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- Who's living here? - A couple.

- I can't see anybody. - They don't go out.

- Your first time in Venice? - No no.

I spent a summer here, as a child.

- It's a wonderful city. - Venice is Venice.

- Annetta. - Yes, ma'am.

Take care of Mr Tino's suitcase.

- Your suitcase. - But it's light.

No, give it to me.

- Nice trip? - Yes. Thanks.

- You must be tired. - No.

How you've changed. You're a fine young man now.

- How are your parents? - They send their best.

This is your room. Want to wash your hands?

- Trains are quite dirty. - Give me your coat, sir.

- I'm in the dining room. - All right.

Damn window! It never stays closed.

Latin, no. Maths, impossible. Dad's plans don't interest me.

Even mom said.

"Try painting. You're gifted."

Are you gifted?

Well, as a child I was praised for my drawings of Tarzan.

- No. - I'll have some more.

What an appetite...

- May I finish it? - Yes. Don't be so formal.

Oh, my head!

Always at this time.

Join me in the other room when you're ready.

Tino, come here.

I'll show you around.

This is Uncle's study.

He always eats out.

He meets important guests, some from abroad.

- What is he? - Engineer with the Gas Company.

A very important position.

I won't recognise him after so long.

- Is that him? - No. His father, Mr Stolz.

A peculiar man.

When the Italians took Venice he moved to Vienna.

"I want breathe the air of the Empire..." he said.

- So you met there. - No. We met in Venice.

He sleeps there.

Let's see the abandoned parts of the house.

The house has been in my family for centuries.

We've only restored a small part of it.

Everything's so costly today.

We'll wait for better times.

This was the theatre.

Look at the decay.

How terrible.

As a child I'd sing... and dance here.

Come.

Watch your steps.

- Where does this lead? - Into a locked room.

Don't ever go up there. The staircase is rotten.

Understood, Tino?

Come on. Let's go.

This is my room.

He comes home late.

I'm a light sleeper. It's my nerves.

Go to bed. You must be tired.

Good night and thank you.

I thank you for bringing your youth into this home.

Ciao.

- Can you find your way? - Yes, Auntie.

- I can't find my room. - It's right in front of you.

Thank you. Good night.

Good morning, son.

- It's late, almost 7:00. - Good morning Uncle.

Just say your morning prayer if you want.

I'll look the other way.

Know how long you slept? Nine hours.

Plato said...

"There's a beast in all of us which comes out in our sleep."

So rule 1 is: Sleep little. How long do I sleep? 3 hours a night.

Here's what you need to wash yourself.

A touch old-fashioned, I love the simple things.

Cold water and exercise are good for you.

I do it every morning. Naked by the window.

Do likewise.

We have 35 minutes to get to Professor Sattin's school.

He's a poor painter. And a hopeless teacher.

But it could help. The boat is ready. And breakfast too.

You may start breakfast. I'll come immediately.

Hurry up.

What you see are the windows of the prison.

Doge Faliero and the Fornaretto of Venice...

were imprisoned and then executed there.

That's Cimetta's house... the first real murder after the war.

Her lover cut her up and threw the pieces into the canals.

A little dirty, your Venice.

Yes. A humorist said:

"Venice is an old lady with a bad breath."

A ghost that speaks at night lives in that palace.

It says strange words in an unknown language.

Some fauna!

This is a provincial relative. I wonder if he's talented.

We'll see soon.

Actually, who needs talent today? Goodbye.

Look at them. The remnants of a fleeing army.

Stateless vagabonds.

All rebellious Absaloms, victims of their hair.

- Are you crazy? - I was joking.

But they are lost.

Spoiled by too much attention and understanding.

- Well, go ahead. - Bye Uncle.

Since some of you are new here...

The others are old pupils.

Here are a few words for the new ones.

The others are free to listen.

- This will be my third time. - There will be many more times.

Drawing makes a good painting, I tell you, not the colour.

If you think colour can hide a bad drawing,

you're grossly mistaken.

Because the drawing underneath always shows...

like the tits under a beautiful girl's blouse.

Has Lucia arrived? Lucia!

I'm here. I missed my ferry. I came by motorised gondola.

Is that why you're late?

The gondola ran out of petrol.

You're really gifted in telling myths.

This elegant line from the shoulders to the hip...

Try to draw it with just one stroke.

With just one stroke.

And here, don't overdo the shadows.

Your bum's getting rounder.

