All language subtitles for Le clair de terre (Guy Gilles, 1970)

MEMORY

THE LIGHT OF THE EARTH

ON THE MEMORY OF ALGERIA

Writer, Director and cameraman, guy
Gilles

I had the honor to show you today the
Marais district

emerging from the deepest and
miserable

the manifestations of human nature:

inconstancy, levity,

injustice, obsession with fashion,

the pursuit of boredom

forcing us to get involved in a face
or dish one day

and forget about them the next.

So majestic and glorified in his
creation,

The Marais has also become boring.

Deserted, abandoned, it is out of
date.

Became needy, saving

a distant memory of its former wealth.

He began to die. He was dying.

We are saved from the dismantlers '
picks.

Edwige Fejer

Annie Girardot

Patrick Juan

These old stones as if to say: "Look
at us,

we survived ancient times.

And if we are tired and worn,

it's because we spent many hours,
days,

weeks, months, years, centuries.

And because we kept on their fragile
shoulders

weight time".

A THOUSAND KISSES FROM BIZERTE

TUNISIA AND ITS LAKE

Restored, renewed,

these beautiful buildings have
regained their glamour and youth.

If these steps could talk,

if the pavement of this court, this
street could talk,

they would say:

"On we went the legs of the baby
Mozart."

Of course, on the sly, step by step

all appear in neon lights.

One after another disappear Parisian
cafe.

Formica replaces the marble and wood
on the bar,

covers tables and chairs.

Laugh... Cry... and the Time is still
coming.

Rue Saint-Antoine: a truly Royal
street,

all our kings crossed her.

It was also a place of popular anger,
rebellion and blood.

In the distance, in the middle of the
place de La Bastille,

on the top of the column with a
staircase of 238 steps

you can see (from 10am until 4pm,
except Tuesday)

Genius Of Liberty,

standing on the toes of one foot,

like flying over the roofs of Paris.

The Rue de Rosiere.

Roses have long wilted,

it's no longer there.

This picturesque street is the centre
of the picturesque Jewish district,

with traditional grocery stores.

Sometimes, like fleeting silhouette

here goes someone that looks like a
character from the paintings of
Chagall.

The old Jew, in a coat

and with long sidelocks,

as tradition dictates.

For several years, a huge community,

coming from North Africa, settled in
this quarter.

Madame de sévigné was born at No. 1
bis.

And Victor Hugo lived at number 6.

From his window he could see autumn
leaves

dancing in the wind, gentle and
continual ballet.

Ladies and gentlemen,

unfortunately, our short walk was
completed.

Thank you for your attention.

- You have to go? Yes.

- Are you leaving us? No.

To go for me - best.

I can no longer live in Paris.

Where would you go?

Actually, we know each other for a
long time,

but nothing about each other do not
know.

We never really talked.

We have never had a real conversation.

You always silent.

I always thought Pierre mysterious.

Fake Paris, fake "pied-Noir".

So.

- Unreal.
- Tell us more.

It's time!

- Tell you at another time?
- I'm leaving tomorrow.

We will not soon see you.
- So, let me know?

Once.

I lied in the last 4 years.

Lied to his father and to all of you.

For example, I have no night work.

I've never worked.

Neither day nor night.

What were you doing?

A lot of things... Or not very much.

You never told me nothing.

You're all good guys.

I didn't want to lead you from the
right path.

With the right path...

Your father knows you're leaving?

- What are you doing tonight?
Nothing.

- I want to walk? Yes.

Going to celebrate my last night in
Paris.

Meet me at nine.

- Apartment No. 15?
- 15. First floor, right door.

Easy, easy,

Stop a little bit,

Take a break

Just to breathe.

Take a break

And look at the flowers

Just a flower,

And listen to the wind,

Listen to life.

I want three waves on each side.

Here, and here.

Wave here wave here wave here.

And here is the same.

Perhaps the idea is useless, since
this year is so rainy.

Perhaps all messed up, when I go out

but I want to.

Understand me?

I little Red riding hood.

Not too ridiculous?

I go up over time...

Well, then go!

When we were young... It's time to
grow.

Because we think That then we all
can.

But when aged, It's time to
suffer

Because without suffering there is
Nothing we cannot achieve.

The time has come to look for

Before they open, Before we get
there.

It is...

I will come to your father on Sunday.

You can tell him that my brother
Patrick is not coming to class?

He has a fever and cough. I think
it's the flu.

