To Zaza, who will see herself.
My mind is cluttered with memories...
lt began on the beach at Luc-sur-Mer.
Mother had made wool bathing trunks for my brother and me.
They had red pom-poms,
like cherries.
Not only were those fruity ornaments absurd,
but the trunks never dried.
We were always in the sea,
so the wool stayed wet all day,
sand stuck to our asses,
which made my crotch extremely sore.
After a week,
I had to walk with my leg spread
to avoid screaming in pain.
I'm angry at mother for making us wear
those trunks four years in a row.
But I'm glad she unintentionally drew
my attention to my genitals.
That summer, I realized
I had to take good care of my balls.
I'm off to the barber's.
Again?
I was around 12.
I loved going to the barber's.
In our town there was a barber shop
for men only,
run by a beautiful Alsatian woman:
the lovely Mrs. Sheaffer.
She had few clients
so you didn't need an appointment.
She had no husband,
but many lovers.
I adored going there.
When I opened the door, a wonderful smell
flooded my nostrils, a mixture
of lotion, hair spray, rose water, shampoo...
It was intoxicating.
The most extraordinary smell of all
was her own.
She had red hair
and a pronounced body odor
that no doubt bothered some clients,
but drove me wild.
Her body seemed to smell of love.
I adored that.
What can I cut?
My mother likes my hair short.
The shampoo was the first delight.
Mrs. Shaeffer bent over me,
her bust almost touching my face.
I inhaled deeply,
silently, to immerse myself in her smell.
At night, in bed, I could still smell it
and I yearned to take her in my arms.
School going well?
Good student?
You're lucky.
I hated school. Didn't like the discipline.
You haven't finished this crossword.
Oh yes... thanks... I'll do it later.
In June 1947, before vacation,
something happened that I've always remembered.
It was very hot.
She smelled divine.
That evening, having seen her heavy,
ideally round breast,
I was still so disturbed I couldn't speak.
You alright, Antoine?
I'm fine.
You look funny.
Dinner's ready!
What's a binary system?
I'll put it
another way:
What is a binary cat?
You don't know, of course.
Again, I will have to bail you out!
A normal cat
is a cat that has
one head, two eyes
and four paws.
A binary cat
has one head,
one eye, one eye,
one paw, one paw, one paw
and one paw.
You see the difference?
I thought you'd say that.
He sees a difference!
He's hopeless!
What'd you want to be in life?
Civil engineer.
Why not a tightrope walker?
Let him be, he's young yet.
I'm disappointed.
If you start small, you end small.
And you?
What'll you do later on?
Later on, I'll marry a hairdresser.
Why did I do that?
Tell me why I did that.
It's me, Mom. Open up.
Your father is sorry.
He was surprised, don't you see?
Are you sick?
Answer me!
Antoine?
Do you hear me?
What are you doing?
Are you alright?
Well?
He's not answering.
Maybe he passed out!
From a slap?
I'm worried! We'll have to break down the door!
Calm down! I'll talk to him.
Antoine, it's Dad. I apologize.
I'm sorry for what I did.
Do what you want in life.
I stayed there an hour, staring at the ceiling.
Mrs. Shaeffer was already mine.
Her body, her smell was mine.
I had won:
I'd be a hairdresser's husband.
There's a storm coming.
Maybe.
Hello, Mr. Morvoisieux.
If plastic flowers grew in a garden,
that would be proof...
And the smell?
You make me laugh,
you know nothing exists without a model.
Plastic flowers are OK,
but there had to be natural ones first,
or there'd be no artificial ones now!
Coffee grinders?
What about them?
They exist, right?
Yes, go on...
They don't grow on trees,
or exist in nature,
but we have them.
So you can make a grinder
without a model.
We're talking about God!
God!
How the hell did we get onto coffee grinders?
What phony reasoning!
So you say! You always want to be right!
Coffee grinders was just an example.
God is infinite. You can't fathom Him.
Same thing.
God exists.
So you say, but...
He's stooping lately.
It's just his jacket wrinkling.
Before, he'd have avoided that.
You're right. He's aging.
10 years ago, Mathilde worked in Isidore's Barber Shop.
Her boss, Isidore Agopian, had 3 female hairdressers.
He was homosexual.
So he hated doing women's hair.
Mathilde was his favorite.
Her tact, her charm, her slightly sad
but infinitely gracious air
delighted the clientele.
When Mr. Isidore retired in the '60s
he offered the shop to Mathilde.
