All language subtitles for Le clair de terre (Guy Gilles, 1970) SUBS ENG & FR

Memory

EARTH LIGHT

Memory of Algiers

Photography - Director: Guy Gilles

The Marais district I'm honored
to show you today

suffered through the deepest
and most unfortunate

tendencies of the human character:

fickleness, frivolity,

injustice, obsession for fashion,

faculty of getting bored

which makes us be fond
of a face, a dish, a place one day

and forget them the next day.

So, majestic and celebrated
when it was created,

the Marais district
also left us weary.

Deserted, neglected,
it was also outdated.

It became a poor area and it was only

a lost memory of its past treasures.

It was on its way to die...
It was dying.

We just saved it from
the pickaxes of housewreckers.

These old stones seem to say
something: "Look at us,

we are the survivors
from an ancient time.

If we are tired
and sometimes worn out too,

the reason's we've lived
so many hours, so many days,

so many weeks... months...
years... centuries.

And because we support
on our fragile shoulders

the weight of time."

A thousand kisses from Bizerte

Tunis and its lake

Restored, renovated,

these charming palaces have got
the splendor of their youth back.

If theses steps could speak,

if the pavement of this yard,
this street could speak,

they'd say:

"The little feet of child Mozart
walked on us."

Of course, slyly, step by step,

there are neon lights everywhere.

One by one, Parisian cafés disappear.

Formica replaces marble
or wood on bar counters,

covers tables and chairs.

Laughing... Crying...
Time goes by anyway.

Rue Saint-Antoine:
the genuine Royal Street,

all of our kings crossed it.

It was also the place for the people's
rage, blood and rebellion.

You can see far away,
in the middle of Place de la Bastille,

on top of the 238 steps column,

(admission from 10 am to 4 pm,
except Tuesday)

the Spirit of Liberty,

standing on the toes of one foot,

seems to fly away
over the roofs of Paris.

Rue des Rosiers.

Roses have withered long time ago,

and don't exist anymore.

This typical street is the center
of a typical Jewish district

with shops of traditional food.

Sometimes... as a little fleeting figure,

comes someone who looks like
a character out of Chagall's paintings.

An old Jewish man, with coat

and long curly hair behind the ears,

as the tradition says.

For a few years, a large community

came from North Africa,

settled in this area.

Mme de Sévigné was born
in number 1 of that place.

And Victor Hugo lived at number 6.

From his window he was able
to watch autumn leaves

dancing in the wind in a delicate
and continual ballet.

Ladies and gentlemen,

unfortunately, our short visit
is finished.

I thank you for your attention.

- So, you must leave?
- Yes.

- Do you walk out on us?
- No.

Leaving is best for me.

I can't live in Paris anymore.

Where are you going?

In fact, we've known each other
for a long time

but we know nothing
about each other.

We've never really spoken together.

We've never had
a real conversation together.

You never speak.

I've always found
Pierre was a mysterious guy.

Not a true Parisian,
not a true "pied-noir".

That's about it.

- Not a true anything.
- Tell us more.

It's time!

- Will you explain it to me later?
- I'm leaving tomorrow.

- It'll be a long time before we meet again.
- So, see you later?

See you one day.

I've been lying for the past 4 years.

Lying to my father and to all of you.

For example, this night work isn't real.

I never worked.

Neither by day nor by night.

What did you do?

Lots of things...
Or not so much.

You never told me anything.

All of you are good kids.

I didn't want to take you
away from the right track.

The right track...

Does your father know you're leaving?

- What are you doing this evening?
- Nothing.

- Will you want to go out?
- Yes.

We're going to celebrate
my last night in Paris.

Meet me at my home at nine.

- Number 15?
- 15... first floor... right door.

Take the time

The time to stop

Take only the time

The time to breathe

Simply take the time

To look at the flowers

Just one flower

And to listen to the wind

And to listen to life

I want 3 waves on each side.

Here and there.

A wave here... A wave here...
A wave there...

And the same here.

Maybe it's useless
since this year is so rainy.

It'll possibly be wrecked
when I go out,

but that's the way I want it.

