.

Why did this boy,
when he wanted to meet his father...

have to go covertly, like a spy?

- I wasn't sure how you'd react.
- You expected to find a crook.

Or, at least, a cad.

Why did he believe Fernand?

Because you'd led him to expect it.

He feared the worst.

So Fernand fed him
all those ridiculous stories.

And he believed them. Why?

Because you brought him up
to despise his father.

That's a crime, a real crime.

Never!

I never said a word against you,
never.

But he knew César had a son.

A son who never came to visit.

No one ever talked
to him about you.

One day, a long time ago...

Monsieur Brun said
to my godfather,

"What's this I hear about Marius?
He's getting into trouble?"

You put your finger to your lips
and took him into the kitchen.

Another time, I asked Mother,
"What does Godfather's son do?"

Tearfully, she said...

"He's a sailor, far away on the sea."

I wondered who this man could be

that everyone spoke of
in hushed tones...

and who never came back.

If you had always
behaved honestly, Marius -

When was I dishonest?

One day, a man came into this bar.

He was drunk
and talking to himself.

He said, "I know your son well.

We were in jail together."

He said it in front of Monsieur Brun
and Escartefigue.

I didn't dare answer.

I went into the kitchen...

and I wept.

What was he like?

The fellow's name was Padovani.

Then he told the truth!

When we were in the navy,
we spent a fortnight in jail.

We were crewmen together.

After a spree one night,
we hassled a petty officer.

Padovani has come a long way
since then.

He's even been decorated.

What about the smuggling?

That was stupid, not a crime.
I was with some friends.

You ended up in court.

So did your brother, Emil.

My family seems
to keep the law busy.

But Uncle Emil was different.

What did Emil do? Burglary, theft?

Shut up!

He's making good use
of his education. Very witty.

What did Emil do?

One day, in the country...

he set some traps to catch birds.

He was arrested and charged
with three crimes.

Poaching with a snare...

trapping a bird that shouldn't
be killed out of season.

And he was brought
before the judge!

Proving my point. You don't need
to be a criminal to be tried.

I was only 20.
I was led astray by my friends.

You chose to hang out with them.

After the navy, I was alone
in Toulon. I didn't know a soul!

What do you expect?
I found my friends in bars.

Not in high society!

Besides, I had no job.

Hunger makes you do silly things.

You were hungry?

I've been hungry. And cold.

- You could have said so.
- To whom? You?

Last time I saw you,
you threw me out!

- Me?
- You threw me out. You were drunk!

So were you!

Maybe.

You hit me. I protected myself
and you made a scene out of it.

Ever since then, I would rather die
than have to ask you for anything.

A fine excuse.

As good as yours.

You could at least have sent me
a postcard or phoned!

You never even asked about me!

- Who says I didn't?
- How could you?

Ange kept me informed.

Every time he came to Marseille,
he came to the bar and watched you.

Ange?

The fellow with a blue birthmark
on his face?

Yes.

That's why
he always kept an eye on me?

When he'd come back, I'd ask him
how many people you'd bawled out.

He'd say two, three or four.
It always made me laugh.

Though it shows a lack of respect,
I'm glad to hear it.

And now, suppose we talk
about that woman?

What woman?

You mean the one I "sold"?

Listen Fanny, I was sick.

Sick of being alone,
of having no job.

She lived across the hall.
That's how I met her.

She looked after me for four months
when I was ill with a fever.

I wouldn't have done the same?

You weren't there, and she fed me.

So I kept her for five years.

Where is she now?

She left a long time ago,
with all my savings.

Fortunately, I didn't have much.

And according to my son,
that's the woman I sold.

That's all there is to it.

That's the extent of my crimes.

Except for the sentence
that started it all.

Which one?

I've been banished.

Since when?

You sentenced me 18 years ago.

You refused to let me stay here,
the only town where I wasn't alone.

You knew that with a family,

things would have been
quite different for me.

I always knew it, Marius.

We did it for the boy's sake.

And you, why did you accept it?

You knew that if I'd had
a son bearing my name,

I'd have come back.