I'll let them know.
- See you.

Goodbye.

He will come on Saturday if better.

Patrick is not coming to class, he
has a fever and cough,

it's probably the flu.

- Have you seen his mother?
- No, brother.

- Why is he not gone?
- I met him at the bottom.

Could be forewarned.

How could they?

They didn't know that he will have
the flu.

What is happening today? Young Marco
is late for 5 minutes.

They all perished, or what?

Look at the weather. Then rain, then
sun, then rain...

Piero, there clean shirts and socks.

I'll leave in 5 hours.

I'll stay and sleep there.

Dances will end at 3 or 4 in the
morning

I'm not going to get killed driving
in this cold.

Know daughter Manage?

Her father owned a drugstore in the
Plaza de Chartres.

She came to me with his six-year-old
son, Richard.

He wants me to give him lessons at
home,

because the poor are weak. He's so
thin!

They bought a beautiful apartment on
the Boulevard Beaumarchais.

Her husband has a good job, he's a
pharmacist.

I can cook something if you're hungry.

If your poor mother were here

we wouldn't be standing here like a
couple of accidents.

These old stones as if to say: "Look
at us,

we survived ancient times.

And if we're tired

it's because we have lived for so
many years, centuries.

And because we kept on their fragile
shoulders the weight of time."

Laugh... Cry... and the Time is
still coming.

Hello, my dear. How's it going?

Well. Only hot.

I was thinking about you.

I have something for you.

But while a lot to give I can't.

Life is hard, everything is expensive.

The end of the month, taxes... crazy!

So you're leaving?

Yes.

Where?

You're so secretive.

Paris will be empty without you.

You quickly I will be forgotten...
just Like all the others.

Of course not, my dear.

Not all of them.

Not all of them.

Yes.

Yes.

Wait a second.

You are absolutely right.

Yes, of course.

Well, waiting for your movie.

See you later, dear.

Hey, man, you're not on time.

Since yesterday, here is a real
disaster.

My brother needs help.

Come tax return.

You know some work at home, and it's
expensive.

And in the end, I went to the Bank,

on my account overruns - more than $
5 million.

If I give what you want, will have to
cut the budget for Christmas gifts.

You know I can't do that.

I'm going to cry.

Don't worry, I can handle it.

I assure you, I'm sorry, buddy.

Here are 500 francs, enough for a few
days.

I'm glad you're leaving.

You wasted my time here, I told you
that you deserve better.

Write!

We spend the time in the
subway,

Expecting more, even winning the
lottery.

Work to live,

Not the job I dreamt about.

Peck, if I find the time

Time to spend it well.

Then a little time to rest,

To drink and sleep

And the day goes past

In this pain,

What absorbs you.

In a crazy pace,

If there is power.

There is one only that really
matter

So, do so, then do so.

Easy, easy,

Stop a little bit,

Take a break

Just to breathe.

Take a break

And look at the flowers

At least one...

My friend and the owner of the bar
bottom "pied-Noir"?

He said, "Piero lives in the back of
the yard, to the left".

Yes. And several people in the
neighborhood too.

Yes, and Concierge...
- Your father says so, too.

Yes, he was born there.

Is a fishing village.

My mother is buried there.

You're a renegade, buddy. Now you
have a Parisian accent.

I'm a man from nowhere.

I want something in memory?

Anything?

Anything.

And you don't need them?

I'm leaving.

- Where are they all? , Everywhere.

Accidentally found them.

It is a collection?

No. I liked to look at them.

But, if you want this collection.

He is not who he says he is.

Yes, but that's what it is.

Well, shall we go?

No, you can see everything. Dead
night.

The quarter is changing, it is not
the same as before.

Like when we laughed.

- I love to travel. Really?

Yes, very much.

Go to Marseille whenever I can.

There your family?

I have no family.

They come here every night.

- Every night? Yes.

Do you like music?

How do they live?

They came in this quarter when they
were 17 or 18.

I even knew the fifteen-year-old guy,

one evening, coming from Lyon.

First they are all happy. They're
having fun.

Life is easy.

Sometimes there is no money,
sometimes their pockets full.

But, like a virtuoso pianist, you
need every day to practice

to gain the skill to hide that fact.

...from an early age to get involved
in a mysterious and wonderful things.

How are you doing, Pierre?

Well, and you?

I got married.

My wife is a hairdresser.