Do you understand?

I'm the Little Red Riding Hood.

Not too ridiculous?

I'm up-to-date...

To date, yes!

When we're young...
The time to grow up

Because we think we can

And when we're old
The time to suffer

Because without suffering
We can get nothing

The time to look for

Before discovering
And before being there

The time...

I'll go to your Dad's, on Sunday.

Could you tell him my brother Patrick
won't go for his lesson?

He's burning and coughing.
I think he's got the flu.

- OK, I'll tell him.
- Bye.

He'll come Saturday
if he's getting better.

Patrick won't come for his lesson,
he's burning and coughing,

he's certainly got the flu.

- Did you see his mother?
- No, his brother.

- Why did he not come?
- I met him downstairs.

They could have warned me in advance.

How could they?

They couldn't know
he would get the flu.

What's happening today?
Young Marco is 5 minutes late.

Is the cold freezing them or what?

Look at that weather. It's raining,
it's sunny, it's raining...

Pierrot, there are
clean shirts and socks.

I'm leaving soon, at 5 pm.

After all, I'll stay
and sleep there.

The dance will finish
at 3 or 4 am,

I won't kill myself
driving in a deep cold.

You know, Manega's daughter...

Her father owned the pharmacy
close to Place de Chartres.

She came to see me
for her 6-year-old son, Richard.

She wants me to give him
lessons at home

because the poor boy's weak.
He's thin!

They bought a splendid apartment,
Boulevard Beaumarchais.

Her husband got a good job,
he's a pharmacist too.

I can cook you something to eat
if you're hungry.

If your poor mother was here,

we wouldn't be standing here
like unhappy guys.

These old stones seem to say
something: "Look at us,

we are the survivors
from an ancient time.

If we are tired,

the reason is we've lived
so many years and centuries.

Because we support on our fragile
shoulders the weight of time."

Laughing... Crying...
Time goes by anyway.

Hello sweetie.
How are you?

I'm OK. It's hot...

Ah, I was thinking of you.

I got something for you.

But right now, I can't give you much.

Life's hard,
everything's expensive.

Making ends meet, taxes...
It's crazy!

So, you're leaving?

Yes.

Where?

You sly little fox!

Without you, Paris will be
an empty place.

You'll forget me quickly...
Like the others.

Surely not, my dear.

Not all of them!

Not all of them!

Yes.

Yes.

Wait... 1 second.

Absolutely.

Yes, of course.

OK, I'm waiting for your film.

See you soon, my dear friend.

Hey, old chap,
you come at the wrong time.

Since yesterday, it's a real disaster.

My brother needs some help.

I received my tax return.

You know I have workers at home.
It costs a lot.

And at last, I dropped by my bank

and my account is overdrawn
by over 5 million.

Giving you what you want, forces me
to reduce my budget for Christmas gifts.

You do understand, I can't do that.

What a sad story!

Don't worry, I'll get by.

Be sure I'm so sorry, buddy...

Here are 500 francs, it'll help you
for some days.

I'm glad you're leaving.

You were wasting your time,
I always told you you were worth more.

Write something!

The time we take, to take the metro

Waiting for something or a jackpot

Working to make a living

Not a job you want

The time of a kiss,
if we have time

The time to have a good time

Then some time to rest

To drink and to sleep

A day has gone by

In this pain

Which takes you

With this crazy pace

If there's only

Only one thing which takes you

Then, do it

Take the time

The time to stop

Take only the time

The time to breathe

Simply take the time

To look at flowers

Simply...

Hey Dude, the bar owner downstairs,
he's a "pied-noir"?

He said: "Pierrot lives
back in the yard, left door."

Yes. There's some people next door.

- Yes, and the concierge...
- Your father speaks like that too.

Yes, he was born there.

It's a fishing village.

My mother was buried there.

You, my son, you're a renegade.
You have a Parisian accent now.

I'm the man from nowhere.

Do you want a little souvenir?

Anything?

Anything.

Don't you want it anymore?

I'm leaving.

- Where do they come from?
- Everywhere.

I came upon them.

