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For many years, they called me the Armenian,

without knowing where I found that land

about which, 2.000 years ago,

my ancestors descended to the land of Urartu;

clinging to their cultural heritage,

despite the persecutions and slaughtering,

every time hoping that...

that would be the last time.

We were the first Christian nation in the world.

The invaders, who retrace their borders at will,

put my country under Turkish occupation.

Behind the apparent calm of the minarets,

which invite to prayer,

Armenian life was marked

by pyramids of decapitated heads.

In the burning sands of the desert Deir-ez-Zor,

which witnessed the agonies of a people,

hordes of fanatics, who killed their bodies,

leaving the souls...

leaving the memory...

only a kneeling poet remains...

listening to the wind.

This wind of Deir-er-Zor, which, out of the bone of a child,

had made a flute,

and in the peace of dawn,

hissed an immortal song.

On June 2, 1921,

I declare the opening of the session of the criminal court of Berlin.

I remind the experts and the witnesses of this trial,

the importance of the sanctity of the oath.

I also remind you that the law...

provides for severe penalties for any false testimony, intentional or not.

Clerk, now proceed...

Read the act of indictment.

The mechanical engineering student Soghomon Tehlirian,

born on April 2, 1897 in Bagaridj,

residing in Charlottenburg, Altenbergstrasse 17,

is accused of killing, on March 15, 1921,

the Turkish ex-minister of Interior Talaat Pasha.

with premeditation.

This crime falls under article 211,

of the German penal code.

Accused, rise!

Soghomon Tehlirian, reply to the question with a yes or a no.

Are you guilty of having committed this crime with premeditation?

No, I'm not guilty.

I have a clear conscience.

I killed a man,

but I'm not a murderer.

Allright, be seated.

Hearing of the witnesses.

Madame Elizabeth Dietmann, of 37 Altenergstrasse.

Do you swear before God Almighty and your conscience

to tell the whole truth?

I swear.

Say what you know to the jury.

I was the landlady of this young man, at the moment...

in short, at the moment of the events.

He is a nice young man,

very correct, quiet and clean.

He does his own housework.

The morning of the mur...

I mean the morning of March 15,

my maid told me that the young man was crying,

and that he had been drinking cognac.

I thought he had lost someone.

Nicola Essen, merchant in Charlottenburg.

We are listening you.

When I approached the accused, to stop him,

I asked him why had he killed him.

He replied...

I, an Armenian, he Turkish, that does not concern Germany.

Lola Bellenson, teacher.

I have been giving German language lessons to Mr. Tehlirian.

This young man is obviously suffering spiritually.

He always has a terrible sadness on his face.

Madame Bellenson,

did he explain the reasons for this sadness?

Just one time.

He told me he has no homeland,

and that his family had been killed.

Did he tell you about Talaat Pasha?

Never.

I thank you, madame.

Mr. President, it would be interesting to to emphasise to the jury,

that the Turkish minister Talaat Pasha,

has been sentenced to death by the court martial of his country,

on July 5, 1919,

for crimes against humanity.

He fled with 10.000 liras of the Public Treasury.

He took refuge in Berlin, under the false name of Sali Bey.

I must point to the honourable advocate who is wrong about the process.

It is not Talaat Pasha whom we are judging today,

but the assassin, Soghomon Tehlirian.

Mr. Prosecutor, I will show that I am not mistaken about the process,

but I will show in this court that you have the wrong murderer.

Mr. President,

for a better understanding, let me state the facts.

Members of the jury, in that month of June of 1915,

he was only 6 years old,

this man, whom you are going to judge today,

saw the skull of his brother being split by an axe.

His mother, her face burst by a bullet,

collapsing at his side.

Soghomon Tehlirian was there, paralysed before this horrible sight.

He still hears the horrified cries

of his two sisters 14 and 16 years old being raped by Turkish soldiers,

behind the trees,

before collapsing, in his turn,

smeared with the blood of his murdered young brother,

dying before him.

There are hundreds of stained bodies...

Mutilated women, children and elders.

Members of the jury...

Living by chance...

a survivor of the massacre, where

monstrosity surpasses any imagination,

will testify.

Listen to her well.

My name is Christine Terzibachian.

I was born in Erzeroum.

Our deportation started in July 1915.

In four convoys.

How many people made up your convoy?

500 families, that is 7 to 8 thousand people.

We were 21 people in my family.

I witnessed death of all of my family,

except for three,

who escaped the massacre.

How did we come to these massacres?

When we arrived in Malatya,

they took us a mountain,

they separated us, men from women.

But each group could see what happened to the other.

All the men were killed by axe blows,

and thrown into the river.

What did they do to women?

When the night came,

the soldiers chose the most beautiful,

the younger ones.

Those that resisted,

and refused to give in,

were struck with bayonets,

and cut in pieces.

Even pregnant women...

were not spared.

The Turks cut their bellies open,

tearing off their children.

Madame...

Do you maintain that you have been an eyewitness to...

this incredible and horrible scene?

I swear, Mr. President...

one of my sisters...

she was one of the pregnant women.

The court thanks you, madame.

Dr. Johannes Leptus,

you are the German author of a comprehensive report,

on the Armenian massacres.

This report remained secret during the war,

because of the German-Turkish alliance.

We ask that you limit your testimony to the question.

The horrors that have been described in "Les massacres de 1915",

were they usually like that?

And the difficulties experienced by the defendant...

...are they credible?

Mr. President,

what was reported here, are details

real and veridical...

They have existed in the hundreds.

They have been published in English and American magazines.

And they are indisputable facts.

Only these brutal methods,

that seem incredible in the 20th century,

have allowed the Turks to exterminate more than 1 million human beings in such a short time.

The deportation of Armenians had been decided

by the Turkish authorities...

and executed in April 1915,

under the direction of Talaat Pasha, the minister of the Interior,

and of Enver Pasha, the minister of War.

Mr. President, may I ask the witness if the cause

for these massacres was of religious origin?

It rather had a religious cover,

since the main ones responsible,

Talaat, Enver, Djemal and Nazim, were totally atheists.

Their chimeric vision can be summed up,

in a vast Turkish Islamic empire.

Destroying and killing whatever was not Turkish.

That is right.

The keyword seems to be

a proclamation, released by Talaat Pasha:

"The purpose of the deportation...

...is the inexistence!"

That is, a destination from which no one returns.

Members of the jury,

One million five hundred thousand dead, asleep in their graves,

along the roads of Zeitoun, Trebizond or Deir-es-Zor,

are demanding an answer in your soul and conscience,

to this one question:

Is Soghomon Tehlirian guilty of killing Talaat Pasha?

At this moment,

the survivors of an assassinated nation,

scattered at the four points of the world,

have their eyes fixed on you.

And in a thousand years, members of the jury,

your sentencing will still be discussed.

Is my mom sick?

No, not really Azad.

She is only seasick.

It shall go away, here, on solid ground.

Well, was Tehlirian found guilty or not?

I can't say, Mr. Zakarian.

It's a German newspaper, I do not understand it.

Not even from the title?

"Das Schopfengericht: Nein."

"Nein", means "No",

but "No", to what, that I do not know.

- Does anyone speak German here? - NO!

Hagop!

Zaven!

Were we on the same ship?

Yes, but I will continue.

Have you definitely chosen France?

Yes, definitely. And you?

I'm going to Venezuela.

But do you have relatives, friends over there?

No, I do not know anyone, but...

...it's a nice name for a country and a bachelor.

It sounds like the name of a woman... Venezuela!