To me?
I haven't the money!
That's OK, I don't need it all now.
Pay a bit every month until I die. Like an annuity.
I'd like to know the shop is in your hands.
You're kind, I trust you.
Say yes.
Mathilde
agreed.
She had to get rid of the two other employees,
who were jealous.
Liking solitude, she ran the shop alone.
It was too big for her, but so what?
That was when I met her.
Can you take me?
Sorry, I'm waiting for someone.
I beg your pardon,
I see I needed an appointment.
Come back in half an hour.
Got any errands to do?
Yes... fine... Great.
Want my name?
Don't bother.
Too hard? You giving up?
I never give up!
Remember that crosswords are like women:
resistance makes surrender sweeter.
I know what I'm talking about.
You'll see I'm right later on.
Later on, when I do crosswords?
In a way.
Repeat this: the more they resist...
the sweeter the surrender.
Good. Go and play now.
Pull up your trunks, hide your testicles.
No one came.
Later on, Mathilde...
I didn't know then her name was Mathilde
...never breathed a word
about her phantom client.
Was it an unconscious come-on?
I never knew.
But I was devastated: for the second time in my life,
after so long a search,
I loved a hairdresser.
After 22 minutes, I gave up and went to the woman
with whom I knew I'd spend my life.
Hello again.
I always start badly: I'm too nervous to shut up.
In a shoestore I say "I'd like some shoes..."
Today I asked for a haircut.
It's for a haircut.
Do you part it?
I... yes... if you want...
It's up to you.
Alright. But not too sharp.
Don't worry.
You have a tuft.
I know. I've always had it.
Your hair was cut too short.
I go to the barber's often. I love that.
Really? Why?
I don't know.
Naturally,
I wondered if Mathilde
wore a bra.
I was soon certain she did not.
I imagined
her nipples rubbing against her blouse,
and, aroused, pointing at my neck.
Those breasts would soon be mine.
I already wanted to stroke them.
The autopsy on Mrs. Sheaffer showed a massive dose of barbiturates.
No will, no note,
a hasty funeral,
which, of course, I could not attend.
Since then I've never stopped thinking of her,
and ardently loving women's breasts.
Will you marry me?
35 francs.
Forgive me.
I recall that sleepless night under Mathilde's window.
I wanted her to toss and turn, throw off the sheets,
get up for a glass of water, look in the mirror,
and undress before going back to bed...
thinking of me.
In fact, she may have been sound asleep.
Maybe she had forgotten me.
Why assume she is alone in bed?
I don't know her.
My father
said life was simple,
that if you wanted something enough
you'd get it.
Failure was proof
the desire wasn't strong enough.
No dream is impossible.
I wanted Mathilde more than anything.
She'd be like this stream: the fort had to fall.
I'd make her mine forever.
3 weeks later, I returned to the shop,
hardly nervous, just deliciously excited.
My hair hadn't had time to grow back
enough to justify a haircut.
Mathilde acted as if she'd never seen me before...
Silent and distant.
Which made me want her even more.
She probably knew that.
Imagine, he'd never been to a barber in his life!
When his hair
scratched his neck, he clipped it off himself...
Didn't need a mirror. He worked by feel.
He did fine.
All with clippers, "like mowing the lawn".
I can still hear him. Quite a guy!
They don't make 'em...
like him any more.
Finished.
It was faster this time.
I didn't do the streaks, it's too soon.
I'll do them next time.
Will it stay puffed like that?
Sure, why not?
Mr. Agopian made me sleep on my back.
Don't bother with that.
Come in Saturday, I'll comb it for you.
That's nice of you.
Till Saturday.
What got into you the other day?
You were probably making fun of me, but...
if you weren't teasing,
then I appreciate your proposal.
If it still holds,
yes,
I'll marry you.
My name is Mathilde.
The first time I came in, I asked if you could take me.
You said no,
but in fact you were already taking me.
I remember.
And I asked if I had to give you my name.
Again you said no.
Yet you've just let me give it to you.
Amusing, these encounters...
You've muscles in your thighs.
I played soccer in school - I was a right back.
- You know about soccer? - Sure. There's a ball...
You can't use hands, and it's a team game...
I see you're an expert.
Sports annoy me. Like travel.
I don't like going out either.
That's fine.
It's settled: we'll stay here. lt'll be great.
I think so.
I'll handle the errands, mail letters and so on.
I love your hands.
I noticed them at once. Beautiful!