Is this your first time in a nude class?

No. I've been many times.

This is my first time.

If you're so experienced, tell me,

are these nude models actually... little whores?

What are you saying? Modelling is serious work.

Some hot coffee for these nice kids.

Lucia, can you help me?

Coffee's here. Just what I needed.

Thanks.

- Sugar? - Two... Three...

- Two or three? - Three.

- Are you new here? - Yes. It's my first day.

- One or two? - Two.

One.

- Are you reading word puzzles? - Yes.

Interesting. Very good.

I don't work them out. But they still fascinate me.

It's the link between such diverse things...

A king, a farm and two bulls...

a fisherman casting his net...

a tall girl next to a grave...

and all those mysterious letters here and there...

A, Q, M, R...

Poetry...

Surrealism...

At times I think I'd love to live inside a word puzzle.

Isn't it so? Don't we all live in a word puzzle?

Dear, you've been inside all day.

Have a stroll with Annetta before turning in.

- I can go with you if you like. - No...

I want to show you my library.

You're right. A stroll will do me good.

See? The idea of going out makes her feel better already.

- Have you noticed? - What?

That every woman has a special smell.

Men and women, we all have our own individual smell.

True. But women smell of vegetables.

Strindberg...

Strindberg said, women smell celery.

I'd go further.

Some smell of celery, others, of rosemary...

radish, artichoke, cabbage...

Because, among all living creatures,

women are closest to the vegetable species.

- Don't you think? - No. Go on.

I really believe that the transition between animal and vegetable...

is represented by the woman.

Women are the link that joins the two.

So long both of you, I'm going on my health stroll.

Can you smell it? A delicate fragrance of celery.

- Pardon? - Nothing, dear.

Are you going out like that?

I'm covered. It's not cold.

I think I noticed a light fog outside.

It denotes dampness. I don't know if you should...

I'd say no. You coughed a lot last night.

- Maybe a little. - No, my dear. A lot.

You'd be asking for trouble.

You're right.

You'd better stay at home.

I'll read something for you.

Listen. Do you know what's in here, Tino?

All Hölderlin's poems.

Here's a beautiful one from his schizophrenic period.

When he thought he was Scardanelli, the cobbler.

I have enjoyed the pleasures of life.

The joy of youth has long gone.

April, May and June are past. And...

Now I'm nothing.

Life has lost its appeal.

It sounds nicer in German.

Doesn't it sound nicer in German, dear?

- What are you doing? - Nothing!

I needed something to drink. I'm thirsty.

- Don't you know where the kitchen is? - Yes.

Good night.

Good night, Uncle.

Yes?

- I don't want to impose. - Come in, Tino.

- What's up? - Nothing. How's your headache.

It's gone this morning. Sit down.

Thank you.

- Shouldn't you be at school? - No. It's an hour later today.

- Do you mind if I smoke? - No.

Thank you.

Did you sleep well? Were you cold?

No. I slept very well. Just that...

Just what...?

- Who plays the piano? - What piano?

Last night I heard someone playing... It was...

A tune I seem to know. It went...

- As if a child were playing it. - Why a child?

I don't know. Children have a hesitant way of playing.

Maybe it wasn't a child.

- Who was it? - Nobody.

Perhaps a neighbour, from a house nearby.

I don't know which one.

The sea breeze carries in every voice and noise.

That music comes from outside. But I don't know from where.

I don't know.

You always say you love me. Show me then.

Would you kill yourself for me?

Kill myself, no. But I'd injure myself badly for you.

Hi, Lucia. Hi.

- No. Please don't... - Let me get out.

- You look even better dressed. - Nice of you to say that.

Usually when a boy meets a girl

he wonders how she looks like undressed.

- I have already... - Forget it.

- What's your name? - Tino Zanetti.

Lucia Pandin.

- Lived in Venice a long time? - Since birth.

- How old are you? - Almost 18. And you?

- Nineteen. - Gee, you're old!

By the way, who was that bearded man?

- Did you see me? - Yes, vaguely.

Not so vaguely. You walked past me twice.

- Did you notice? - Of course. I'm not blind.

Why didn't you say hello?

- He's jealous. - Jealous? Why?

Haven't you got it? He's my lover.

No, you fool! He's my uncle.

Nice man. He looks like an artist.

He's an artist in his field. He's a plumber.

Auntie?

Aunt Elisa?

- Isn't anyone home? - Just you and me.