Hagop! It seems that a man wants to see you.

He is behind the gate of the port.

Okay, I'm going.

Have a nice trip!

Apkar!

I wrote to you,

I never believed that you would have received my letter.

For a week, I have been waiting every morning for the ship.

Each time I told myself: "Not longer than in 1 or 2 days more."

And last night I had a feeling,

I knew that it would be this morning.

Tell me Apkar...

Has Tehlirian been acquitted?

Nobody speaks German here.

Acquitted unanimously!

Listen to me, all!

Tehlirian has been acquitted!

Tehlirian has been acquitted!

I am so happy that you are here, Apkar!

You have not changed, you know.

It's true Mr. Hagop,

especially when not I am in movement.

Come on, I'll wait for you at the exit.

- Zakarian Hagop, - Yes, sir.

Zakarian Araxi,

born Bouloutian,

Zakarian Azad,

son of Hagop and Araxi Zakarian.

Anna and Gayan� Bouloutian.

They are my two sisters, sir.

My first memory of childhood,

goes back to that stamp, suspended in the air.

The faces of my mother, my father and of my two aunts,

focused on this object,

stressed the importance of its falling on the papers.

"STATELESS"

In front of a counter,

my father had exchanged that beautiful gold coin,

for a pile of dirty wrinkled papers

and a few coins.

His first purchase was for me.

An ice cream cone that did not keep up to the promised fruit.

We are in France.

It is not proper to lick your ice cream with your tongue.

Come quickly, come quickly!

You will see, this will create a remembrance for later.

Carpet seller! Carpet seller! Carpet seller! Carpet seller!

Without anyone noticing...

go look at the showcase.

Tell me that I saw wrong.

It is incredible!

- Have I seen well? - Yes. And there are more...

In short, it what you saw.

Come on, we have rented it.

Azad, come!

- Azad! - Here! Here!

Tell me, this is not a barracks here!

How many people are in your family?

My husband, my son and my two sisters, madame.

The gentleman did not talk to me of the sisters.

Is not it true, sir?

I did not know they were coming over.

Excuse me.

Oh, I'm fine, but in the meantime, this makes...

This makes 5 tenants, instead of 3!

Here, a little extra to compensate, please madame.

Mind you, I just want to know what's going on here.

If you are five, you are not three!

Now that I know, I can say that will be no problem.

It will be seen at the end of the month.

Yes, of course.

Come on, it's at the fourth floor.

This it is, ladies and gentlemen!

For the kitchen, come to see.

It is shared with the neighbour across.

But only to cook your dishes.

And there's this floor's bathroom.

The snails are with garlic!

There are large ones and small ones.

The snails are with garlic!

Felicienne!

I'm coming down!

She is the snail seller.

How awful.

I assure you that they are very, very good.

Tell me, Apkar.

Are they hiring at your job?

Well, of course.

I work at the sugar refinery of Saint Louis.

Why do you ask?

For me.

It is not a place for you, Mr. Hagop.

Especially the section where they hire.

"Zakarian and Sons", the largest ship-owners in the Sea of Marmara.

It is not a place for you.

Where would a place for me be?

Listen to me well, Apkar.

The great pain of one in exile is...

the nostalgia for what he has lost.

It starts with crying words,

that eat up hearts,

which bring him back to remind him who he was and from where he came from.

Nostalgia is an artist's luxury.

We need words that make us live.

So tomorrow, when you go to the factory, I will come with you.

Come back to the table, right away!

Mom, what's an Armenian?

I told you to come back in the house!

You'll see, not everyone is like that.

Well Apkar, how is Marseille?

Marseille is a great city.

It's like where we came from.

So, there is everything, the good and not so good.

Open to me, Apkar.

The neighbours are having dinner in front of the oven.

I did not dare bother them.

But didn't they see you?

I do not know.

They must have seen me, as I stayed at the door for a moment.

They seemed to do nothing.

Didn't he landlady tell us that we should take turns cooking?

and that we should have dinner in our rooms.

I do not understand it.

Excuse us sir, please...

Stay seated! Do you understand?

He is not the law here! We are still in France!

Do not put yourself in that state! Stay calm!

I will calm down, if I want to...

and those who do not like it can return to where they came from!

Is this clear?

It all comes down to begging for not having anything edible in the pan,

This must be terrible.

An inedible pan for the lack of cooking?

I have never seen something more stupid.

Fire beggars.

To your good hearts, ladies and gentlemen!

Would you have a bit of oven and some fire, please?

A piece of oven.

This triggered the idea of the bakery.

Excuse me sir, please.

Could you accept this pan in a corner of your oven?

We do not have where to cook.

The first to the right. Wait for me down the hall.

I'll open up to you.

Thank you!

A few floors away from a hostile France,

we were discovering a more friendly France,

and a little gesture of friendship, in a baker's oven.

- Azad, another bite. - No, thanks Anna.

Just this so you can see how it melts in your mouth, like butter.

I'm not hungry anymore, Anna.

I see.

Nobody is hungry.

You have not touched the leg.

Was it not good?

It was superb, Miss Anna!

As soon as I saw the leg coming out of the oven,

covered with that brown crust, with its pink flesh,

and all the crispy potatoes,

the tomatoes and peppers with scorched butter,

I thought I could eat it all alone.

And then, I couldn't.

Let's go and get some fresh air.

Tell me Apkar.

Were you with my brothers in deportation?

Yes, Mr. Hagop.

I was with them.

It was you who was right.

That Sunday, upon exiting the church,

when all Armenian men were summoned,

at the gendarmerie for the next morning,

you said: "We must flee immediately"

"without crying over what is to be left behind."

Your brothers, Aram, Miran and Onik,

Stayed behind, to save the assets of "Zakarian and Sons".

They lost their property and...

...and their lives.

Fortunately, you have a part of the family left.

The coffee is ready!

Come on, you, go to bed.

It feels good to having re-joined you.

We have always worked with the Zakarian.

You have never acted as bosses.

Do not talk nonsense!

Tell us Apkar,

did you know Mr. Papazian's son?

The Doctor Vasken Papazian, from Paris.

Oh Ià Ià, if I knew him!

He was great.

He was with us...

on the Monday morning of the convocation.

We were 4 or 5 thousand in front the gendarmerie.

With our old bishop Serop at the front.

We were told about a small moving of the population,

for reasons of military security.

They promised carts for exiting the city, at 200 liras per head.

Those who had, paid for those who didn't have.

After a couple of hours, when we asked for the carts,

the soldiers started laughing.

For days and days,

we had to walk under a burning sun, in the dust, without eating or drinking.

Our path merged with convoys coming from Kharput,

Bursa, Izmit, Adapazar and Trebizond.

They came from everywhere, by the thousands.

At Erevan, we went passed hundreds of hundreds,

of corpses without heads.

The commander of the Turkish troops,

had set at 600 liras,

each head of an Armenian.

And the most unbearable,

was the screaming of the children,

whom the Turkish soldiers tied up in pairs,

to throw them into the water and onto the rocks of the Euphrates.

And the cries of their mothers, who were losing their minds.

There was one, crazy from the pain, who started dancing...

dancing... dancing...

And father Serop, what happened to him?

To ridicule him...

the Turkish soldiers undressed him.

He was beautiful, the old man, with his big white beard,

walking totally naked.

At first...

we thought that the authorities did not know what their subordinates were doing.

And that all the misfortunes,

came from the soldiers who surrounded us.

So, when the governor Djevdet Bey passed in front of us,

I started screaming,

"Djevdet Bey!"