You have a scar there, like a half-moon.
I fell off a bike.
You bicycle, too?
Not any more.
The past is dead.
Absolutely.
The apartment's upstairs. It's small, but...
Want to see?
My name is Antoine.
When I told I was marrying a hairdresser, Dad died
of a heart attack.
Out of loyalty, mother refused to meet Mathilde
or see the shop.
Mathilde
had no family.
Hey, you big jerk...
you haven't opened my gift.
Is it a surprise?
Surprise?
lt'll certainly surprise you.
You alarm me.
We were with my brother, his wife,
and Mr. Agopian.
At least it was intimate.
I insist you wear it. Recognize it?
How could I forget?
Used to be too big, now it'll fit like a glove,
so to speak.
Wear it tonight.
Cut it out...
Oddly enough, I'm pleased.
I love pom-poms.
They're cherries, not pom-poms.
It bags when it's wet.
You know knitted wool...
Try it on, for old times' sake.
I bet it still fits you.
Here...
It's from your mother.
How old were you?
12.
Strange...
It's like a scale model of you.
- You look like ajoker. - I was.
Can I see your childhood photos?
I didn't keep any.
They bother me.
Why?
Time flies too fast.
The wrong name
can wreck a product.
So how can a guy
named Givenchy
sell so much perfume?
I'll make a confession: my real name's Dupré...
Ambroise Dupré.
And Agopian?
Exoticism, my friend...
Armenian, meaning Oriental.
An Oriental barber is class...
Sorry...
I thought it was open.
I forgot to lock the door.
Besides, it's Sunday.
So it is!
I'm a fool!
I'll be off.
Have some champagne with us.
I don't want to bother you... You're getting married.
You're not bothering us.
Yes... I am!
It's a family affair...
When you're among family...
Why'd you come?
For my beard...
I wanted it cut off.
All of it?
People say it makes me look sad,
so when I happened by, I thought...
Sit down, it'll only take 5 minutes.
Too bad.
Sorry.
No, not today.
Lots of happiness...
Mathilde was my life.
I knew that when they'd gone, when the door closed,
everything would be set forever, for us both.
The shop would close in on us.
We'd be so closely welded
that nothing cold or evil could slip between us,
nothing harsh or chilling...
ever...
We went to Luc-sur-Mer
so Mathilde could see where I wore the woolen trunks.
A short honeymoon: we were in a rush
to begin our real life on our stationary luxury liner.
Wait...
Sit down.
A bit shorter. Not too much.
Sit up straight.
Sorry, Madam,
we don't do women.
I know.
Excuse me.
You asked for it! So there!
Apologize to these folks. They must be shocked
by your conduct.
They don't know yours.
I doubt if they care.
This is my wife,
Germaine Gora.
I'm Julien Gora.
See how neat that was? On the button!
She's amazing!
She used to play ping-pong. We still have the cups.
Club trophies.
Forget the haircut. It's no use.
A bit of lotion, then?
If you like... lotion's nice.
She's stopped playing because of the kids. Three!
Raising them's ajob.
My hat's off to her for that.
But she's no mere housewife pushing a broom.
You noticed her clothes, her make-up.
What'd you think of her?
Nice, very nice.
And you, sir?
It's important to have a man's opinion.
From what I saw, she was great.
I agree with you.
She's a magnificent woman!
See those eyes?
She's even lovelier when she's mad.
Yes, indeed.
Really an exceptional woman!
'Bye. Excuse us.
Thanks for everything. What do I owe?
Nothing.
"Lose 10 pounds in two weeks
"on nothing but cucumbers and tea..."
You buy that?
- Where'd you read it? - In this.
They say it's medically proven.
What time is it?
A quarter to 7.
Let's close up.
Lose half a pound and I'll throw myself under a bus...
Then promise me something, just one thing:
the day you don't love me anymore
don't pretend you do.
A customer!
He'll be tomorrow's customer.
Stop that!
What a pest!
Stop that, Edward!
You know you promised!
Remember what Daddy said. Edward, that will do!
Look at the pretty books.
There are boats in this one, and horses.
Look, do you like horses?
See how nice the lady is, she's lending you books.
You're nice too, Edward, very nice, now.
Have you any machine guns?
The ones that go pop and make sparks?
- I have a locomotive. - That wouldn't interest him.
Look, there's a seat for you, with a cushion.
What a pretty cushion.
He isn't even ours.
We adopted him. Awful mistake!
You have children?