Her parents Barber shop on the Rue de
Caumartin,

I work with them, live at ease.

Going to buy an apartment in the 18th
district.

Carpet, bathroom, telephone, all at
the highest level.

We are expecting a baby.

You should not come here anymore?

No, no. Lucky you came out tonight.

Ghost!

Is still here? Is still
here.

Strangers... They are saved.

They go away, disappear from the
vicinity.

And the rest of the victim.

They do not stop, trying to attract
others.

When everything ends, they drink.
Someone on drugs.

When they have money for a hotel room,

they sleep by day and live by night.

But one day...

completely lost hope,

they are drowning.

Here's a handkerchief...

One more...

I have one more...

And you, Pierre?

I got here by accident.

Stay for a while.

Saw something, met someone.

So.

Now I have to leave Paris.

I have traveled all over the world

but my favorite is
"Baicon-les-Bruyeres".

Long live France!

She is beautiful and sweet,

She's a wonderful person,

We see it directly from the
street,

Standing at your counter.

She is always smiling,

Like a wax figure,

Hair neatly tucked in a bun,

Cute cashier from the "Grand
Cafe".

Finally, needless to say that
insurance is useful.

Then I'll probably get money and will
be able to rent a new apartment.

So simple.

You know, we still, we're in our 50
years, so...

Take a look!

Well? Isn't it great?

Well.

She is beautiful and sweet,

She's a wonderful person.

She is always smiling,

Like a wax figure.

No, no, no! Enough!

Two seconds break!

I'm going to deliver bread.

- What is it adorable! No no...

I'm not asking you, beautiful.

I'm going to carry their bread to the
café.

Like the character of Rambo!

What?

- What are you talking about?
- A drunk Baker.

No! No...

Keep singing, I'm leaving.

Maybe I'll see you... then... you are
very nice

Hey!

Hey!

It rings every 15 minutes.

Lest we forget that time passes by.

Oh, Pierre, it was awful.

The doctor said: "a Few months... a
Year, no more."

I knew he would leave me early.

We waited for the moment when it
happens.

There is a difference between
thinking about how your loved one
dies,

his death in reality.

He knew about it?

Yes, he knew.

Every day the sickness grew in him.

I had to work through, to give piano
lessons.

Want something to do.

That's all.

I began teaching piano in Dovile.

Province, 100 kilometers from Paris.

Incredible!

- I want to leave? To travel? No,
I want to stay.

I don't want to move.

I think you're wrong.

He was restrained until the very end.

Of course, there were moments of
despair.

One day he cried in my arms.

I found it a small.

Then he died.

Fortunately, he had time to continue
working.

But I know that his music is
beautiful. I'm going to play it.

I was always confident.

Not just him...

But in his work.

I am only talking about yourself.

- How are you, Pierre?
- Know nothing.

What will you do?

At the moment, will leave.

I already said that I think the
departure and the journey

help to forgive and to forget.

What we will see then.

And your father?

My father?

Is it good for?

We are too different.

Where are you going?

In Tunisia.

To Tunisia!

Back to the roots?

No.

To the beach... to the sun...

- This Is Pierre! Hello.

Nice to meet you.

Maria talked a lot about you and your
father.

Stay the night? No...

Oh, such a big house, and we're alone.

Well.

You can't leave Mary alone.

You should see her.

Devil - not the other end of the
world.

A month, every day, I wanted to come.

So stupid. Time is running out.

For a hundred years, nothing has
changed here.

A very beautiful house.

Madame de Letr very good.

I was lucky to meet her.

Especially for the money.

Vermeer "the Little street".

"Die kleine Strauss".

Tiny shirt, dyed yellow.

- You have not forgotten Vermeer.
- No, not forgotten.

I have always loved painting.

Or rather, began again to love her.

After his death, was awful.

I thought I couldn't love anything.

I've never been able to like
something.

I could no longer read books.

From the music I wanted to die.

Painting...

she came back suddenly.

I had a strong desire...

if I was hungry.

Much.

Just had an exhibition of Bonnard, so
I didn't hesitate.

I took the train, arrived in the
evening, it was raining.

In Paris, I felt like a stranger.

I was looking for a hotel,

as we when I first arrived in town.

Woke up early in the morning

and at 9 am I went through the
Tuileries.

In the ponds of frozen ice.

The children were playing.

It was so happy.

After the Bonnard exhibitions

I was really happy.

There was a picture...
"Mediterranee"...

All blue,

all white.