Marius, Honorine was in tears.

Fanny wanted to drown herself.

And Panisse could ensure
the boy's future.

There we are.

You were stupid enough
to think he needed money,

and Panisse had plenty.

You were ten months old
when I came back.

I asked for my wife and child.

You used him as the reason
to send me away.

You'd taken my place.

Theirs was a ferocious love.
I was a threat to the child's security.

When you're scared, you easily
believe your enemy is evil.

It suited you to believe
I'd become a bad boy.

You didn't need
to feel any remorse.

Remorse for what?

For years,
they've painted me as the villain

and themselves as saints.

Especially Panisse.

Saint Honoré.

Everyone was ecstatic.
He'd given the child a name.

But I'd given him a son!

I'm not criticizing him.
He was very kind and generous.

But, I ask you, where was
this great sacrifice he made?

At 50 years of age, he married
a young and beautiful woman.

If that's a sacrifice, I know plenty
who'd do the same any day.

And you were happy to see me go.

If I'd married Fanny,

I'd have had authority
over the family and the boy.

Whereas you could have your way
with Honoré.

As for you, Fanny...

You're going to say I was happy.

I know you were miserable
some of the time,

especially at night.

You sacrificed yourself,
but you became a lady.

You don't sell shellfish anymore.
You eat them.

You sacrificed yourself
surrounded by servants,

sitting in an armchair
beside a warm fire.

You had a good meal every day,

and your sacrifice was well fed.

I know. I often thought about it.

Should I have rejected
the few advantages I had?

You were right to enjoy them.
Never refuse a drink if it's offered.

Your mother saw only three things:
saving the family honor,

lying in bed late
and listening to the radio.

Everyone gained something
except me!

You painted me as the villain,
but I was the victim!

A fine victim,
coming back here to shout at us.

- It's my right!
- Your right? You think so?

- Excuse me?
- There are duties also.

Shut up. Your father's talking.

He just found his son
and he's already shouting at him.

Naturally, that shocks you.

Why are you blaming everybody?

It's my right!

Your stupid solution didn't save
her honor.

Nobody said Fanny had done wrong,
but they thought...

she was pretty wise.

Setting up her child so he'll be rich.

And look at the result.

My son doesn't bear my name.
My wife is a widow while I'm alive...

and my poor father
is a secret grandfather.

And none of us has a place
he can really call home.

Yes, it's a real mess.

That was fine idea of yours...

to sail off on your
oceanographic measurements.

Don't cry, Fanny.

That won't help.

I didn't come here to make you cry.
You've done enough of that already.

I only said all that because of him.

Our story doesn't matter anymore
now that we're parents.

But I felt I had to tell him...

that he's the son of an honest man.

Come here.

You're old enough
to make up your own mind.

You've seen me working.
You know what I do.

I do my best.

I'm no great thinker, but...

By the way, when you made
me talk on the boat,

I realize now you were putting me
through the paces.

Maybe my theories on engines
were a little far-fetched.

But when you've had teachers,
it's easy.

They're knowledgeable and they
can communicate that knowledge.

You only have to take it in.

But I studied alone, at night.

The little I know wasn't given to me.

I took it.

I took it!

If you want to see your father,
you know where to find me.

Maybe we could
go fishing again sometime.

Garage Marius Ollivier...

in Toulon.

You'll find my name in the book.

Where are you going?

Back home.

Well, back to what I call home.

Hello, Marius.

Hello.

You came in that car?

I'm breaking it in for a customer.

The Torpedo is yours?

They're good cars, tough.

Does the boy know you're here?

He left for Paris last night,
to join the army.

As a soldier or officer?

In the ranks for a year.

That will do
the spoiled brat some good.

I nearly didn't come. I was scared.

And I was right.

Scared of what?

I still love you, Fanny.

Just as I always did.

Even more than before.

But it's no longer possible.

Why not? I'm free now.

- You want me to marry you?
- Why not?

That would really be dishonorable.

Putting on a dead man's shoes
while they're still warm.

I'd take Honoré's wife,
his store, his money,

and good-bye poverty!