Smart! Never adopt any!
They palm off anything on you.
You're stuck with 'em.
Be nice, Edward. I have candy.
We need rope, to tie him down.
I hold his head, you truss him...
He'll calm down...
I'll show you something
you've never seen.
We've no children.
We have other people's: Edward, Paul, Andrew,
Armand, Jeremy, Etienne, Simon.
Some surely shiver during the shampoo.
Short hair for communion and vacations,
not too bare around the neck for winter.
And Mathilde keeps her belly flat,
the smooth belly pregnancy will never deform.
We've no friends.
Never did have.
What could they add to our lives?
I take a dim view of couples
who go out with other couples,
share vacations...
It's proof that love is lacking,
a gulf bridged by outside friendship.
We're fine, Mathilde.
We're happy together, that's all that matters.
It's all over.
You see, it wasn't so bad...
He's cleaner, anyway.
Remember what I told you: never adopt.
Don't worry...
Like this one?
I got it yesterday.
It's very pretty.
Dance with me...
I don't know how to dance to this music.
Neither do I.
So? Close your eyes, tell yourself no one is looking at you.
Come on...
See how easy it is?
Someday...
I'll buy a lottery ticket. Just one.
Of course I'll win the jackpot.
We'll cruise down the Nile,
dancing on the deck of a paddle boat
from morning to night,
watching the sun go down
behind the Pyramids!
Hold me tight, Antoine, with all your might!
Crush my breasts so tight I can't breathe!
I'm scared that someday you won't want to dance with me.
What nonsense!
Not plaster my belly against yours?
Or feel your skin?
Or caress your shoulders?
Your neck?
Your ass?
I've known other men, Antoine,
but no one like you.
I've never belonged to anyone.
I ask nothing of you.
Hold me tight!
Well, Mr. Doneker,
which will you tell us today?
It's so well-known, there's no point.
Yes there is, Mr. Doneker. You know there is.
I bet you don't recall them from month to month.
Not even a week.
It's true I forget some of them quickly,
but I remember others.
I must have read them long ago.
I used to spot them, then it stopped.
It doesn't mean a lot. Nothing, in fact,
but they keep moving around in my memory.
Let's hear one.
"In her glittering glass palace,
"When the light's obscure,
"Have you met Boroboudour,
"The Chinese princess?"
It's beautiful.
You always say it's beautiful.
Because it always is beautiful.
It lives for a moment, then wears out.
Then, one day, it doesn't sing anymore,
I have to find new ones.
Some lasted me for 2 months,
others went flat after 4 days.
Boroboudour...
The Chinese princess.
It should last to the end of the week.
It's fading already,
it's lost a bit of sparkle.
There'll be others...
There always have been.
Thank goodness.
Some last, others vanish.
I forget the one before, but it had something about
"the ardent agony of roses." That stuck with me:
"The ardent agony of roses."
That feels so good...
I wish it could last.
We're in no hurry, Mr. Doneker.
"Have you met Boroboudour,
"The Chinese princess?"
This alright?
Not too hot?
Mathilde's special:
nothing is ever a problem.
As if she'd decided to experience
only the pleasant things in life.
The days go by, one after another,
as in a dream.
In 10 years together, we've only had one fight,
over something stupid.
She had read through
the pile of magazines.
She had looked outside,
but the street was dull that day.
She looked around the empty shop,
then said to me:
Do you want me to cut your hair?
I'd love it.
There I was, in a Velcro-sealed blue smock...
While she was cutting my hair, she said:
Actor Fernand Reynaud drives a Jag.
She must have seen it in some magazine.
Like a fool,
I answered sarcastically:
You mean the dummy knows how to drive?
I'd never liked him, but Mathilde did.
She shrugged, sighed in annoyance
in a way I'd never heard,
and edgily, silently, finished the cut.
That was our only fight.
But it froze the blood in my veins.
Light it for me?
Hell, the folks!
You smoking now?
Did I wake you?
I wasn't asleep.
Neither was l.
I felt like smoking. I like it.
I bought the pack today.
Give me one.
Well?
It's nice.
I'd forgotten.
We should smoke more often.
Sorry about before.
It was my fault, I got carried away over nothing.
Are you cold?
But I'm thirsty.
Want water?
I'd like some booze.
I'll buy some tomorrow.
We've cologne.
You'll poison us.
Let's try it.
Welcome to the Flamingo Club and its exotic cocktails!
Taste this... little lady.
Not bad.