Is it a collection?

No. I liked to look at them.

Well, if you want,
it's a collection.

He doesn't look like who he is.

Yes but... that's who he is.

So, let's go?

No, I can see...
It's dead tonight.

The district's changing,
it's not like before.

What fun we had.

- I like traveling so much.
- Oh yes!

Yes, very much.

I go to Marseilles every chance I get.

Your family's there?

I have no family.

They come here every night.

- Every night?
- Yes.

Do you enjoy music?

What do they do for a living?

They came to this district
when they were 17 or 18.

I even knew a 15-year-old boy

who came from Lyon, one night.

At first, they're happy.
They have fun.

Life's easy.

Sometimes broke, sometimes
with a lot of money.

Then, like a virtuoso pianist,
you have to train every day

to get some dexterity
in order to hide what is done.

...from the youth, be passionate
about mysterious, marvelous things.

How are you, Pierre?

I'm OK, and you?

I'm married now.

My wife's a hair-stylist.

My parents-in-law own
a hairdressing salon, rue Caumartin,

I work with them, they leave me in peace.

I'm going to buy an apartment
in the 18th district.

Carpet, bathroom, phone, high quality.

We're expecting a baby.

Don't you come here any more?

No, no time. I just happened
to come tonight.

A stranger!

- Still here?
- Still here.

Some unknown persons...
They're saved.

They get out of line,
they get out of the district.

The others are some victims.

They try to last,
to seduce a little more.

When it really ends, they drink.
Some of them take drugs.

When they have enough money
to get a hotel room,

they sleep in the daytime
and live at night.

Then one night...

when they completely lose hope,

they sink.

I need scarfs...

Another scarf...

I get one here...

And you, Pierre?

I was here by accident.

I stayed a little time.

I saw a few things,
I met some people.

That's it!

Now I must leave Paris.

I travelled around the world,

but the place I like the most
is Baicon-les-Bruyères. "Vive la France!"

She's beautiful, she's cute

It's a nice person

From the street we can see her

Standing behind her counter

She's always smiling

She looks like a wax woman

With her tidy hair in a bun

The nice cashier of the Grand Café

Well, not necessary to say that
insurances are useful.

Then, I'll surely get my money back
so I can have a new flat.

It's very simple.

Well, you know, we don't care,
we're 50 years old. So...

Look!

That's it!

So? Nice indeed?

Not bad.

She's beautiful, she's cute

It's a nice person

She's always smiling

She looks like a wax woman

Oh no! Enough!

2 seconds... Break!

I keep going delivering bread.

- What a charming guy!
- No, no, no...

I'm not asking you
if I'm a charming man.

I'm going to deliver my bread
to the café over there.

What a Rimbaud character.

What?

- What do you say?
- He's the drunk baker's boy.

No! No, no...

Keep on singing, I'm off.

May I see you... like that...
you're very sweet...

Hey?

Hey?

It rings every 15 minutes here.

So we can't forget time passes by.

Oh Pierre, it was awful.

The doctor said:
"Some months... Within one year."

I knew we were going
to separate quickly.

We were waiting for it to happen.

There's some difference between
thinking about the one you love dying

and seeing him dead.

Did he know it?

Yes, he did know.

And each day, the disease
was spreading more and more.

I had to work till the end,
to give some piano lessons.

Commit myself to something.

That's it!

I became a piano teacher in Douville.

The provinces, 100 km from Paris.

Unbelievable!

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

I don't want to move.

I think you're wrong.

He stayed quiet till the end.

Of course, with sometimes
some moments of despair.

One day, he cried in my arms.

I found some little notes
that he wrote.

Then he died.

Fortunately he had the time
to continue working.

But I know his music's beautiful.
I'll have it played.

I always had confidence.

Not only in him...

But in his work too.

I'm talking too much of me.

- And you, Pierre?
- I, you know, not much.

What will you do?

At the moment, leaving.

I've already said it, I believe
in travels, in departures

which let us forgive and forget.

And then, we'll see.

And your father?

My father?

Is he kind?

We're too different.

Where do you go?

Tunisia.