Let him!

Who are you, what do you want?

My name is Apkar, Your Excellency,

Your Excellency, I would like you to know that we are being murdered!

We were thousands and thousands.

Now we are only hundreds, exhausted,

And our feet are bleeding!

You will be given new shoes, Apkar!

Durable shoes!

And for the others, Your Excellency?

Show them yours.

If they like them, they will get the same.

Thank you, Your Excellency

Non! Non! Ah!

Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!

Stop, stop! Stop...

Shod, like an animal,

the soldiers returned me to our convoy.

At each step,

it was as if 100 thousand needles,

pierced my heart.

But something stronger pushed me to stay alive,

to say that I had seen Hell.

From a convoy of thousands of deportees,

we were only hundreds, who stayed alive,

to prove to foreigners that it was a simple moving of a population.

The last city we passed was Halep.

After Halep, there was the desert,

and death by thirst.

I see a great, a huge area of water.

You are fooled by your imagination.

It is called a mirage.

From so much dreaming of water,

we ended up seeing it.

But it was only a vision.

I'm hungry and thirsty, as well.

And I don't see roast lambs.

I am telling you, it's water.

Listen to me closely!

This water belongs to the Kurds,

who want to sell you some.

What they want, is 100 liras per head.

You know very well, that we have nothing left.

You have taken everything from us.

But this water there,

is neither of the Kurds, nor of the Turks.

This water belongs to everyone.

Because it is water from heaven.

Listen... mr. officer.

My name is Vasken Papazian.

I'm a doctor of medicine of the faculty of Paris.

And as a doctor,

who should help and assist every person in danger,

I order these men to drink this water from heaven!

I also had a thirst, that burned my body.

A thirst that could swallow the sea and its fish.

But, in order to escape death, I played dead.

I should not have the appearance of a cadaver, which was worth searching.

For a long time I was staying immobile, facing the unbearable.

The eyes of your brother Aram.

Those eyes that I had often seen laughing.

Those eyes that I knew, told me:

"But, why am I dying?"

For how long did I stay in that mass grave?

A caravan that was passing by, picked me up.

There were Turks, as well.

Or Kurds. It is not the same.

Of all those people... I'm the only one who returned.

Me, who I am of no use anymore.

With this destroyed body...

It will hold the time it will hold.

My idea was to return from the dead,

to tell what a man can do to another man.

That night, Apkar, with his requiem face,

had just snatched me brutally away from the world of fairies and goblins.

I understood, that the ghost ship,

which was supposed to bring back my two brothers and my sister,

was only a lie of love, to soothe my grief.

To deceive death, my family was split in two.

We were the living, by chance,

the others had fallen on the desert's burning sand.

So, that night, I lost my innocent look of childhood.

Good night.

There are many...

What is going on?

We did not want to wake you up,

do not worry, it's nothing.

What are these, dad?

They are bed bugs, they should not be crushed.

Well, they leave a red spot and a nauseating smell.

Are they dangerous?

Not at all, but they are very annoying.

Because when night falls, they look only for human skin.

During the day, they remain hidden in the cracks in the walls and furniture.

There, there! Dad, look!

If they are millions,

when we kill them all, will it be over?

No, there are not millions.

But they lay eggs and they multiply.

You think it's over, and there they are again.

Should we complain to the landlady!

Not at all, she would say that they are Armenian bugs,

that we brought over with us!

Glazier! Glazier! Glazier!

Go ahead my beautiful, What do you want?

I want 5 eggs, 1/4 of butter, and 1 kg of potatoes, please.

Ah! My eggs are all fresh!

All fresh of the day.

You can even make them soft-boiled.

Excuse me madame. We are foreigners.

Which is the largest school in Marseille? It's for my son.

Schools... there are many in Marseille.

It's not that we are in shortage...

It depends on what is to be learned.

We have the community school of Sylvarelle Street.

My little ones attended there until their graduation.

Now... the biggest school...

Wait a minute...

Oh, Fernand!

Fernand! Are you there?

Yes, I'm here, I'm sleeping!

I want to ask you something...

What would you tell me, if I asked you which is the largest school in Marseille?

I would answer, the college of Saint-Hilaire.

The college of Saint-Hilaire!

Obviously, it's one of the best.

It has to be good.

I had thought that it was not for you.

I do not know how much it costs,

but I can tell you that it's not cheap.

While the municipal, the lyceum, it is for free, almost.

Hey! Theresa...

The son of Mercier, is he doing well at the Saint-Hilaire?

Yes.

Do not you know how much does this school cost?

Oh Ià Ià, they do not talk about it in front of their cook!

But when I go in the evenings,

I see the furs, the cars, the drivers, the nurses when they go to school.

You can see that they do not need the public benefits.

But, there is one, who could inform you.

Mr. Hugues, the pharmacist. His nephew goes to that school.

The college of Saint-Hilaire...

Baccalaureate preparation.

Religious education.

Mr. Hugues,

the first-class pharmacist,

talked about the college of Saint-Hilaire in francs, per quarter.

An incomprehensible figure to me.

My notion of money was limited to 8 buttons,

of my mother's dress, that each covered a gold coin.

She had already torn one off, upon our arrival in Marseille,

and then a second, in the afternoon, to install a kitchen in a corner,

out of the reach from our squalling neighbour.

If I have understood correctly,

There are schools that people pay for and others, for which they do not.

Yes.

At least we know where you do not pay,

and where you have to pay.

I am of the same opinion with Anna,

in fact the free school instructs from generosity,

as a charity for the needy.

In this way they do not have the right to be demanding.

I would not doubt it,

there is no better school.

The college is the best.

Gayane...

Do you know the price of that, which is the best?

No, we do not know yet,

if that is the best,

we should not be influenced by secondary things.

Hagop, we all want our Azad to attend the college of Saint-Hilaire,

but those things, that you call secondary,

are without considering school fees.

I want to pee.

Well, go!

The college of Saint-Hilaire was transformed into a real family obsession.

As for me...

My ambitions were to disguise myself as an aviator,

a tram driver, or a limousine driver.

I was 7 years old and I was not Mozart.

I accompanied Mayrig, Anna and Gayane,

in their long walks through the commercial streets of the city.

My three mothers looked at all the store windows for written job openings.

But every time...

they were required a specialty.

They were looking for cashiers,

but they had to be experienced.

Or seeking for garment workers, qualified.

The more than limited wardrobe of Mayrig, Anna and Gayane,

excluded them from jobs as saleswomen,

or where an excellent presentation was required.

I remember well the big shop's window,

with articulated mannequins,

that imitated human bodies of ideal proportions,

trying to convince passers-by that those generous forms,

would assure the same silhouette to them.

But that "ENGLISH SPOKEN"...

on the shop window, discouraged once more,

my trinity of mothers.

And then,

the miracle occurred at the No. 4 of the Rue Rouvière.

The announcement was sufficiently vague,

and that suited us.

Look...

Workers with an "s".

The fact is that they need several.

It's easier and we could all work at home.

Go Araxi.

I'm going.

- Good morning sir... - Good morning madame...

- It's for the announcement on the window. - Are you a shirt maker?

We are three sisters. If you trust us with a model,

we promise to make an absolutely identical work.

Come in, lady.

The following minutes seemed endless to me.

I remember the looks, full of distress,

of aunts Anna and Gayane;

for this, the Zakarians' history,

was jumbled with the feeling that the Earth had stopped spinning,

while waiting for my mother, who never ended up coming out.

When the door of the shirt workshop finally opened,

Mayrig was holding a package, that she did not have when entering.