- Your uncle's out. - Is Auntie out too?

Yes. Charity work. She went to the hospice.

- Where? - The hospice.

She donates money and clothes but forgets the poor near her.

Neglecting this poor old woman who would love to retire.

And enjoy a nice bottle of wine.

- Care for a coffee? - Yes.

- Annetta? - Yes...

Can I ask you a question? Who lives on top of my room?

What do you care?

Rather think of studying, eating and have a good time.

Annetta, please, answer my question.

There's nobody. Heavens above!

It must have been the rats. We have plenty of them.

With all the houses in Venice, how did you end up here?

Think of pretty girls instead.

They'll go crazy for a guy like you.

Find yourself a girl.

And at night, you'll serenade her.

Oh, Colombina, come into my heart...

- Thanks, goodbye. - Wait. Mr Tino...

If you promise not to say a word I'll take you up there.

Come along.

- But you mustn't laugh. - What?

- Speak softly. - Where are we going?

Sooner or later, they would have told you.

Someone lives in the room just above yours. A sick man.

- Who? - Mr Stolz's brother.

He's gone mad, the poor man. Come.

Hasn't left his room for years.

He only sees his brother.

You'll see him through the peep-hole. Don't be afraid.

He's always happy and makes funny faces...

One day he kept going like this with his two fingers.

So I played on "2" in the Venice Lotto.

I won 48.000 lira!

Come.

Look.

- I see nobody. - Just wait.

We'd better go now. Shut the peep-hole.

Did you see it?

When he sticks out his tongue he looks really like a snake.

I wonder what's in his mind.

Did you see how he can role his tongue?

He's a real pig.

Sometimes he lifts up his robe to shock me.

I was a nurse in World War I. I've seen a few.

Imagine if I...

Madam's back.

- It's quite painful, my dear. - What?

Having him here, above our heads.

Despite his silence, we know he exists and thinks.

Maybe he even hates us...

Locked in like an animal...

Can you help me?

Annetta was wrong. She had no permission.

It's my fault. I insisted...

You'd have found out anyhow.

But... what really happened?

I didn't know Uncle had a brother.

His name's Berto. He was a science lecturer.

Suddenly one day, he fell ill.

He lost his mind.

He's a maniac but harmless.

- Is he always up there? - Always.

So he plays piano at night?

No.

But... who is it then?

Don't make me talk. I beg you.

Please. Don't ask questions.

Are you my friend?

- Promise? - Of course, Auntie.

Good.

I'm not a curious person, but those strange noises...

I won't tell Uncle...

The oddest thing is that Berto doesn't speak any more.

He used to talk a lot and sing in beautiful tenor.

Not a word now, not even to his brother.

Your uncle's a saint.

He washes and shaves him every morning.

He cuts his nails and makes his bed.

No one's allowed in there. Only Fabio keeps a key.

- You visit him? - No.

Fabio would be furious if he only heard us talking.

Your uncle's a good man. But he can be quite rude too.

- What are you doing? - Nothing, just closing it.

Excuse me, Tino.

I thought you were... Why would you open it?

You've no reason.

- With or without milk? - A little milk, thank you.

That's enough. Thank you.

See, Tino. We're survivors of a great empire,

heirs of the Habsburgs.

Our forefathers or fathers of Venice, Trieste in my case,

all spoke German as their second language. Goethe's mother tongue.

To think we learn that the Austrians were all ruthless.

What?

On the contrary, they were honest and able administrators.

And strict educators too.

Without Italy's unification we'd still be part of civilised Europe.

- Hans, how are you? - Very good.

- Good sermon! - Thank you.

Who's this boy? I never met him before.

My nephew Tino. He studies art at the academy.

- A cute boy. - Thank you.

Thank you.

Great chocolate.

Churches are deserted.

Only cinemas are full.

That's where people confess today.

- Did you see him? - Who?

My brother... The deranged.

- I'm sorry. - No need to apologise.

Silence is better than lies.

In fact my brother was a noble soul.

A respected science professor, mainly occupied with insects.

He devised an interesting theory.

It says God is to be sought below, not above us.

He meant we were more likely to find evidence of God...

among the insects.

"Why look to the sky when thinking of God?

"Let's look down and study more mysterious forms of life.

"God... is an ant.

"God's a bee. We must look for God amid the insects."

Once he removed the crucifix over his bed...

and replaced it with a photo of a scorpion.

We really got along. I envied him in a way.