It is impossible to explain.

Made me smile.

When I came out, I was better. The
truth is better.

And... I didn't feel guilt over Jean.

Because his suffering would cease.

But to stop them would be a betrayal.

The same as to forget.

But then I was happy. Without any
regrets.

And that night I came back.

Pierre, let's never talk about it.

What do you want to talk,
Mademoiselle?

You write to me?

I will write, sir, in your distant
desert.

Okay, I'll go.

Don't like the departing train.

The first time you go there?

Not really.

My father and mother were born in
Algeria and I in Tunisia.

I am also in Tunisia!

- Although you will not tell.
- All the same.

- When did you leave?
- O, I was a little kid.

When my mother died.

My mother died too.

But the father is still there with my
sister and brother.

So I decided to visit them in the
summer.

Every corner in Tunisia about
something tells me.

Why did you decide to go there?

I just wanted to leave.

In Tunisia or anywhere else.

A change of scenery.

First of all, to be away from Paris.

Why not in Tunisia?

At home, I've heard of him.

I want to see.

My whole family went. All friends.
It's sad.

Some went to Marseille, the other in
nice, Lyon.

Cousin - in Lille.

Don't know, can you imagine what it's
like

born in Tunisia and died in the North
of France.

Anyway...

It is strange to land in Tunisia and
sleep in the hotel.

I am a privileged person and sleep at
home.

Where do you live?
- Rue de Leela.

And, Rue de Leela! We are neighbors.

Rue de Leela opposite the Park
Belvedere.

And we lived on Rue Rochambeau, next
to the "Vins Padovani".

"Vins Padovani"!

A wooden bridge led us right to the
beach.

Once it broke.

And all the people walking on it,
falling on the sand.

Cry so much!

We were scared, but everything
remained intact. Lucky!

I was young but remember it well.

In General, I won't tell you about
Tunisia

because tomorrow at the same time,
we'll be there.

I have no accent?

He goes away... Sometimes comes back.

In Paris, I'm not saying I'm a
Tunisian.

Prefer to keep quiet about it.

I started a new life.

If someone says: "you Have dark hair
and the accent..."

I answer: "Yes, I'm Italian".

Of course, I can't change your
passport.

"Place of birth: Tunisia" will always
be there.

Hatter.

Sun.

Old and torn.

Downstairs has newer, of course.

He's old.

There is now no more.

Algeria... "In memory of Algeria".

Gilbert Larivier

You're just like your mother.

Same eyes, same smile, same hair.

Incredible!

What you want to drink? Coffee? Sitro?

More can not offer, my house is empty.

I don't want to drink... a Little bit
of lemonade, please.

We almost missed each other.

You arrive on Saturday, I wouldn't
have found me.

In the summer I don't stay in
Tunisia, too hot.

A little lemonade that I got, it is
refreshing.

I continue to stroke, you need to
finish with the clothes.

How old are you, Pierre?

Twenty-one.

- Do you remember Tunisia? No, I
don't remember.

Of course, you were so young.

I was six years old.

Here you played.

And here I met your mother.

I remember an interesting place... in
the form of a circle.

We got up off the ramp.

A great restaurant or store.

I don't know the Spanish name.

The restaurant?

"Saint...", something like that.

The Italian name. The "San Remo".

First in Tunisia, the self-service
restaurant.

There were a lot of people.

On Sundays, we often stood in line on
the Avenue de France.

It is strange that you remember it,
among other things.

Other memories are not real.

I found them in the photos.

I, on the arms of his mother, in
front of the steps of the school.

Father said that it was the lycée
Carnot.

We called her "little Madam the
Bryum".

She was kind... sweet... and fun.

When the Opera was a gala day,

I saw her passing by my house with a
cello.

She was more herself.

Sometimes your father was with her,
then he was carrying her cello.

They were a beautiful couple.

I remember their joy when you were
born.

Lycée Carnot

Here is the Lyceum, Pierre.

Your father and uncle Roger, a
doctor, studied here.

But photographer.

Probably the same one

took the picture with you on the arms
of his mother.

Not a photographer, the camera.

It is transmitted from generation to
generation.

- Good day.
- Good day.

- Take a picture of you? Yes,
there's a picture.

I remember the day your mother died.

The whole neighborhood talked about
it.

You know, life here is very
provincial.

I still remember the sadness of your
father...

After.

It was not passed.

Really?

As they say in this country,

we only pass through this world.