I never forgot a thing of that night.

Throughout my hectic dreaming about my visitors, the bedbugs,

every awakening brought me back to our miserable cage,

and its three ghosts.

Mayrig, Anna and Gayane,

my three Marys, full of grace,

with pricked fingers, with

thousands of small dots, created during their work,

which had replaced the sewing machine, that they could not afford.

They would never know this "Mr. CHE",

whose initials were embroidered on the left of his chest.

Why do we come here every day?

For changing your air.

It's like a little vacation.

Tell me Mayrig,

why have we not seen Apkar?

He had to go to the mountain,

to take care of his lungs.

Aunt Anna always washed his cup of coffee,

with boiling water.

One day, she said she did not like his cough.

Here, go buy something for yourself.

No thanks.

I want nothing.

Much later, I realised

that Apkar had tuberculosis.

A word that could not be spoken,

But only with a very low voice,

as if to avoid infection.

It was a shameful disease, because no doctor

knew how to cure it.

Do you want to rent a bicycle,

for half an hour, for example?

Oh Ià Ià! I see that you have not looked at how much it costs.

- How much does it cost? - 2,75 francs per hour.

It's alright! I will make 20 extra buttonholes.

I do not think that you can pay the bicycle with buttonholes.

No, it's the buttonholes I make for the shirt, that pay us.

With that money we can do what we want.

You can pay for the bread, meat, riding bicycles...

That does not concern anyone.

Well, we can even enrol you

at the college of Saint-Hilaire.

- Are you happy? - Yes, very happy.

Since it took 20 handmade buttonholes...

for half an hour of bicycling,

since that afternoon...

I valued the things for 10, a 100, 1.000 or 10.000 buttonholes.

I did not sleep much that night, before entering classes.

The day before,

I had secretly thrown in the garbage

all the junk of my naive toys of the time.

In the morning...

I heard, with a certain exhilaration,

the passage of the garbage collectors, who took away with the garbage,

my own impediments to growing up.

Azad!

I remember that kiss,

I had cut it a bit short,

because it stung and smelled sweat.

I had not guessed, behind the pale complexion

of this wrinkled dark-eyed man,

a long double-shift night at the factory,

for a little bit of the college of Saint-Hilaire.

Go Azad, we are counting on you.

I knew that things would happen like that.

To be risen to the level of my future companions,

I was disguised with pure wool, guaranteed Shetland, clothes

and a top quality leather satchel.

But my elegance gave off hints of deception.

My classmates, with their cotton garments,

could display the insolence of a lower quality,

without their social status being questioned.

Not here. I am keeping this place for Alexandre, who is about to come.

Be seated!

I hope you have had a good vacation.

Yes, Madame!

And that you are ready for a good school year.

Yes!

Well, let's start with calling your names.

- Alexandre Paget. - Present!

- Arnaud Regis. - Present!

- Raymond Mercier. - Present!

- Frederic Chabot. - Present!

- Vincent Fabre. - Present!

The names scrolled without an alphabetical order.

Mine could arrive at any moment.

- Max Pouchard. - Present!

- Xavier Delfour. - Present!

- François Jeunier. - Present!

- Pierre Bonifet. - Present!

- Thomas Bonifet. - Present!

- Pascal Agostini. - Present!

There it is. It is surely mine.

A-za...

Za-ka-riane.

Azad Zakarian, present madame.

Azad Zakarian, which is your first name?

- Azad, madame. - Azad, with a "z"?

Yes, madame.

- And Zakarian, also with "z"? - Yes, madame.

Be seated, Zakarian.

This name that made them laugh, yet was the most beautiful in the world.

Because, in my country, "Azad" means free...

...and the Armenians made it a first name.

Shut up! Silence!

Chabot!

Jeunier!

Pierre Bonifet!

- Thomas! - Sicard!

Pierron!

I said, Pierron!

Vautier!

Tourad!

- Veron! - Santini!

- Mezard! - Kezin!

Florent!

Tessin!

My only merit was to understand, from that first day,

that I would never be accepted into this famous foetus club.

So, facing this inaccessible school togetherness,

I gave up pleasing... or displeasing them.

I learned to live through a diet of friendship.

You did them well, Anna.

So, tell us!

I was given an 18 out of 20 in natural history.

Already?

18 out of 20? Doing what on your first day?

Are not given any homework to learn?

We studied the insects, and the teacher asked:

"Who can name me a biting insect?"

And, as no one answered,

I said: "bed bugs".

You didn't say that we have them at home?

But no!

I said that I had read it in a book.

In natural history this bug is called:

Cimex lectularius.

I would never have imagined that the bed bugs were taught at school!

Tell me, Azad, and about your schoolmates?

To answer that question... I lied.

I lied by sublimating the painful truth.

It is easy to deceive those, who need to believe.

That evening, my father went on his way for his night at the factory,

his face blooming,

and proud of a son who was about to become a part of the town's high society.

Over the next 5 years,

I decided to deprive myself of school recesses,

to strictly limit my relations with my dear classmates

to the area of lessons.

And then... I ended up loving the sweetness of my classroom,

emptied of their turbulence.

I never liked father Pignon, since its first appearance.

He advanced, his nose in his breviary,

so absorbed by his text, that he seemed detached from the world of the living.

Along his way, strewn with stones,

his feet slalomed along an ideal sinuous path,

each time, to avoid the new obstacle.

So, he either read his book or he watched his feet,

I opted for the obvious: He was pretending to read,

and he was just watching his feet.

I believe in the Holy Spirit,

in the Holy Catholic Church,

in the Communion of Saints...

I did not like father Pignon...

But he gave it back to me well,

by condemning me to a little hell, 5 or 6 rows behind the others.

Jesus Christ founded the Catholic Church,

by saying to Saint Peter: "You are Peter...

and upon this stone I will build my Church".

Regis.

Is there any salvation outside the Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church?

There is no salvation outside the Catholic and Apostolic Church.

Sir! Sir! Sir!

Pages.

Of which Church is Zakarian?

I know now that I should have answered directly:

"I am of that Church which, 17 years before Rome,

built the first basilica in the world, over the ruins of pagan temples,

at Etchmiadzin, whose name sounds like a Halleluiah,

and means: the Son of God has descended"

I should have answered all this,

facing this Inquisitor Court, which questioned my Christian faith.

So you want to know which Church I belong to?

I'll tell you:

I'm from the Church that never speaks ill of other Churches.

That's enough, now!

I am the one who teaches catechism!

We are not in Armenia.

And now, go out!

My boldness started to thump in my head.

All day I waited for the fateful phrase:

"Zakarian, go to the director!"

But nothing happened that day,

or in the next days.

We pretended to ignore the incident,

as well as my systematic absence from father Pignon's classes.

A lot later, I read at Bernanos:

"The mediocre priest is uncomely."

During the next few years,

we also pretended to be a great fraternity,

by integrating me in the photograph of the of the school year's end.

Zakarian, come here.

In terms of studies,

for 3 years, I was ranked among the top 8,

a ranking that had the advantage

of not arousing any jealousy.

Attention!

It was also the year, when,

on the condition of keeping myself on the sidewalks of rue Paradis,

I was allowed to return alone from school.

God is with us, you will see!

Miss Gayane deserves to be happy.

And my dear Garbis will be a very good husband,

I tell you that this matter will be done.

I have always brought luck.

But do not take long to reply to me,

so I can inform this young man, who is coming from Valence,

as he shouldn't hear about this at the door.

May God watch over these children!

And as we say...