I had opted for a somewhat dull career.

Gas engineering.

Whereas he...

He had chosen the absolute, the great mysteries of nature,

an unknown world, full of wonders.

Don't think he, as a scientist

was a slave of his work, his research, not at all.

Instead, he lived... a total commitment.

Especially to love.

He was hardly 20 when he knew a tragic love for...

Well, I won't go into the details.

It was an overwhelming love.

For a girl who turned out to be different from her image.

It left him with an incurable wound.

And that caused...

Yes. That heartache was probably the cause.

But there are also ancestral, familial factors.

Madness is like a ghost creeping randomly into people's heads.

But sometimes it skips a generation.

So, one day, he was grabbed by

an idea, a phobia, a whim...

It's always a whim that drives us to madness.

He got afraid that his face would slip off his head,

slide down his chest to his feet

and vanish on the floor.

- You understand? - Not really.

A spine-chilling obsession.

He took to looking at himself in the mirror more often

to check whether his nose or eyes had in fact descended.

With a ruler, every day,

he'd measure the distance between his nose and hairline.

He was really mad.

But there's reasonable psychological explanation for his mania.

The fear of seeing one's face slip off

is nothing but fear of losing one's identity.

To lose oneself.

Know what that is? A mental asylum.

Could you imagine to leave your brother in there?

Forcible restrained to a bed?

Look!

Poor souls!

Only guilty of rejecting common sense and its rigid rules.

Hello, Minister! Come and keep me company.

Do you know why they're locked up?

Like kids, the insane know the truth.

And people fear the truth.

And since he's in that room hasn't he seen anybody?

Nobody, except me.

He has his toys, his things...

He's quite well equipped.

He has even film cameras, microscopes...

He hates clocks though. He can't stand their ticking.

My brother came here often before he...

became a recluse.

He loved this oil tanker, abandoned here.

He could watch it for hours.

Then suddenly he'd yell a word.

A name... Eufrasio.

I wonder why? Eufrasio.

That's how he yelled. Who knows why?

Until recently his madness was kind of predictable.

He used to film interesting, curious things.

There was order, logic to it.

He was very interested in spiders, arachnids...

and scorpions...

and in dipteras...

which we, as you don't know, normally call flies.

Nature can be so cruel.

Very good observation, and so inventive.

Here is a film shot a few years later.

He had already lost interest in living things.

What? Who included that footage?

I don't know. Not me.

That's enough. Let's eat now.

Tino, the wine please.

- It's your third glass. - No, engineer, the second.

No, the third.

It's your birthday soon. Anything you'd like?

Never mind. I'm grown-up, I don't need presents.

I'll have another sip.

It's enough, dear.

You'll only get red spots in your face.

A little present would be nice.

A diligent student deserves it.

It's a shame today's youth has no more interest in these things.

Here.

You see, Tino... my father gave me these on my 18th birthday.

American duelling pistols from 1830. Look.

Such elegant lines.

Nothing's more perfect than arms and musical instruments.

A pistol in particular, has a unique

a rational, essential beauty.

Certain objects remind us of other things. But a pistol...

will only remind us of a pistol.

- Please don't do that. - Why not?

- Think I could kill you? - No. -Yes.

You believe I could do it.

We know so little of each other.

The chiropodist has arrived.

Accidents happen to all of us.

Every day someone falls into the canal.

But not her. She's as reliable as bad luck.

No need to talk in mysteries.

You're grown up.

- Did you notice that girl? - Yes.

She's one of those.

She comes every Thursday... for the professor.

His mind may be sick but he's still a man.

We have to accept it.

Charity doesn't only mean alms and kind words.

What that poor woman does is anything but a pleasure.

And Uncle is present?

Of course. He stays there the whole time.

He doesn't trust him. And I can see why.

God only knows what could happen.

For him, it must be...

Once we thought we should change.

Your uncle went to find another woman,

and negotiated with her...

But it was in vain. He wouldn't accept any other woman.

We trust her. She comes and goes so discreetly.

Like a nurse.

Nurse, my chin! She's a whore. Why not say it?

I'll get your uncle to disinfect himself. He's too polite.

He walks her out and shakes hands.

This is Vermeer's Sleeping Girl.

Next time I'll go through its virtues and beauty.

Today we'll discover something else.

This is a detail of the painting.

Look very carefully.

This isn't a still life by Cézanne.

Here is an enlargement of it.

Sandokan, come and lift up these apples.