There is one song...

Don't remember very well...

Your mother loved her.

In this world all the lilacs
die,

But couples stay together

Forever.

The song is about a couple.

In the beginning they are young, they
love each other.

But time passes.

All around me.

They change...

Love is... friendship, tenderness,

and they are getting closer every day.

Father sometimes sings.

Greetings from Tunisia! Get to
know us?

Louis Bryum, Paris, 4th
arrondissement, the Rue de Rosiere

In the light of the Earth...

Land...

Here is the class where I came every
day for 10 years.

The Bryum, Pierre...

First question.

What do you dream about most?

In order of preference.

Harmony.

To leave.

Do not be sad.

Well!

A small recipe from sadness.

Life needs to take in everything.

Think about affection, tenderness...

Try to understand.

To forget, to remember.

To come and go.

- Listen.
- To meet.

The sea, the mountains...

Forest, flowers, silence.

Cats, children, color, trains,
cakes... Everything!

Once your mother said to me:

"I don't understand women who are
afraid to age.

I would like to live to be a hundred".

You know, Pierre, I'm not from here.

I "frangou," as they say.

This means French from France.

I was born in Limoges.

It is there, far away.

The city of porcelain.

I know... My father told me all about
you.

As you can see, everything here is
diverse.

Era of influence...

A little bit of everything.

Came the Moorish Rococo.

Hello! We go to Madame Belova.

- Is the son of Mrs. Bryum.
- Baby?

Yes. He grew up in.

- He looks like his mother. Yes,
very.

Poor thing, she died.

She was so young.

She was so kind.

And your father? He's
okay.

- In France? Yes, in Paris.

It is old.

Do you like it?

Called "khobz el bey".

Almond paste. Sweet.

Yes.

I'm leaving tomorrow.

- Leave Tunisia? No, from the
city.

You should go to the South until the
heat came.

I'm sure you will like it.

If you want, come to the sea to see.

Okay?

I have a nice house, but I live alone.

- How will you go?
- As it will.

- Do you like it? Yes, very.
There are two beds.

Pierre Bryum... 22......... the
business continues.

... Moorish Rococo.

- Good day.
- Good day.

- You are a tourist? Yes.

- Do you like it? Yes.

You Parisian?

Yes.
- Paris, district 10?

No, the 4th.

You will visit La Gulet, Sidi Bou
said?

Yes.

We are neighbors, Monsieur Hamadi.

- Well, good-bye.
- Goodbye.

Good morning!

- Go for a walk? Yes.

We.

We are high school students.

- I study at the lycée Carnot.
- I in the Lyceum Gardens.

- What is your name?
- Pierre.

- And you?
- Pierre?

- E, Abdelatif.
- And I Abdelatif.

- Both of you? Yes, both.
Abdellatif...

in the square!

'Do you live here? No.

Came on vacation to my uncle.

In the afternoon we go to Sochi,

we buy Souvenirs.

And tomorrow we will return to
Tunisia.

I, too, go to Nabeul.
- Well, come on.

Forward! Go!

Go!

In the evening we will go to the
movies. Come with us, Pierre?

What show?

Jean Gabin... "the Gardener of
Argenteuil".

Pierre, what does "Argenteuil"?

Argenteuil is a small village near
Paris.

I...

settled...

in the room...

in a pure...

...

Moorish...

Rococo.

PT

You didn't take your knitting?

Knitting?

You are the girl who was knitting in
the "Cafe de Paris" in Tunisia?

- Have you seen me? Yes.

One day, in 2 hours.

- Do you like Gaben?
- I like movies.

Don't be afraid.

Though life has separated us...

memories of a time when we knew each
other

live.

Don't be afraid.

Though life has separated us...

memories of a time when we knew each
other, live.

Song! Song!

The memories of the time...

Though life has separated us...

Will to live...

Embrace, I will hold you close,

I want your touch.

Open your arms, and my dream

will come true.

And new words...

I want to invent words

Words

What is not mentioned earlier,

Happy words, sweet and
sonorous.

And new words

To be able to sing

The most beautiful love of my
life.

Your eyes are so blue, they are so
beautiful,

Your warm hands,

Your gentle hands

Your bright smile that fascinates
me.

And new words

I'm looking for them, but the dawn
is coming,

And leaning over your closed
eyes,

I say...

I'm glad you came.

Promised keep it.

You're up early.