"May they grow old on the same pillow."

How many times had I heard this wish about weddings.

But I did not understand, why should God,

watch over the unpleasant obligation

to share the same pillow, in a common perspiration.

Azad, my dear...

Oh my God! I was so sad to leave without hugging you.

I have a heart, broken of joy. See if I'm lying!

Can you feel my heart now?

The huge gelatinous mass from her abundant flabby breasts,

produced a barrier over the way to feel the palpitations of her fat heart.

Yes, madame. I feel them.

Oh, my God I almost forgot the necessary!

Mrs. Araxi, Miss Anna, are you there?

- Yes! - We are here!

I forgot of the photo of Garbis.

This young man does not know anything of my intervention.

It will be our little secret!

Here, Azad, give it to your mother.

So, I'll avoid going upstairs.

At this age...

in my mind, marriage was limited

to a distribution of almonds covered by blue or pink sugar,

in small transparent bags.

I was about to discover, that along with the candied almonds,

there would be an inacceptable intrusion of a man,

coming from Valence,

who would upset the balance among my trinity of mothers.

I do not like that Mrs. Takouhi.

With their sweet flatteries, that stick to your skin.

I do not like her much either,

but we are not going to marry Mrs. Takouhi.

How can you ask me such a thing, to marry when you will not live it.

Don't dare tell me that I am one too many in here.

Fine, I'll go.

But I do not need a husband for that.

Look at our Anna,

look at her well.

With her grey hair and her renunciation of marriage.

An honourable sacrifice;

she did not get married, in order to raise her sisters,

because she had sworn to our dying mother.

You do not owe anything to anyone.

And you are taking the same path as Anna.

We are nibbling your life as a woman,

while you are getting prepared for years of regret, later.

Well, I am telling you Gayane,

see that young man!

And if you find him right, go for him quickly!

While it's still time.

I am very happy, as I am.

It is useless to invent misfortunes, where there are none.

It was snowing in Marseille,

One of those snows,

that in the memories of the Marseillais, no one had seen at least for 40 years.

Open your mouth, stick your tongue out.

Say "Ah"!

Aaaaaaah!

Come on, turn around.

Lay down.

Breathe.

Breathe stronger!

Again!

Say 33, 33.

33, 33.

- 33, 33. - 33, 33.

Cough!

Ladies, if I could listen to only one chest at a time,

I would appreciate it very much.

Oh, excuse us!

Come on, cough my good man!

All right, my little one.

How much fever do I have?

38 and something.

My three mothers cheated with my temperature.

Sometimes I was told that it was "A strong 38",

sometimes a "Not quite a 39",

so not to say "Almost 40".

What did the doctor say?

The doctor said that you are healing.

- It is not true. - How come it's not true?

It's not true, because when one heals at home,

everyone heals.

At the moment, you all have sick faces.

Come on, go to sleep.

A boiling poultice, all day, 24 hours a day!

Dr. Philibert had insisted on the imperative of this application, day and night.

At the time...

It was the only way to fight my disease.

A nasty pleurisy.

He thinks it's a dry pleurisy.

Now our pleurisy is stronger...

"Serofibrinous"

And what does that mean?

That means that liquid has accumulated in the lung.

Up to more than 2 litres.

You have to remove it with a puncture,

with a syringe.

Unless it dries up from the heat of the poultices.

It will dry up, Araxi, it will dry up.

My pleurisy was transformed into their pleurisy.

The liquid of grief was in their lungs.

And they were trying to have it resorbed, from the heat of the poultices.

Mayrig, Anna and Gayane,

my mothers, all three confused in the same tenderness.

I know today...

We loved each other, since I was born.

The doctor said hot, "To the limit of the bearable"

I know, but that is not bearable.

At the beginning you get that impression,

then one becomes used to it.

Look, it's bearable.

The hands can bear it,

but the chest is not the same.

Look.

Even on the cheek, it's not bad.

Unconscious egoism of childhood:

For the 300 poultices that followed,

each time, I demanded for the cheeks of Gayané,

as a guarantee of the bearable.

One evening, Dr. Philibert arrived with another doctor.

Dr. Charlot.

Despite the name that made me laugh,

I understood that this was for getting the water out of my lungs,

with a big syringe.

This evening, are you going to pierce me?

Who told you we came for that?

The Meccano box, that my mother brought me today,

three months in advance.

It was supposed to be my Christmas present.

And my father who, for the first time, has not gone to the factory.

Tell me good man, do you know that you will have to return your Meccano box?

Do you know why?

I know, because there will be no piercing me.

So, you know that I will pierce you,

that I will not pierce you anymore, you know everything.

No, I do not know everything.

But when you hit my back,

it sounded dull on the sick side

and hollow on the side not sick.

Tonight, it sounds hollow on both sides.

I may be cured.

Of course... You're cured!

I often remember their faces of that evening,

my mother with her sparkless eyes,

aunt Anna, with her hair entangled,

without having them brushed since my illness.

Gayané, with her poor face burnt by my poultices.

And my father, who had aged.

They seemed to be coming out of a wax museum,

suspended in the present,

they seemed not to have realised that I was healed.

the truth that it is a complex disease, but without your endeavour,

I could have done nothing.

It is your victory, you brought him back from far away.

I'm going to give the discharge so that this young man gets up.

In the meantime, give him this fortifying medication,

and the poultices are finished.

"TO THE BENEFIT OF THE MESROB CHAPEL"

My illness had delayed the meeting with the candidate, for husband

of my aunt Gayane.

The matchmaker Mrs. Takouhi,

proposed the annual charity ball, to introduce us to her prot�g�,

"The locksmith of Valence".

Our Gayane,

faced the big date with her face

showing the sequels of my boiling poultices, still visible

and a dress, too ample, that hid her promising figure.

My dear ones, we are so glad to spend the evening with you!

You know what has occurred to our beloved Garbis?

He has been appointed as foreman at his workshop.

With a large salary increase.

He specialises in locks, tam...

I never remember the word!

Tell them, Garbis.

The tamperproof locks.

And what is a tamperproof lock?

It is a colossal progress.

As important as the electric bell, which replaces our mother's old knocker.

Mr. Vasken... Come in.

Here, Miss Gayane. For Azad, for later.

With my best regards.

And this... is for you.

Mr. Vasken you should not, there's no need.

No, no need.

Books should be offered without need.

As an extension of friendship.

Take.

So... For friendship.

Thank you very much.

It is a beautiful book.

You could say that it smells France.

What is it about?

Of love...

...and death.

That is very sad then.

It is a very beautiful book...

Sad.

These main locks are used as apartment doors.

The closing system

constitutes of,

the bolt which is flush with the headrest,

in the open position,

and jumps, under the action of the key, in the closed position.

The key, which is entered through the hole of the barrel,

meets, in its rotational movement, the groove maintained by a mechanism,

and lifts it, to release it from the bolt.

The movement ends,

the throat returns to its place in a second notch, on the bolt.

Afterwards, there is no need to touch the key,

because the blade passes through another space, that we call "the mouth".

Do you dance?

Thank you very much, but I do not know how to dance.

Not even a little?

Oh, even less than a little.

It does not matter.

See you soon.

Thanks Anna.

We must greet some friends,

whom we have not seen for a long time.

See you later.

Garbis did not return to our table.

We did not see Mrs. Takouhi anymore.

The meeting had been without a result.

The man from Valence definitely preferred someone else.

As for the aunt Gayane...

I always thought that Gayane had wanted this outcome.

I hope I will not be bothered with all this anymore.