Hold up the Cézanne.

Aren't they similar?

And isn't this a Burri? Just like this one.

What did modern artists invent? Nothing!

- Rascal! - How dare you?

- I'm leaving, sir. - Have a nice day.

What I mean, is what contemporary painters do

has all been done already by the old masters.

But their paintings room so much more in addition.

Get the idea, fools?

Especially you, Francesca. And you, Tino.

Where's that clown?

He plays with toys like a kid. He shoots short films too.

Films about what?

Insect's life for instance, ants, spiders...

My uncle showed me a few.

Aren't you afraid of living with a madman?

I am. But I also feel sorry for him.

Yesterday, I went to see him unbeknown to anyone.

- What was he doing? - Having coffee.

Nothing wrong with that.

He poured it on a plate and lapped it up. Like a dog.

Disgusting.

But let's move on... Nice place, is it famous?

People come from all over the world. Mainly Americans. Artists, writers...

Look. That should be an American writer.

It's the owner counting his money.

- It's pricey. Can you pay? - Of course.

They look like mummies.

Shall we wake them up?

- It won't be easy. - Let me try.

What's going on?

A Swiss came in, screamed, and went out again.

Some people! Venice has become unlivable.

Come in.

- I'm leaving now. - Alright, Annetta.

You'll be home alone.

All alone?

Well, not really. You've got him.

- Who's there? - Me. Lucia.

- I'm so happy to see you. - What're you doing?

No, it's just... They all left. I'm home alone.

- With him. - Him?

- Where're you going? - I don't want to disturb.

I'm all alone. How could you disturb?

- Where are you taking me? - We'll have a drink. Do you want one?

- What brings you here? - Aren't you glad? -Of course.

- Where is he? - In the attic.

- Can I see him? - Do you really want to? -Yes.

- Yes... I do. - Let's go, then.

What a sitting room! Your relatives must be wealthy.

Okay. Little Red Riding Hood meats Big Bad Wolf. Come on.

- This way. - After you.

Watch your step.

Come.

- You're afraid? -No, but... - I'm here. Come along.

Careful. He might hear you.

I can't see him.

- Oh, it's you. - Let me see.

What a fright!

My heart's pounding.

- Yes... -Can you feel it? - I sure can.

And what's that?

Look!

Pretty, isn't it? What's this?

Cute...

You're Lelio, and I'm Rosaura.

Oh Signorina Rosaura, you're so lovely. Give me a kiss.

- What? I'm a decent girl. - And I am a decent boy.

I'll give you my heart and my father's estate when he dies.

Forget it. I'm already engaged to Fabrizio, the servant.

Then let me be your lover.

- Are you hurt? - No.

I've never been in here before.

- Quite pretty. - Yes.

- Who was that girl? - A school friend.

We weren't doing anything bad. We came in here by chance...

There's something new in the sun today.

Or in fact, ancient.

How mean! He may not speak to me like that.

I swear I'll never let him talk to me like that again.

I've asked Jesus to forgive me.

- Let's go, Gino. - Where are you going?

- To a lecture. - Aren't you saying goodbye?

Yes, Auntie.

- Is it serious if you're late? - No, I can even skip it.

Are you ill? Anything I can do?

No. I'm better now.

Sit with this poor patient.

God, I've changed.

My face... my eyes... everything's so grey.

I'm starting to decay.

I'm discovering that years are like an eraser.

A light and invisible eraser.

It slowly goes over our eyes, nose, mouth...

Making everything blurred, confused...

I can feel it going over my face time and time again.

- You're partly to blame too. - Me?

Yes.

You woke up some things I wanted to forget.

You've made me think... recollect...

Those memories hurt.

- I didn't mean to hurt you. - No. You did the right thing.

With your thirst for knowledge...

I know I'd better keep quiet,

and stop wandering at night.

I've apologised to Uncle. Excuse me please, you too.

Open the first drawer and take out the box. Bring it to me.

Here it is. Look. My little one.

- This must be... -Beba. - Your daughter?

Yes. My daughter. From my first marriage.

When I met your uncle I was a widow with a 10-year-old child.

A sweet, gentle and sensitive girl.

She loved music and dance.

I can still see her in her tutu,

a pretty little ballerina.

She loved Fabio. And he loved her...

like his own daughter.

Then Fabio had to leave on business for two months.

At that time his brother came to visit us.

He returned from a long trip.

He was already ill.