Tunisia!

Back to your roots?

No!

We'll go to the beach...
And the sun...

- Here's Pierre!
- Hi.

I'm so glad to meet you.

Maria talked so much to me
about you and your father.

Would you sleep here?

Oh, the house is so big
and we're all alone.

OK.

You shouldn't let Maria be lonely.

You must come and visit her.

Douville's not on the other side
of the world.

For a month, every day,
I wanted to come.

It's stupid. Time goes by.

Nothing changed here for 100 years.

It's a very nice house.

Mme de Lettre is very kind.

I was very lucky to meet her.

Particularly for the money.

Vermeer... "The Little Street"...

"Die kleine Strauss".

The tiny shirt painted yellow.

- You didn't forget Vermeer.
- No, I didn't.

I always like painting so much.

Rather, I like it again.

After he died, there was
some terrible moments.

I thought I can't like
anything anymore.

That I won't ever like
anything anymore.

I wasn't able to read books any more.

Music was making me want to die.

Painting...

suddenly got back.

I wanted it badly, so it's...

it was as if being hungry.

So much.

There was the Bonnard exhibition
so I didn't hesitate.

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

I found myself in Paris
like a stranger.

I looked for a hotel,

as we do when we come
to a city for the first time.

I woke up early in the morning

and at 9 am, I went
through the Tuileries.

The ponds were frozen.

There were some kids playing.

It was so joyful.

And after, I visited
the Bonnard exhibition.

I was truly happy.

There was a painting...
"Méditerranée"...

All blue,

all white.

It's impossible to explain,

it made me smile.

When I was outside, I was
feeling better. Really better.

And... I didn't feel guilty
towards Jean.

Fist of all, because we wouldn't
ever stop suffering.

It looks like a betrayal
to stop suffering.

It's almost like forgetting.

But then, it was a real joy.
With no regrets.

And I went back that evening.

Pierre, let's never ever
speak about it.

Do you wanna speak about what,
mademoiselle?

You'll write to me?

I'll write to you, sir,
you in your distant desert.

So, I'm off.

I don't like departing trains.

Is it the first time
you go over there?

Not quite.

My father and my mother were both born
in Algiers and I was born in Tunis.

Tunis, me too!

- You don't look like it.
- But I do.

- When did you leave?
- Oh, when I was young.

When my mother died.

My mother's dead too.

My father's still there,
with my sister and my little brother.

So, during the summer,
I go to visit them.

In Tunis, on each street corner,
there's something for me.

Why did you think to go there?

I wanted to leave anyway.

To Tunisia or anywhere else.

To change my life.

Above all, being far from Paris.

So, why not Tunisia.

I heard so much about it
at home.

To see.

All my family left.
All our friends. It's sad.

Some of them to Marseilles,
others to Nice, to Lyon.

A cousin to Lille.

I don't know if you can understand
what feelings you may have

when you were born in Tunis
and you die in northern France.

Anyway...

It's weird to disembark at Tunis
and to sleep in a hotel.

I'm a privileged person,
I sleep at home.

- Where do you live?
- Rue des Lilas.

Ah, rue des Lilas!
We're neighbours.

Rue des Lilas faces
the Belvédère Park.

And we lived rue Rochembault,
close to the Vins Padovani shop.

The Vins Padovani shop!

A wooden bridge allowed us
to go to the beach.

One day it broke.

And all the people on it
ended upon the sand.

Such screams!

We were scared but nobody
was injured. Very lucky!

I was young but I remember it well.

Well, I won't start to speak
about Tunis

otherwise we could still
be here tomorrow.

Got no accent, no?

It fades...
Sometimes it comes again.

In Paris, I don't even say
I'm a native of Tunis.

I prefer not to speak about it.

I'll make a fresh start, that's it.

If one says: "You have brown hair,
you have an accent..."

I answer "Yes, I'm of Italian origin".

Of course, I can't change my ID.

"Place of birth, Tunis"
will always be written.

The hat maker.

Sun.

An old torn thing.

There are some new one downstairs,
made in Alfa.

It's old-fashioned.