And Gayane remained a mademoiselle.

Gayane, my great mademoiselle,

who slowly fades in the pretty grey of the time, that passes away.

Except once, much later...

her face flushed, with the colour of shame,

to tell me about an innocent book spent to be read and reread,

and of a certain Dr. Vasken Papazian,

killed on the roads of genocide.

Madame Antaram,

we have come from far away to drink the coffee of the Kaloustians!

In fact, you have come here, for learning your future!

Mr. Intamian, who studied in Paris,

told me that you are the Madame Nostardamus of "reading" the coffee.

It is an exaggeration.

But you have a very, very big reputation.

Because he remembered the times where I was right...

and he forgot what I had predicted...

and never happened!

Come on... Mrs. Antaram.

In all my life, never...

he had never seen, in the same cup,

so many upheavals,

and in such a short time.

One...

two...

three.

I see at least three changes.

Changes for good or bad?

For good. For very, very, very good.

The three signs are open, there: One, two, three.

Old Madame Antaram... had predicted correctly.

In the same year,

we first moved to a new home.

Everyone knows that embroidering buttonholes by hand,

at 10 per buttonhole, one does not make a fortune,

still, we ended up leasing a shop at the number 168.

This progression from 109 to 168,

towards the thriving part of our street,

and my father's name painted on the door,

represented to me, the peak of success.

"Shirt styling"

Azad!

Give me your plate.

With that metal door,

everyone knows when we go to bed

and when we get up.

I know, I've tried all the oils and greases. It is rusty inside.

It must have been making this noise since before.

The people are used to it.

Are you not going to the factory this evening?

Your father will not be going to the factory anymore.

Are you sick?

I have never been better!

I have left the sugar, to enter shirt making.

And will you know how?

It's been three years, that I've been making armholes.

Each time, your aunt Anna would undo them, to redo them,

as soon as I had my back turned.

I pretended that I was not watching.

And then, one day,

she stopped remaking them.

So, I was certified by aunt Anna.

My father would not be going anymore to his factory at night.

At last, we would be living during the same hours.

That was the second prediction from old madame Antaram.

The third event, announced in the coffee grounds,

occurred in front of the Rialto cinema.

Do you know how many times I saw this movie? Seven times!

But now I want to see it again with you.

- But do you know how much it costs? - So what?

I do not want you to pay for me.

Who told you I'm going to pay for you,

But I cannot even pay for myself! Follow me.

- Do you see that door, down there? - Yes.

The movie theatre is behind it.

As soon as the film starts, we will enter, unseen and unknown.

Come on, let's go.

What is it?

The screen is behind it.

And that is the loudspeaker.

Tell me something about the story.

He has been in Switzerland for a long time.

The ambassador of Spain, has come to an inn,

incognito.

All the rooms are occupied.

Then the innkeeper,

offered to have him share the bed, with a man,

who had just arrived from far away and would be using in the last room.

Have a good night, milords.

I know you will sleep well, you will be satisfied with the room.

Is the room well kept?

What can I say, milord, nobody has ever complained.

I gave away the trick to 2 or 3 friends.

They must have overdone it. Now it's closed.

Come on, let's go.

Unbelievable, we are about to share this bed.

We should introduce ourselves.

I'm Don Antonio José Miguel of Prada, Count from Piedmont,

Chevalier del Sacro Imperio, sent by the King of Spain, on a special mission.

I am Count Donna.

Count Dona, my eye! It will become terrible!

Will not you undress?

Yes.

Listen, he is getting undressed.

A spur.

The other.

First boot.

The second.

The belt.

The hat releases his long hair.

And when he takes off his doublet,

it's Greta Garbo, the most beautiful woman in the world.

Listen to the ambassador's astonishment.

Certainly.

It had to be.

I felt it.

Something told me.

Ah, life is full of wonderful coincidences!

And there, he flips her on the four-poster bed,

and draws the curtains.

But then, we can see nothing?

Nothing with your eyes, but you see everything in your head.

The next day in the morning. Listen, it is beautiful.

What are you doing?

I am trying to record these images.

Later...

in my memory...

I will often be coming back to this room.

Upon returning from Garbo, I simply said:

"When I grow up...

I think, I will make movies."

With these ten words,

I had destroyed their great expectations.

I've fooled you with that about cinema. It was a joke.

You see, we cried with laughter.

To erase that moment, I would have said anything.

That's what I did unconsciously.

In reality,

I want to be an engineer of arts and crafts

in shipbuilding.

Engineer?

- That's good... - Naval?

But if this child does not even know how to swim!

If I understand well, it's the others who sail,

he will be building them.

- But he will travel on the ship. - Of course I know...

Anna, he will go on the ships when he will be twenty years old.

You are right... Ships are safe...

Shut up a bit!

Azad, repeat once again... after the "engineer".

Engineer of arts and crafts in shipbuilding.

My father heard that title like a symphony.

A symphony that I was going to engage to a good part of my life.

In October, I quit the Saint-Hilaire college in a mutual indifference.

The school, that was preparatory for the prestigious engineering degree,

was 5 hours by train away from our city.

I had said: "A single suitcase!"

and then, for aunt Anna, I added:

"Attention, from the two suitcases, I will randomly take one and I'm leaving!"

Here! It's all inside.

Your documents... stamps...

the phone number of the hardware store.

If you need something, whatever, call Mr. Anziani.

He will notify us immediately.

Put your money in your pocket, you know where it is.

Take what you need.

If this box,

our family's fragile safe,

comes back in my memory,

it's just for those simple words that accompanied it:

"Take what you need".

Mayrig of my childhood,

I never took any more.

It may be because you disappeared, with supreme elegance,

and left me alone with that box,

of which nobody knew the exact amount that it contained,

nor the amount I was about to take.

Azad, we must be going, we'll miss the train.

Kiss everyone.

Shall we do it like here, or like where we come from?

Why... How do they say goodbye here?

Then let's hug, like at home.

We hugged each other during great moments,

a farewell, a return,

an anniversary, or for Christmas.

But from these big kisses, full of affection,

each one received the other's tenderness.

Goodbye aunt Anna,

Give me your last advice quickly, as you promised you would.

I don't have any advice to give you.

All I can say is...

Do not come back too skinny, because I'm going to make you regain the kilos.

- Tell me aunt Anna... - Yes?

For the kilos, you've given them upon my departure, to play it safe?

But what did you put in it?

The absolute minimum.

In how many copies?

I did it for the best,

you told us: "No more than one suitcase".

So, you put three suitcases in one.

It's not you who will carry it, it's the train.

But before and after the train,

I do not want you to carry it.

Then we will carry it both together, a little each. Come on, let's go!

As I walked through the door of the store,

I immediately knew that nothing was going to be the same as before.

I had just broken up with childhood,

my home...

and my trinity of mothers.

Come on Azad, hurry up!

Come on...

Hello engineer!

You should sew many shirts, Mr. Zakarian!

But we will sew them, Mr. Anzani, we will sew them!

UNIVERSITY PREPARATORY COLLEGE

Entrance prohibited to parents.

Obviously,

I would have preferred a beautiful sun for your entering the new school,

but the weather cannot be manipulated.

Dad, you should leave, so to not miss your return train.

Yes... I have to go.

Ah, I forgot the most important thing...

Here!

You have to change your clothes every day.

Everything you need in the suitcase.

Next Sunday, when I return...

you will give me your dirty clothes...

and I will return them washed and ironed the following Sunday.

And so on.

This is signed "Aunt Anna".

And, talking about aunt Anna!