Give me a cigarette.
First, let's dance.
I'd rather watch you.
The glass! It may explode.
- You mean it? - Can't be too careful.
We must buy some ashtrays,
now that we're smoking.
There's a crack in the ceiling.
We drank a lot. Weird things.
We made love standing at a mirror.
I asked if she could imagine how many other lovers
were coming just then,
how many cocks shafting how many women.
Many thousands, she said,
but none were as happy as she.
She added she would never leave me,
that only death could part us.
What time is it?
Ten o'clock.
Maybe we ought to get up.
If we can.
My head aches... there.
From the shaving lotion.
That was a mistake. You shouldn't mix.
They're gone. It's summer.
Wait here for me. I want to say hello to someone.
Mind your brother and sister. Stay on the sidewalk!
Watch out!
Remember me? Gora...
My wife was here, too...
The slap.
Sure I remember.
It surprised you, and we chatted a bit.
Things going better... at home?
Things are terrible.
Like them?
Sweet. How old are they?
The baby's got a cold.
She was never sick before. They'll all get it,
one after another...
Your wife left?
Yeah. It had to happen.
What'll I do with 'em for vacation?
I'll figure it out.
She'll be back.
Not a chance!
When she makes up her mind...
Anyway, I deserved it.
Cute, aren't they?
The oldest is the image of her mother.
How pretty she is!
Another's sniffling.
See? One after another.
Well, I'm off.
I just wanted you to see them.
See you again soon...
I think his wife'll be back.
Maybe not.
Alright, kids, let's go.
Know why this park has a strange color?
Because folks here will never see anything else:
it's their last decor.
That lays a film over everything:
the branches, the lawn, the trees.
Don't talk like that, Mr. Isidore.
I've been wetting my bed.
I'm not gaga, I do it on purpose.
Why?
To bug them.
They wouldn't call the vet for Gris-Gris. So he died.
A phone call was too much bother.
Now they gotta change my sheets daily.
I could do worse, if you get me.
Don't, they'll put you in a hospital.
How's the shop?
Fine. Antoine's going to repaint the ceiling.
Off-white, satin finish. Brightens things.
It's crummy here.
Too bad the last thing I'll ever see is crummy.
Friends?
At your age,
you think the old are friends because they're old.
It's not true.
I can tell you from experience:
old assholes are the worst.
This place is full of them,
including me.
Come on, I'll walk you to the gate.
We've plenty of time. We came to see you.
I see a lot of relatives on Sundays,
anxious to leave
as soon as they get here.
I understand - the living don't belong here.
You'll see, you'll feel better outside,
you can't help it,
you'll sigh with relief.
I come and open the gate every day.
Makes me feel I could leave if I want.
'Bye, Mr. Agopian.
'Bye, Antoine.
Stay happy.
Think of me now and then.
Nothing's faster than death.
Stock up on pills, think you're OK, and, in seconds, flooey!
Not even flooey: the f in flooey, and wham!
I say it's like sleeping without dreaming.
But when you sleep you wake up. That's why you sleep.
If you sleep all the time, you can't say
you're asleep.
You're unconscious anyway, right?
Not conscious of anything.
That's not the same thing!
Mix up conscious of nothing with unconscious,
and the conversation flags.
You see a difference?
If you can't, why bother to talk?
What're we talking about?
What do you think, Mr. Antoine?
Death is yellow and vanilla-scented.
You sure of that?
I'd bet on it.
1...
2...
3...
At 20 that door must close for good
so we can drown in the ocean of peace we love so much.
11... 12...
20.
Terrible.
He's more stooped every day.
He's a bit older every day.
Life's disgusting.
A storm's blowing up.
No lights!
You'll ruin your eyes.
I'm through reading.
I want you to sit where you always sit.
I'm going to buy some yogurt for tonight.
"My love,
"I'm going before you do.
"I am going before your desire dies.
"Then we'd be left with affection alone,
"and I know that won't be enough.
"I'm going before I grow unhappy.
"I go bearing the taste of our embraces,
"your smell,
"your look,
"your kisses.
"I go with the memory of my loveliest years,
"the ones you gave me.
"I kiss you now, so tenderly I'll die of it.
"I have always loved you.
"I have loved only you.
"I'm going so you never forget me...
"Mathilde."
Care for a shampoo?
Who taught you to dance?
No one. I make it up. I've always liked it.
Not too fast! I'll show you.
You're not bad.
Think so?
The hairdresser will be back.