It doesn't exist now.

Algiers...
Memory of Algiers.

You look just like your mother.

Same eyes, same smile, same hair.

Amazing!

What do you wanna drink?
Coffee? Lemon juice?

I don't have much to offer,
my house's empty.

I'm not thirsty...
A bit of lemon juice please.

We almost never meet.

If you came last Saturday,
you wouldn't have found me.

I don't stay in Tunis
in the summer, it's too hot.

A bit of lemon is good,
it's thirst-quenching.

I keep on ironing,
I have to take all these clothes.

How old are you, Pierre?

21.

- Do you remember Tunis?
- No, not at all.

Of course, you were too young.

I was 6.

That's where you played.

And that's where I met your mother.

I remember a strange place...
circle-shaped.

We got up with access ramps.

A well-known restaurant, or a store.

I don't know...
with a Spanish name.

A restaurant?

Saint... something like...

It's an Italian name.
San Remo.

It was the first self-service
restaurant in Tunis.

There were a lot of people.

On Sunday we used to stand in line
up to the Avenue de France.

It's strange you remember that,
among all other things.

The other memories
aren't real memories.

I found them on pictures.

I was in my mother arms,
in front of the stairs of a school.

My father told me, it was
in front of the Carnot College.

We called your mother
"the little Madam Brumeu".

She was nice... sweet...
and cheerful.

The gala days at the Opera,

I saw her going outside my place
with her cello.

It was bigger than she.

Sometimes your father went with her,
so he was the one who took the cello.

They were a lovely couple.

I remember their joy
when you were born.

Here's the high school, Pierre.

Your father and your Uncle Roger,
the doctor, studied here.

And there's the photographer.

A probability it was the one

which took this picture of you
in your mother arms.

Not the photographer, the camera.

They pass it from one generation
to the next.

- Hello.
- Hi.

- I shoot you together?
- Yes, so we'll have a souvenir photo.

I remember the day your mother died.

Everybody around was talking about it.

You know, it's provincial style here.

I also remember the sadness
of your father...

Afterwards.

It has never ended.

Never?

As they say in this country,

we're just passing through here below.

There was a little song...

I don't remember very well...

One your mother liked.

Down here, all lilacs are dying

But the couple remains

For ever

It's a story of a couple.

At the beginning, they're young,
they love each other.

But time's passing by.

Everything's changing around.

They... are changing...

Love becomes...
friendship, tenderness,

and they're coming closer each day.

My father hums it sometimes.

That's the classroom where I came
each day for 10 years.

Brumeu, Pierre...

First question.

What are the things
you dream about most?

In order of preference.

Harmony.

Leaving.

Not to be sad.

Good!

Little recipe not to be sad.

You must accept life all the time.

Thinking of sweetness, of tenderness...

Trying to understand.

Forgiving, remembering.

Coming and going, watching...

- Listening.
- Meeting.

Sea, mountains...

Forests, flowers, silence.

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

One day your mother told me:

"I don't understand those women
afraid of aging."

"I'd like to be 100."

You know, Pierre,
I'm not a native.

I'm a "Frangaoui" as they said.

It means a French woman, from France.

I was born in Limoges.

It's far away... over there.

The city of porcelain.

I know it... My father told me
everything about you.

You see, everything's disparate.

Times, influences...

A bit of everything.

It makes Moorish Rococo.

Hello... hello..
We're going up to Mrs Belufa's.

- It's Mrs Brumeu's son.
- The little one?

Yes. He grew up.

- He looks like his mother.
- Yes, very much.

The poor woman who's dead.

She was young.

She was so kind.

- And your father?
- He's OK.

- In France?
- Yes, in Paris.

We're old now.

Do you like it?

It's called "khobz el bey".

- Almond paste.
- Sweet.

Yes.

I'm leaving tomorrow.

- Are you leaving Tunisia?
- No, just Tunis.

You should go to the south
before it's hot.

I'm sure you'll like it.

Come and see me at the seashore
if you feel like it.

OK?

I have a lovely house
but I live alone there.

- How will you leave?
- In any way.