She asked me to give you these hot boureks...

They were hot in the morning, but they are still good cold.

Dad, could you ask aunt Anna to forget about me, a bit.

No, that I can't do.

No one can stop the earth from spinning, the sun from rising...

and the rain from falling...

Aunt Anna is like that.

Go on!

I greet the engineer!

Take good care of yourself.

My father had forgotten of nothing,

except, perhaps, of opening his umbrella,

while walking through the thick rain,

Which penetrated his clothes.

DORMITORY

Are you Zakarian?

Yes, it's me.

My name is Vartanian, from the fourth year.

His name was Vartanian,

like Zakarian, we were from the same tribe.

Your locker should be over there.

I'll never be able to put all this in there.

Wow, I say...

Take the one you like!

No, keep them. One day, you will have me taste them.

Take, I say! My aunt Anna sends me as many as I want.

Wow, rose petals!

It's for you.

Dinner!

July 9...

The end of the school year.

I barely succeed my passage to the second year.

Barely an engineer, it's not a profession,

you either are an engineer or not,

nobody cares about the rest.

Zakarian, visiting room!

I'll tell you next year, when you will succeed with your exams.

It should be so, urgently.

I'll come back for the rose jams of your aunt Anna.

I am telling you,

I feel sorry for you! Well, she's going to feed you until you get sick.

Well, goodbye!

All the year, quietly,

my father had never missed visiting me,

Every week, he brought my clean clothes

fresh and ironed,

and a great package with our specialties.

Then he left with his back bent.

Happy of the little things rediscovered, paid with five hours by train to get there,

and the same for way back.

Apkar what's going on?

Is my father sick?

No, your father is not sick... it is he who says he doesn't have the time to get sick,

I had to settle a matter,

so I told him: "Since I'll be there for an important and imperative reason...

I bring the little one back".

And I am very well, thank you!

Excuse me Apkar, did you leave the sanatorium?

But under supervision,

and with one lung less. I keep going on with the spare lung.

But I'm not contagious anymore... Otherwise, I would not have come.

Come on, let's go!

Oh, leave that to me!

If you return with your back aching, I will have to change city.

Give me couple of seconds!

Just to breathe a little.

This is where I miss the second lung.

Let me carry the suitcase.

Never in my life!

I'll wait a little longer, that's all.

You see,

they will never tell you, but they have missed you a lot.

I have missed them, as well.

It seems that you took the good mood away, along with you.

Every morning...

I carry merchandise, to deliver to your home.

There is no more laughter, no singing,

only their heads bent over their work.

Come on, let's go.

Home delivery!

Well, I'm leaving you.

Stay for lunch with us Apkar.

Excuse me, Mr. Hagop.

This is a moment that you should live within the family.

Well, see you...

I will stop by again!

Aunt Anna?

Aunt Anna? Aunt Anna?

Is aunt Anna not here?

A great misfortune has happened to us, Azad.

Our Anna...

...she has left us.

She left us... but to go, where?

My question was stupid,

as Anna would never return.

I think I said that to buy time,

to delay the inevitable.

Leave him...

With all my strength...

I wanted no one to come to surround me with his arms,

Above all, that no one was going to hug me, to comfort me.

When they realised my secret repulsions,

no one tried those useless gestures.

Why did you not tell me?

Because it would have been useless.

You were in the middle of your final examinations.

You know...

she would not have liked that.

That's why Apkar brought me?

Yes.

I did not want to tell you in the visiting room of the school.

What was she sick of?

She had no disease.

One evening she told us:

"I do not feel very well,"

"I should probably go to bed."

But, according to her habit to be the last one to go to bed,

she still dragged herself from one room to another.

We decided to call the doctor in the morning after.

But when we got up,

she was gone...

So, that was... Death...

Until that morning,

it was limited to a disease that happened to others.

People, whom I knew just a little,

and that I would never see again.

For the first time,

death was confused with an extraction.

My tree, Anna, had been uprooted...

Anna.

But what did you put in it?

The absolute minimum.

In how many copies?

I did it for the best.

She was good, aunt Anna.

She had spent her life doing the best...

for the others.

And then, one evening,

she was gone, without bothering anyone.

She was dead.

our Aunt Anna.

To calm this atrocious pain from the needle that pierced my chest,

I tried to limit this loss to everyday banalities.

I should write to Vartanian,

to tell him that there would be no more rose jams this year.

Our grilled meat would not taste the same,

because of the herbs Anna called...

by names that she alone knew.

What was there in this herb of life?

Where did she pick up the devil's herb...

or the herb of the Trinity?

The herb of the swallow,

the sacred herb, and

the herb of the heart will be keeping their secrets... and their mysteries.

From the bottom of each pan, emerged the memory of an admirable miracle,

with the big lies of aunt Anna's love,

"Finish it; I've already eaten in the kitchen."

And her advises, which annoyed me.

"Azad, just one more bite... Azad, eat slowly."

"Azad, do not forget your sweater."

"Azad... Do not drink it too cold."

France has been at war for eight months,

a war without an apparent fury,

without bloody destructions,

a war of living and letting live,

which we ended up calling "The phoney war".

The sirens roared once a day at a fixed time,

to prove that they worked well,

and the communications of the army's general headquarters regularly reported,

that there was nothing to report from the front.

There was something going on, up there, at the area of Narvik,

but for the people of the South,

it was in countries, covered by ice, throughout the year.

During all these years of preparation for the university entry examinations,

and the four years at the Grande École,

how many times did I happily walk down the stairs of the Saint Charles station,

to reunite with my family?

We were in June 1940,

it was the end of my studies.

"Everything is going very well, Madame de la Marquise...

Everything is going very well, everything is going very well!

Good morning to everyone!

Oh, Apkar!

Here, it is repaired.

- Take a seat Apkar... Gayane a plate... - No, do not move for me!

I have already eaten.

I was invited and I promised to stop by Mr. Avakian.

What did it have? They kept it for three weeks.

They said it had three burnt bulbs.

Two or three parts were changed, because of...

I do not remember the technical words they said.

They performed a general overhaul, that's it.

So, engineer, are they for the 24th, your exams?

Shut up! Listen to what they are saying.

After the surrender of Belgium and the evacuation of Dunkirk,

by the English army,

the German war machine,

has now turned towards the heart of France,

with its 138 divisions.

The French government

has taken refuge in Bordeaux.

The Germans have entered Paris,

and in the deserted Champs Elys�es,

the Wehrmacht is parading, this very moment.

Refusing to negotiate with the Germans,

the Prime Minister, Mr. Paul Reynaud, has submitted his resignation.

Faced with this inevitable defeat,

Marshal Petain has formed a new cabinet.

This is not possible!

Whatever!

The last announcement said that there was nothing to be reported.

In order to cover their faults, the Germans have invaded the Netherlands, Belgium, and here they are, in France.

Marshal Petain, head of the French State,

will be addressing the Nation this evening, at 21:00 hours.

Frenchmen!

Having been called upon by the President of the Republic,

I assume, as of today,

the leadership of the Government of France.

Certain of the support of all of the people,

I give to France,

the gift of my person,

in order to alleviate her suffering.

It is with a heavy heart,

that I am saying to you today that the fighting must stop.

This night I spoke with the enemy,

to ask them,

if they are willing to seek with me,

as soldier to soldier, after the fighting and in honour,

the means to put an end to the hostilities.

May all Frenchmen rally around the government, over which I preside,

during this difficult ordeal and calm their anxieties,

so that they can better listen only to the faith they have

in the destiny of the fatherland.