For 20 years, every morning, I Wake
up in 5 hours.

I love the morning.

The sunsets in this magnificent
country.

The air is so clean in the morning.

And azure sky,

She said, "I don't want to!".

And then she gave herself

Under the roofs of Paris.

Of course, you don't know this song,
you're too young.

These people are so funny... the
French from Tunisia.

We like them all.

In addition, the French for them is
sacred.

You should have heard our friends...

"Monsieur and Madame larivier, they
are good people.

They are kind, elegant,

with their lovely Parisian accent".

They do not realize it. Nothing.

Once upon a time, I said to a friend:

"But you leave... You just leave.

You have, everything will change."

They thought I was crazy, laughed.

A free Man, to love you the
Sea!

Charles Baudelaire, "Flowers of evil".

This is my teacher side.

First of all, I drink coffee, looking
at the sea.

You are my first guest in a long time.

My dear Gilbert died 5 years ago.

We came here in 1936.

At the dawn of our careers... we were
both teachers.

We were seduced by the sun, near the
sea.

Thought I would stay here for two or
three years.

I'm still here.

We fell madly in love with this
country.

We traveled its length and breadth,

on the old machine.

Later... especially since 1958...

these are trying times.

All the French leave, which was sad.

To leave? For me this was not a
question.

And you're not bored?

There is no time.

I do house and garden.

I read a lot.

I have students...

And then... walk.

In villages like this, time stops.

I can sit for hours gazing at the sea.

Forgetting about everything.

On Thursdays I visit UALITY.

An elderly couple of pensioners.

They never wanted to leave.

Paul and Mireille.

They live there, behind the
lighthouse.

The hardest to see go close.

Gilbert...

and all the rest.

Friends from the good old days.

We went to the village...

Bathed...

Had lunch on the beach.

Sometimes, in the summer... we left.

My head is full of memories, so I
never get bored.

Every two years we came to France.

Gilbert went for treatment to the
water in AIX-Les-Bains.

The Bourget lake, it's beautiful.

He had weak lungs.

I love it here.

We carry so much useless junk.

Attached to the items, this is stupid.

I keep this box for 35 years.

It is from Limoges.

Gifts to the end of the school year.

Holders of books, inkwells, art...

It gave me colleagues,

when Gilbert was appointed Director
of the school.

She is gorgeous!

Children's drawings are always very
beautiful.

Always... and all!

I'd like more space to hang them all.

I like children very much.

Gilbert loved them, too.

Sometimes I miss them.

I'd like to go back to them again.

They would be waiting for me... this
time longer.

We could have talked... ate...

I would go to sleep.

CHARLOT, lonely folk genius

Days pass in the arrivals and
departures,

while the family once again Garcia
will not be found.

Monsieur!

Mr. Garcia here?

My father?
- No, Maurice.

He went to Tunisia.

- My sister Gaby here.
- Call her?

Gabi!

- I am a friend of Maurice's.
- Monsieur.

- Of Paris? Yes.

From the University?

No, we met on the ship.

Ah, Yes. But Maurice is not at home.

He went to Tunisia and will return
tomorrow morning.

Come to us tomorrow, Maurice will be
happy to see you again.

Well.

You were in Paris?

Who, me? No.

Would you like to go there or live
there?

To live... He wants to kill me or
what?

If you take away my sun, I will not.

No, but I would like to go there.

And make the same photo

like my aunt, during the exhibition
of 1900.

I remember the photo on the
mantelpiece?

On it there is a big hat with a rose
on the front.

Just awful!

And my uncle had a goatee.

Cousin Fifi was there too!

The first time her eyes can not see,

because she hid them to hide
strabismus.

- Take the fruit, Pierre.
- No, thanks.

What about the pie? Take it!

Don't hesitate, it's home.

- Did you enjoy our sorbet?
- Very.

We are known to them, right?

The family Garcia, kings sorbet.

From all over Tunisia come to give it
a try.

We are the last of the Mohicans.

We are very happy that you came,
Peter.

It's true.

It is worth saying that we,
Tunisians, are very sociable.

We love to make friends, to see them.

Yes, but be careful

when we get to Paris, I will pay you
a visit.

In the end, only mountains don't meet.

- Isn't it? That's right.

Hey, Maurice, please, sing something
for Monsieur Pierre.

Maurice sings beautifully!

At 15 he won the talent show "la
Pointe d Escade".

You applauded for 15 minutes.