He fell for the little girl.

Understandably. He was lonely, unhappy.

Beba was sweet, radiant... full of life.

She covered him with caresses, kisses...

In a very innocent way naturally...

very innocent.

But the professor was no innocent man.

The girl's slender arms around his neck...

her never-ending kisses on his forehead, his cheeks...

on his lips at times...

the presence of her body, her hair, blonde and glittering...

awoke a violent passion in him.

Or even love, if we want to call it that.

The poor girl was upset... shocked.

I saw her cry more than once. He'd told her everything.

He begged her for love as if she was a grown-up...

a woman able to understand.

He'd send her flowers

buy her dresses... bracelets...

bracelets for her slim wrist.

He charmed her.

He fascinated her with his weird stories...

his stories of anguish...

told in low voice while he stared her in the eyes.

Once the child was totally besotted by him,

he grabbed her and kissed her desperately... passionately.

But why didn't you stop him?

You didn't do anything? Speak to him?

I knew nothing. I found out much later.

You said you saw her cry.

But I didn't know why. I swear, Tino.

One day he suddenly became violent... aggressive.

The child was frightened. I was out.

Crying, she ran towards the canal.

When they fished her out she was dead.

And he has locked himself away since...

A prisoner...

A prisoner of his own remorse.

Can you hear him?

He can't rest.

He never sleeps.

He hasn't found peace. Never more.

What means horehound?

- Not during the recitative! - Pardon

Always when I listen to the music.

You always ruin the mood.

It's you who ruins the mood. I'm quiet.

It's enough now. The concert's over.

- So, what was it about? - Never mind.

You can't pull back now.

I've to teach you. Instruct you.

- Well? What was it? - Horehound, I think.

We don't need a dictionary for that.

Horehound is a plant with small white flowers.

Of the labiates family.

Satisfied?

It's amazing how insensitive women are

to everything spiritual.

Your aunt, for instance, who's not so silly after all.

But... she loves holding a book in her hands,

flicking through it, reading here and there...

But it's only empirical reading.

Empirism... It's not true culture.

Sorry, but I'm reading.

Want and example?

When she takes a book she never puts it back in the right place.

Better as if she wouldn't put it back at all.

But no. Tidiness doesn't bother me.

The fact is, the poor woman still hasn't grasped the idea

that some writers find it painful

to be found next to each other.

Recently she took out Ulysses, which is bitter, difficult reading.

So she decided to return it.

Know where she put it back?

Next to Goethe's works.

How can anyone put those two side by side? Joyce and Goethe!

The classical, sublime Goethe!

Joyce can only detest Goethe. And vice versa.

Where does Joyce belong?

Next to the great charlatans of language..

And literature. Next to Rabelais,

Teofilo Folengo, Gadda, Folengo, Celine...

Only a stupid woman

can try to reunite Joyce and Goethe.

Good night, Tino. You'll spend a nice evening. Have a nice time.

Oh well, our little tyrant is ironic?

You don't like being called stupid?

But you are.

You drive me crazy. Stop torturing me!

- I'll kill myself! - You want to kill yourself?

You've been dead for years. You're a corpse.

And I am rotting away next to a corpse.

Like in Middle Ages, when they tied people to a corpse.

Yes, it's a torture. But the corpse is you.

Do you know why I married her?

One day I didn't know what to say to her...

So I told her I loved her.

Poor woman...

She's been a nervous wreck, ever since.

- She told you, didn't she? - No.

The way you answer lets me understand "yes".

It's one of her delusions...

She frees herself from guilt by blaming others.

Like my poor brother, who's innocent like a child.

I must be frank with you. You know too much now.

You see... young Beba...

my wife's child from her first marriage

was a nice child, without any malice.

She was attached to me, like to a real father.

Suddenly, Elise...

was overcome by unfounded jealousy towards her.

She was jealous of our hugs, our caresses...

I could tell from the suspicious way she looked at us.

Yes...

Elisa came to hate little Beba.

- She caused her death. - What are you saying?

Yes...

Yes, Beba fell ill...

A pulmonary bronchitis. Nothing serious,

if she'd been treated properly and if she'd taken right medication.

But Elisa neglected all that.

She even forgot the injections.

And so...

Beba got worse.

We couldn't save her.

But what you say is terrible. I don't believe you. How a mother...

Beba died because of Elisa.

And she lies there... in our family vault.

Where I wanted her buried.

And I hope to join her soon.