- Do you like it?
- Yes, very much. There's 2 beds.

Pierre Brumeu... 22 years old...
in business... travel... keeps on.

Moorish... Rococo.

- Hi.
- Hello.

- Are you a tourist?
- Yes.

- Do you like it?
- Yes.

Are you a Parisian?

- Yes.
- Paris, 10th district?

- No. 4th.

Will you visit La Goulette,
Sid Bou Saïd?

Yes.

We are Mr Hamadi's neighbors.

- Well, bye.
- Goodbye.

Good morning!

- Do you go for a walk?
- Yes.

We go too.

We're students.

- I study at Carnot College.
- And I, at Sadiki College.

- What's your name?
- Pierre.

- And you?
- Pierre?

- ... Abdelatif.
- And I, Abdelatif.

- Both of you!
- Yes, both. Abdelatif.

Squared!

- Do you live here?
- No.

We came on vacation to my uncle's.

During the day we go out
and visit Nabeul,

to buy souvenirs.

And tomorrow we'll go back to Tunis.

- I'm going to Nabeul too.
- OK, let's go.

Come on... Let's go!

- All ready!
- Let's go!

We're going to the movies this evening.
Would you like to come with us, Pierre?

What's on?

Jean Gabin...
"Le Jardinier d'Argenteuil".

Pierre, what does it mean "Argenteuil"?

Argenteuil, it's a little town
close to Paris.

I am...

settled...

room...

pure...

style...

Rococo...

Moorish.

Stop.

Don't you have your knitwear?

My knitwear?

You're not the young woman who was knitting
at the Café de Paris in Tunis?

- You saw me?
- Yes.

One day, at 2 pm.

- Do you like Gabin?
- I like the movies.

Don't be afraid.

If life pushes us apart...

Memory of the time
when we knew each other,

will go on.

Don't be afraid.

If life takes us apart...

Memory of the time
when we knew each other, will go on.

A song! A song!

Memory of the time...

If life takes us apart...

will go on...

Open yours arms,
I'll be snuggling with you

I'd like to be fondled

Open your arms,
so that miracle I dreamed

will happen

Some new words

I'd like to create words

Some words

Never said before

Happy words, tender and resonant

Some new words

To feel like singing

The most beautiful love of my life

Your eyes so blue,
your eyes so nice

Your smoldering hands

Your affectionate hands

Your bright smile
which fascinates me

Some new words

I'm searching for
but the dawn's coming

And leaning over
your big closed eyes

I'm saying...

I'm happy you came.

Promises should always be kept.

You get up early!

For 20 years, I'm up
every morning at 5 am.

I like morning.

Sunrises in this country
are so magnificent.

The air is pure in the morning.

And the sky azure

She said: "I don't want!"

Then she gave herself.

Under the roofs of Paris

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

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

Everybody liked us.

What's more, everything from France
was sacred for them.

If you ever listened to our friends...

"Mr and Mrs Larrivière,
they're nice people."

"They're kind, elegant,"

"with their lovely Parisian accent."

They were oblivious...
very oblivious.

Once, a long time ago,
I said to my friends:

"But you'll have to leave...
I'm sure you will leave."

"Of course, everything will change."

They thought I was insane,
they laughed.

Free man, you'll always
cherish the sea!

Charles Baudelaire,
Les Fleurs du mal.

It's a bit of my teacher side.

Before everything, I drink
my coffee in front of the sea.

You're my first guest for so long!

My dear Gilbert passed away
5 years ago.

We came here in 1936.

At the start of our careers...
we were both school teachers.

We were tempted by a job
in the sun, close to the sea.

We thought we'll stay
2 or 3 years.

I'm still here.

We had a crazy love
for this country.

We visited it everywhere,
from top to bottom,

with an old car.

Later... especially from 1958...

there were hard times.

All the French people went away,
it was a bit sad.

For me, there was no question
about it.

Don't you ever get bored?

No time for it.

I take care of the house
and the garden.

I read many books.

Some students...

And then... some strolls.

And in a village like this,
time stops.

I can stay for hours like that,
facing the sea.