No, Fanny, I can't do that.

I helped him earn that money.

If I only kept my share,
would you have me?

No, I wouldn't.

I want you with nothing.

I mean, like you were
when I first met you.

That's easy.
We can get rid of the money.

Yeah, it's easy.

But the other day,
in my father's kitchen,

I didn't recognize you.

You don't speak like you used to.

You don't look at things
the same way.

You've been with educated people.

I'm just a worker. A craftsman.

I don't clean my fingernails
with a blade,

but if I was lucky enough
to live with you...

maybe I'd make jokes
that wouldn't have you laughing.

Maybe by trying to please you...

I'd only offend you.

Displease you.

You, Marius?

Displease me?

I feel awkward in your presence.

I don't dare look at you.

In bed, I'd feel I was sleeping
with the boss's wife.

Maybe you think I'm too old.

Too old? Of course not!

You could be your son's sister.
No, it's not that.

I'll tell you.

I think you're too beautiful for me.

You have your hair done in a salon,
you paint your nails.

It's very pretty.

I'd have enough money
to pay for that,

but you must have other habits:

the house,
the servants, the clothes.

You've had money.

It's left a mark on you.

On the contrary!

The money protected me.

Listen to me.

I can tell you everything.

I wasn't a good wife to Honoré.

I did all I could
to make him happy...

but very often, I had vile thoughts.

I often thought...

he's 30 years older than me.

If the Good Lord follows the rules,
he'll die 30 years before me.

If Marius is still free at that time...

You thought that?

I know it was horrible of me.

Not that I was hoping he'd die.

I nursed him like a daughter.

And I genuinely mourned him.

But he had to die one day.

My great fear was...

that I'd only regain my freedom
when I was old.

Money helped protect me
against the ravages of time.

Marius, if you want me,
your love is all I need.

I'll do all your accounting.
And the housework.

I'll bring you your coffee.

Marius, don't turn me down.

Our son is grown-up now.
He's a man.

He'll soon find a woman.

I'm alone, Marius.

I only have you.

I feel it would be dishonest
to accept such a sacrifice.

Give me a few days.
I must see what we should do.

And if I have the right to do it.

Forgive me. I long to kiss you.

I'll phone you tomorrow.

He's so stupid.

You were listening!

I wasn't listening, but I heard.

- Who told you we were here?
- Someone heard you phone Marius.

And once again, you interfere.

If you
and my mother hadn't meddled,

I'd have been happy a long time ago.

And now that I have an opportunity,
you still want to chip in.

Don't shout at me, Fanny.
I don't mean any harm.

I've always thought of you
as a daughter.

I came with a message
for you and Marius.

He's gone.

No, he isn't.
I think he has engine problems.

Who sent you?

Follow me and you'll see.

What are you doing here?

I came to be shouted at
for a change.

And you?
What's wrong with your car?

She won't start.

- And you're a mechanic?
- You know, engines -

Even so,
I think it might start with this.

What's that?

It's a part you take out of the engine
so a boat won't start and get stolen.

Where did you find it?

There.

To keep you here longer.

You usually want me to go.

Children, I heard some
of what you were saying earlier.

You talk too much or not enough.

Marius, you're stupid
to say Fanny will despise you.

You're afraid of your son

and of what he'll say.

I know what he'll say. He told me.

- When?
- The other night.

At the train station.
He's the one who heard you calling.

As far as he's concerned,
there are only three solutions.

"Either Mother grows old alone,

and if I marry, she'll make
my wife's life a living hell.

Or she'll see your son in secret...

meeting him
in squalid hotel rooms.

Or they'll marry.

I'd rather they marry."

- He said that?
- In his ceremonial hat.

Now that I've delivered
my message, I'll leave you,

so you can start your discussion
all over again.

- I'll run you home.
- I'll take the bus.

Come on, I'll drive you.

Didn't I say I was taking the bus?

Father.

If I marry Fanny, will you be happy?

No. I'll be furious.

What do you think?

Césariot will never bear our name.

No, he won't.

But others will.