What do you believe?

I don't know. But my uncle lied, or my aunt. One of them.

Listen Tino. You'll never know the truth.

- Besides, who cares? - You're right.

But I can't just ignore this story.

Really! The cause of death won't be written on the grave.

There is something amiss. My aunt's still very young.

When was Beba born? When did she die?

Let's have a look.

It must be over there.

Strange...

There's no Beba.

It's a nickname. Means doll in Serbian. Didn't you know?

No, I didn't know.

Who is that? Barbara Stolz, 1920 -1968.

Impossible. She died at 48.

She's not here. What's that empty stone?

Do you know where the Gas Company is?

Of course. I'm from Venice. Third bridge to the left.

You scared all my fishes away, idiot!

- We don't have a Mr Stolz. - My uncle. He works here.

Not to my knowledge. Augusto, do you know a Mr Stolz?

Stolz? I don't remember him.

I've never heard the name. No, never.

Oh yes, of course! Engineer Stolz! Ah yes!

A great man... quite handsome too.

I thought he was dead. He worked here years ago.

Maybe 12, or 15 years ago. You see, he isn't here.

- Happy birthday, Master Tino. - Thank you.

Blow.

This is my present, Vermouth.

- This is from me. - Thank you.

With my best wishes. Buy what you like.

- Thank you, everyone. You shouldn't have.

Mind you, presents also please the donor.

This morning I went to see your office.

Well done, Tino.

- What were you talking about? - Nothing.

Tino and I are going out together tonight.

So much studying calls for a break.

But it's so cold.

It's not cold. Besides, we'll be in a heated Café.

Perhaps Tino prefers...

Who decides? You or him?

Don't you want to let him make up his own mind?

He's old enough.

Careful.

What are you doing?

Give it to me.

An additional toast to your birthday.

A plum liqueur, an excellent stimulant.

It warms. Outside it's cold.

Frankly, it's quite cold inside too.

It's so boring this room.

Well... You said this morning, at noon?

I bet that dreadful gas building hasn't changed much.

Dark, grey...

a grey like muddy water.

But inside, it's a beehive.

You have no idea of its many stairs,

corridors, offices, like a rabbit burrow.

Is the caretaker Augusto still there? Elderly, thin, with a red nose.

There is an old man, yes.

You won't believe it, but I feel that certain words such as...

gas, yes, gas seem ridiculous.

Simple words are already funny, such as "engineer"

or even better... "surveyor".

"Expert"...

But monosyllables like "gas"... are really truncated words.

Foot, foot, foot, footer...

Do you hear the sound? "Foot, foot, foot"!

Like suffered, wounded, died, loved, died...

Died, died! Irresistible!

One of these days...

I'll show you my collection of dictionaries...

22 of them.

Excuse me. If I had known...

No, I beg you. Don't justify yourself.

No excuses or justifications. Not at all.

Remember Homer's words instead...

"Be calm, my heart. You've suffered far worse."

- Why are you staring at me? - No reason.

- Are you afraid of me? - No.

You don't need to fear me.

I'm only fond of you.

Let's go, have a talk in the café.

That's the girl!

Is it good?

- Yes. - I'm glad to hear.

I also love Cannoli.

Those little logs, how about them?

- I really shouldn't, sir. - Come on...

- Is it good? - It's good.

Give it to me, then.

Come.

I'm not crazy about sweets but I love the game.

And that Daniela, she's so sweet and friendly...

My dear Fabio...

Always so handsome.

Tino, in front of you sits

a real Duke.

This must be your nephew.

I've heard...

My nephew, yes.

He wanted to visit me at work today...

At the gas company.

How incredibly smart!

What can I say?

Blessed youth. Blessed innocence...

Sorry, forgive me.

The Duke and I are very old friends.

His presence helps me speak.

The fact is I don't have a work.

I haven't worked for 15 years.

So I live on the capital... my wife's capital.

Yes.

What a tattle. This isn't my business.

Excuse me please.

Don't you move.

I can't explain everything. It would take years.

Tell me, why should I work?

Why? For whom?

I don't have a reason, a child...

Do you find me indecent?

I'll be right back.

I won't forgive him.

But don't think badly of him.

Someone who does what he did...

for his poor brother...

Buried alive... A life in misery.

- Is there a train tonight? - At 1:00. After roulette which starts at 23:00.

It's 22:45. You'd better hurry up.

It's drizzling.

- I can't guess your age, son. - Nineteen.