Forgetting everything else.

The Oualids come and visit me
each Thursday.

They're an old retired couple.

They've never wanted to leave.

Paul and Mireille.

They live over there,
behind the lighthouse.

The hardest thing is to see
our friends go away.

Gilbert...

...and all the others.

Friends of the good old days.

We went to the countryside...

We swam...

We had lunch by the waterside.

Sometimes, in summertime...
we left.

My head's full of memories,
that's why I never get bored.

Every couple of years,
we went back to France.

Gilbert took the waters
in Aix-les-Bains.

The Lake of Bourget, it's splendid.

He had some lungs weakness.

I feel well in this country.

We store up so much useless junk!

We become attached to objects,
it's stupid!

I've owned this box for 35 years.

It's from Limoges.

Gifts for the end of the school year.

Bookends, inkpots, art objets...

This one was a gift of my colleagues

when Gilbert was appointed
school director.

It's a wonderful object.

Children's drawings are always
very beautiful.

Always... Everything!

I wish I had enough room
to display all of them.

I like kids very much.

Gilbert liked them too.

Sometimes I miss them.

I would want to come in...
one more time.

They would be waiting for me...
for a long time now.

We would talk... We would eat...

We would go to bed...

By comings and goings, days go by,

till I find the Garcia family again.

Mister!

Is Mr Garcia here?

- My father?
- No, Maurice.

He's gone to Tunis.

- My sister Gaby's here.
- Could you call her?

Gaby?

- Miss, I'm a friend of Maurice.
- Sir.

- From Paris?
- Yes.

From the university?

No, we met on the boat.

Oh yes, but Maurice's not at home.

He's gone to Tunis and he'll come
back tomorrow morning.

Come tomorrow and eat with us,
Maurice'll be glad to see you again.

OK!

Do you know Paris?

Who? Me? No.

Would you like to go
or live over there?

Live there... This guy wants
me dead, you're joking!

You take the sun away from me
and I don't exist anymore.

Oh no, but I'd like
to go there anyway.

Just to take the same photo

my aunt took at the time
of the Exposition Universelle of 1900.

Do you remember the picture
that hung on the chimney?

She wore a big hat
with a rose on the front.

Terrible!

And my uncle, he'd grown
a little goatee.

And cousin Fifi was there too!

It was the first time
we didn't see her eyes

because she looked down
to hide that she was cross-eyed.

- Take some fruits, Pierre.
- No thanks.

And some cake?
Come on!

Feel free, it's home cooking.

- So, do you like our sorbets?
- Very much.

We're famous here, no?

The Garcia family, kings of sorbets.

They came from all around Tunisia
to eat our sorbets.

We're the Last of the Mohicans.

It's a great pleasure
you came here Pierre..

Yes, it's true.

I have to say that we're
very sociable here in Tunisia.

We really like having friends over,
seeing them.

Yes, but be careful,

when we'll come to Paris,
we'll pay a little visit to you.

After all, only mountains never meet.

- Isn't it true?
- That's a fact.

Maurice, please, could you sing
something for Mr Pierre?

Maurice's a great singer!

He was 15 when he won
the talent quest of la Pointe d'Escade.

We applauded you for 15 minutes.

So, you see, he starts pussyfooting,

always need persuading.

Come on!

Claude, go and take your guitar!

Come on! Hurry up.
Places, please!

The song, well...

If God is willing!
'Cause the weather's changeable.

Come on, come on! Claude, Momo!

"Le garçon de café" (The Waiter),
a song with 3 verses.

Waiter! Ham, pâté and coffee.

Waiter! Lemon juice, a half pint.

Called

Pushed

Pressure on me

I'm in a hurry

To come

To serve

Their Highness

The Countesses

Waiter! An ice cube, a cup of tea
with milk, bread with butter.

Waiter! Ham, pâté and coffee.

Of sighs

Smiles

Tips

Some tips

Automatically

I'm calculating

Metallic

My money

Waiter, hurry up! Bread with butter.

Waiter, it's too long!
A coffee, the bill.