That evening...

at 168 de la rue Paradis,

we wept with sadness, because of the defeat,

and in a proportion, difficult to define,

we also wept of joy,

for the child who would not go to war.

Glazier! Glazier! Glazier!

Nothing new yet?

He said that the list with the results would be posted around two o'clock.

Then, around two o'clock could be quarter to two, or half past two.

It is ten past two.

Then, getting nervous is of no use.

He told us that: "As soon as we get the results,"

"I'll get myself to a telephone and will call Mr. Anzani".

And in any case, from one moment to the next, he will come out of

his hardware store to call: "Mr. Zakarian, telephone!"

His telephone may be out of order.

And why would his telephone be out of order?

Because his telephone is out of order, it happens!

It doesn't say why it is out of order! It doesn't ring, that's all!

Where are you going?

I'm going to pick up the device. If it has a tone, it is not out of order.

Here they come!

Azad, how is it going?

I'll tell you soon...

Within one minute...

50 seconds...

40 seconds...

30 seconds...

I will be able to say: "Hello, Mr. Anzani?"

"Tell my father I succeeded."

But...

Had I really seen my name on the list?

Or, for the desire to be on the list,

I might have ended up believing that I was...

A telephone token and a beer please.

Thank you.

- Excuse me. - Do not move!

You are not bothering me at all.

You look happy. Have you succeeded?

How did you know?

When I saw you pass by.

Disappointment, happiness, disillusioned hope.

All was in your face.

Her name was Madeleine,

She had the charm of the colours of old silk.

While waiting for the booth to be freed, she told me,

what kind of music she preferred,

her favourite novels,

the movies that she loved.

The customers alternated each other in the booth, while Madeleine,

inexhaustible, stirred the ashes of her poor lonely heart.

And I did not dare to interrupt.

And then, suddenly, she told me:

You know, things are not simple...

I live all alone.

This gave an extra confidence,

but she soon also added:

You see, I trust you.

This, it was an invitation.

Excuse me for a moment.

Just for a phone call.

- Leave it, will I pay... - Come on, it's only a franc...

It's a beer to celebrate a success, it's not a gift, it's of friendship!

Do you have the Marseille phonebook?

If I could have from every city in France...

All my childhood and adolescence,

I lived under the weight of old oriental purists, who excluded things concerning sex.

They never talked about it.

Nothing was forbidden,

but I respected the untold.

The shame of being seen with a girl, put my face on fire.

Even though I didn't know anyone here,

it seemed to me that those, seeing us passing by, guessed

what we were about to do.

- Am I going too fast? - No, not at all.

That's what they always tell me.

"Madeleine, your steps are too long."

I remember...

She lived at the Passage des Cordeliers.

In my ignorance of the furnished and other specialised hotels,

my more natural desires were satisfied, until then,

by fleeing traces at nightfall,

under porches of buildings,

in a gloomy dead end alley,

between two street lamps.

With pleasures, interrupted by a door that opened,

or by a passer-by, who showed up.

Don't remain standing...

...sit down.

For the first time...

I was going to know a real room, with a real bed,

a woman who would have time to undress

and a door that could be locked, with a key.

Would you like something to drink?

- A Port wine? - No, thank you.

- Just a little. - No, really, thank you.

You know... do not judge me wrong.

It's the first time I bring a young man home.

You believe me, don't you?

But of course.

One can feel these things.

For a moment I felt a heavy smell of food prepared in the room,

which she had tried to hunt away, by covering it with the scent of a perfume,

but a little of both always remained.

I do not even know your name.

My name is Jean-Paul.

My real name would have triggered a cascade of questions, which I know by heart.

Azad? Oh, how nice it is... What does it mean?

Where does it come from?

Where is Armenia? And there...

It would be necessary to summarise 2.500 years of history...

and I had not come for that.

Oh! Eight o'clock... Excuse me, Mr. Anzani,

I had not realised that I was preventing you from closing the shop.

But that does not matter Mr. Zakarian, I will close later than usual, that's all.

It's not worth it.

He will not call anymore now.

Come on! He may have not had the time to call,

as he may be sitting quietly in his train.

His train has arrived, since a long time.

I think that he did not succeed.

Well, he was afraid to call to say:

"Mr. Anzani, tell my father that I failed in the diploma."

He will come.

I do not know at what time.

During all this time his mother and aunt worried themselves sick. Me too... Well...

- Thank you for your inconvenience. - You are welcome, Mr. Zakarian.

- You're leaving already? - I have to.

I have to walk to my train.

I feel that with Madeleine, above all, there was great tenderness.

A bit of sorrow for her lost youth,

flowed from her eyes,

and the fragility of her makeup,

contrasted with the matureness of my companion.

See you soon.

Madeleine knew well...

that that this "see you soon", meant "never again".

Dad!

It doesn't matter!

You will succeed next year!

Dad, I succeeded!

I could not phone. I missed my train, the last moment.

But I succeeded!

We were never worried about your success! The question did not even arise.

But you know how your mother and your aunt are.

As soon as we are 5 minutes late, they think of...

an automobile accident,

of trains crashing.

Heads stuffed with disasters!

Come on; let's go there to reassure them.

Obviously...

We knew you'd be on that list,

but it's even better being on it; this is even safer!

So, I want to tell you, that this evening...

you have given us a beautiful gift.

We have succeeded!

They are here!

He has succeeded!

Rosa... The son of Zakarian has succeeded!

Good!

And now, that you are worried no more, I am going leave you.

But I was never worried!

I knew perfectly well, that everything would be fine!

No, your father was not worried,

but from one olive, I think, he could get the portion of oil, needed for the winter!

What fascinates me about you, Apkar,

is the great elegance, with which you always describe things!

- I know. - But, stay for dinner.

Where are you going?

To the factory,

I do not have an engineer son, who is going to support me with his millions.

We have eaten almost nothing.

But yes dad, we have eaten.

But we are four, and you have prepared for fifteen!

It is true.

Attention, silence!

How and since how many years has this bottle been at our home?

Only your poor aunt Anna would have been able to tell us.

She kept it for a great occasion.

If she still was among us,

I am sure that today, she would have chosen to open it.

Take care, Hagop!

Move the bottle! If the cork pops out, it is going to break all the lamps!

I don't know what they have done to it! Champagne here, champagne there...

This champagne is undrinkable!

But what is going on there? What is this secrecy?

A souvenir from the three of us.

Wear it with joy.

It's not true!

Yes, yes... It's of real gold.

No, I wanted to say... It is superb.

It's beautiful.

Mayrig of my twenties...

I often remember this face, glaring at me.

While admiring my ring, I noticed that you were no longer wearing yours.

That great old ring, which you never took off.

On my father's finger, the ring had disappeared.

That evening, I then knew the price of my signet ring.

We were afraid that you would not like it.

The words stuck in my throat.

Then, to break the silence of my stupid modesty,

for fear of becoming pretentious,

I started waltzing

and turning... to the point of dizziness.

I remember that dance of my twenties,

or, at the time when, with a waltz,

we erased the war.

The moon, unconcerned with the security guidelines,

illuminated the city, where lighting was otherwise prohibited.

I remember that small piece of gold,

with my initials engraved upon,

that will always weigh on my finger, several tonnes of love.

Mayrig, Anna, Gayane...

my mothers in the plural.

And you, my father, my old soldier of the difficult years.

I remember our happiness for being together,

at this street Paradis,

which promised us... eternity.

While each one of your white hairs,

was already proclaiming...

a springtime cemetery...

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