Nineteen! No occultism, please Fabio.

Come on. Let's go, Tino.

- Hurry up. It's late. - Ah, Fabio!

- Where're we going? - To Venice. The Venice you don't know.

I'm so glad to see you.

- Hello, my doll! - Who is this young man?

This is my nephew. Come on in.

Sir, you can't enter without a tie. That's better.

- A little cognac? - Yes. Give me the bottle.

Four, black, even.

- You've got the money? - That from my aunt.

If you have it, get it out of your pocket. Quick!

Here...

Orphans. 10 on orphans.

Six... six and nine, split.

Christ!

- Aren't you playing? - Yes, I am.

Nineteen, red and odd.

- You bring bad luck. - Nineteen...

- Is that you? - Yes.

You won and you say I did?

The 19 here. Bravo. Sit down.

Good.

No! I'll take this.

This allows me to go on.

Shut up or I'll eat you. You know that I eat children?

They must have told you.

Let's play on odd numbers. 1, 3, 5, 7, 9...

1, please. 3, 5, 7, 9...

E, U, A, I, O. Eufrasio!

You know why my brother said that word?

Because it contains all the five vowels. E, U, A, I, O.

Seventeen, nineteen, twenty-one...

Twenty, black, even.

The train is leaving.

Come. Lets go.

- May I pay later? -Yes. - Let me touch your bum.

Go ahead, make the bat! Do the bat! Fly, fly!

And now we'll wait for the casino survivors.

Your uncle gambles away his last money with them.

- We should go home, Uncle. - Yes, of course. Home...

Let's go home.

Duke, I'm taking the boy home.

Wait here. I'll be right back.

- Let's go. - I'll go alone.

Listen to that... Okay, go ahead.

Just go alone.

But don't fall into a canal.

No. I'll wait here.

Are you crazy?

I'm going... I'm staying... I give the orders here.

I command you to go. Off with you!

You're not well. Let's go home.

Don't touch me, fool.

Don't look like a seminarian.

Go home. Get lost!

Good night.

They're coming.

I have a royal flush!

- Duke, I have a royal flush! - Bravo!

What are you doing here?

Nothing.

You've paid a visit to the forbidden room, right?

May I offer you something?

A chocolate?

They are good.

They are delicious.

Listen. Listen. Listen to the cicadas!

It's like a violin in...

In my brain. Just listen...

Can you hear the bow, how it...

how it sweeps and screeches...

cutting...

Like a circular saw. A circular saw.

What's up? Do I scare you?

I don't want to scare you.

You're afraid of your poor...

Your poor uncle,

half wise, half insane...

Half engineer and half professor...

Like two sides... of a mirror...

A light side... and dark side.

Tino, aren't we...?

Aren't we all like that? Are you scared?

You're really scared.

You think of poor Beba...

You think I killed her. You see me as a...

You see me as a murderer.

- You haven't killed anyone. - Why? -Beba isn't dead.

Isn't she? Where is she then?

Perhaps she's sick. She might be in...

a clinic.

- Or... - Or?

- Or she's hiding in here. - That's right.

You found it out.

Why couldn't she be right here?

And you're here looking for her. Right?

Of course.

But she's not here. She's not in this room.

But... wait...

Wait... Maybe she's in another room.

Beba!

She can't hear. Let's try louder.

Call her, Tino.

- I'm leaving. - No, no!

No... You can't leave now.

Now...

This is the time. Do you understand?

Consumatum est.

Come here.

Can you hear her? She's coming up.

She's here.

Come closer. Don't be afraid.

Come closer.

You shouldn't have... You shouldn't have told him.

Your tutu, Beba...

And your dancing shoes.

- I can't wear them any more. - Why not?

They don't fit any more. I'm grown up now.

I beg you, try them.

You know it's impossible, Fabio!

It's absurd... totally absurd.

Beba, then it is...

I loved her when she was a child...

when she was innocent. Because youth is innocent.

I wanted to make her stay young for ever.

But everything decays, gets spoiled.

She grew up...

changed...

and killed my little girl.

The little girl I loved.

Should I send a message to Mr Sattin?

No, I will write to him. I guess he understood I'm not a painter.

Too bad. Painters earn a good living.

The gifted ones, yes. A blank canvas is 3000 lire.

My paintings aren't even worth that.

- Where are you going? - Back home.

- Bye. Write to me. - What's your address?

- What? - Your address?