View, he began to faint,

always have to beg.

Come on!

Claude, bring the guitar!

Let's get going! Need the space.

Song...

With God's help! Weather is
capricious.

Come on, go! Claude, Momo!

"Le garcon de cafe" (Waiter), song
in three verses.

Waiter! Ham, pate and coffee.

Waiter! Lemonade, a half-mug.

My name is

And push,

I'm always in a hurry.

I'm in a hurry

Come

To serve

Her Highness

Countess.

Waiter! Ice cube, milk tea, bread and
butter.

Waiter! Ham, pate and coffee.

Of sighs,

Smiles

Tip.

From the tip

Automatically

I figure

Metal,

Their money.

The waiter quickly! The bread and
butter.

Waiter, how long! Coffee and expense.

In his bed,

Late at night,

I go to sleep.

Like a record,

Even in sleep,

Awakens me,

And I listen

One and the same.

Waiter! Ham, pate and coffee.

Waiter! Ice cube, a half-mug.

Waiter! Lemonade, orange juice and
expense.

Waiter! Finally! Account.

Waiter!

- So, my little brother?
- So, my older sister?

Soon you will leave Paris, leave me
alone.

Dad went to take a NAP, he's a little
tired.

What was the weather like!

This year she does not spoil us.

Tell Me, Pierre...

In Paris always like this?

In the last days of vacation...

When I go back to school...

November Paris.

A few days later...

Remember? It's been a while. May
this time and lost.

Little Jeanne never smile and not
wave his hand to us.

She joined her mother in the
darkness,

in which we will enter when it's
our turn.

It's too painful to talk about her
death

about death that you think is
terrible: she drowned herself.

Unfortunately, as you have often
said

"In this world all the lilacs
die." Michelle

- You leave us, Pierre? Yes.

- I'm going to miss you. I, too.

I have to go back because I've
discovered something sad.

- Is someone sick? Died.

Relative?

No.

Friend.

Very young. 17.

- You come back to us?
- Yes, back.

- I may have to leave. I'll be
back.

Write to me, Pierre.

Do not forget the old girlfriend and
her tips...

Say, Pierre. You need to talk.

You speak little, it's bad.

I've told you many stories.

I like to listen to you.

What's in your head?

- How do I know?
- It's impossible.

Need too much time and words.

In the end, you get bored.

Tomorrow I'll be different... or
almost others.

So...

For a long time I thought I was
insensitive.

It is not so... not so.

Something touched me...

even shocked.

Do not have your sadness.

All people say that they are the most
sad.

Do we know for sure? No!

You will change, Pierre. You are
still young.

Nobody really... But of course.

I'm a fool. We are always changing.

Oh, if you knew how.

The day I left Paris

the woman on the bridge was humming
the tune.

Song.

Around me were people. They were sad
and tired.

It brought me to tears.

I was ashamed. I was afraid that the
people they see.

I looked down and ran.

I've been thinking why I was crying.

Recently, by chance,

I heard the same song as in the day.

And suddenly I understood.

In the summer, on the coast of the
Atlantic ocean

Sophie went to the coastal cafe.

Then we just started Dating,

and I thought we'll never part.

And we listened to this song.

Every summer there's an old song,
claiming in the past...

Everywhere!

A few months later, when she got bored

and it was replaced with another song

she suddenly returned again.

And back mood that summer, when we
heard her,

dancing at the coast

the girl's face, a favorite at the
time...

we loved each other.

Under the roofs of Paris,

In my room, with my Nini,

We loved and thought was the
one.

We then had 20,

And spring came

We were supposed to love, not
wasting a minute.

The air was so clean,

And azure sky,

She said, "I do not want!"

And then she gave herself.

- Tell you at another time?
- I'm leaving tomorrow.

We will not soon see you.

I liked the way she spoke.

With his head bowed.

With a sweet smile.

Yes.

Behind this smile hiding many secrets.

The last time it was bad.

Problems with her parents because of
her boyfriend.

Because of his political views... and
more!

One day she told me she didn't want
to live.

Here's how!

- Do you think she knew? We do
not know.

She went to the beach.

It's been two hours she was back.

Friends searched for her everywhere.

The next day the fishermen found her
body.

I won't ask if you were happy. I got
your letter.

What now?

Well, I'm leaving again.

I realized at least one thing...

Now I don't want to stay in one place.

I want to come and go...

Please try to understand.

I, my son, the man from nowhere.