In my bed

Late at night

I'm going to sleep

A record

Even in dreams

I'm mopping up myself

And I'm listening

For a long time

Waiter! Ham, pâté and coffee.

Waiter! An ice cube, a half pint.

Waiter! Lemon, orange juices
and the bill.

Waiter! Finally! The bill.

Waiter!

- Hey, my little brother?
- Yes, my big sister!

You'll be going to Paris soon,
leaving me alone here.

Dad's gone to sleep,
he's a little bit tired.

What weather!

We can't say we've been
spoiled this year.

Please, Pierre...

It's always like that in Paris?

Holidays... the last days...

Going back to school...

November in Paris.

A few days later...

Don't you recall? Not so far away.
Yet it's a real wasted time.

The little Jeanne will never smile again
shaking her hand so kindly.

She went and met her mother
in this dark space

in which we'll come in,
one day, when our turn'll come.

It's very painful for me
to tell you of her death,

about this kind of death you think
so horrific: she drowned herself.

Unfortunately, as you said so often:

"Here below, all lilacs pass away."
Michel

- Do you have to leave us, Pierre?
- Yes.

- I'll miss you.
- Me too.

I have to come back. I just heard
about something very sad.

- Anybody sick?
- Dead!

A relative?

No.

A friend.

Very young. 17 years old.

- Will you come back here?
- Yes, I will.

- Don't know if I'll still be here.
- I'll come back soon.

You'll have to write, Pierre.

Don't forget your old friend,
her advice...

Talk, Pierre.
You should talk.

You don't talk enough.
It's not good.

I told you a lot of my stories, no?

I liked listening to you.

What's in your little head?

- How to know?
- Impossible.

Too much time...
Too many words too.

Then it'll get boring finally.

Tomorrow I'll be another person...
or almost one.

So!

I thought I was numb
for a long time.

Not that... not at all.

Some things are touching me...

even moving me.

Not necessarily the saddest ones.

Well... the ones we say
they are the saddest ones.

Who knows? No!

You will change, Pierre.
You're so young.

We never really change,
but, of course...

I'm stupid...
we always change.

Well, if you know.

Well...

The day I left Paris,

a woman sang an old tune
on a bridge.

A song.

People walked around me,
they seemed sad and tired.

I was reduced to tears.

I was ashamed. I was afraid
people were looking at me.

I lowered my eyes and ran off.

For a long time, I've been
wondering why I cried.

A short time ago, by chance,

I heard the song from that day.

Suddenly, I was understanding.

In the summer,
on the Atlantic Coast,

we went to an open air cafe
to the seaside with Sophie.

It was at the beginning
of our affair,

when I thought
we'll never break up.

And we were hearing this song.

Each summer, there's a song like that
which takes over everything...

Everywhere!

Some months later,
when it ended up boring us,

and was replaced by another one,

it comes again, by chance.

And it brings the mood
of the summer we heard it,

dance halls at the seaside,

the face of the beloved girl
at that time...

the girl we thought beloved.

Under the roofs of Paris

In my room, my Nini

We'll be in love,
so good to be made one!

It's when we're 20

When spring has arrived

We must love each other,
and lose no time

The air was very pure

And the sky azure

She said: "I don't want!"

Then she gave herself.

- Will you explain it to me later?
- I'm leaving tomorrow.

It will be long
before we meet again.

I liked so much
the way she talked.

Leaning her head.

With a sweet smile.

Yes.

She hid a lot of things
with that nice smile you liked.

Lately, she wasn't very well.

Problems with her parents,
because of a boyfriend.

Because of her political ideas too...
well, quite a few things!

One day, she confessed
she wasn't keen to live.

So!

- Do you think she knew?
- We don't know.

She went to the beach,

Two hours later,
she hadn't come back.

Her friends were searching
for her everywhere.

The day after, some fishermen
found her body.

I won't ask you if you're happy,
I got your letters.

And now?

Well, I'll go off again.

I understood at least one thing...

That for now, I don't want to stay
in a single place.

I want to come and go...

Trying to understand.

Me, my son, I'm the man of nowhere..

TO BE CONTINUED...