So, here we are.
It's Father's Day.
Happy Father's Day.
Even a sketch, a shadow,
a fragment of a dad is still a dad.
Father's Day.
My son wipes the saliva from my sealed lips.
This invented holiday was never part of our emotional calendar.
You cry because you're not allowed
To marry a handsome boy like me
Poor little rich girl...
Claude says the book's coming along.
It's great that you're writing it.
You're the most amazing man I've ever met.
All these visitors...
Laurent, Anne-Marie,
Michel...
Has she come?
She hasn't?
I thought she was madly in love with you.
That's her business.
Shall we try the alphabet?
"When I started a diet just before my stroke,
"l never dreamed the results
"would be so dramatic."
Silly!
"Now they know what it's like
"to have a zombie for a dad. Thanks."
Don't do that.
Kids!
Want to play Hangman, Dad?
I'll help you. Whisper a word.
First letter C, last letter E.
It's a 7-letter word.
No, no N.
The kangaroo escaped from the zoo
"Goodbye, zoo!" cried the kangaroo
He cleared the wall with one clean jump
Leaped right over with a great big thump
There.
Let's go, kids. Say bye to Dad.
Bye, Dad.
See you next week.
Words can't express the grief that engulfs me.
I, their father,
can't even ruffle their hair, pinch their downy necks,
or clasp their smooth, warm little bodies.
But I rejoice to see them live,
move, laugh...
That's what I call a fine day.
I'm pitying myself, right?
You were sincerely happy.
You think so?
Perhaps.
Don't miss it!
Get away from the TV!
Damn!
A good square meal for you. See you!
See you... Don't do that!
I'm sick of TV dinners.
Where could I dine tonight?
I want to treat myself
to a great meal.
At Le Duc!
Fancy meeting you here.
Isn't it amazing?
An oyster?
It feels like we met yesterday.
"Gentle."
I don't like compliments.
What's the next chapter heading?
Sunday.
I dread Sunday.
If they put the TV on, you have to get it right.
It's highly strategic.
It could be several hours
before a good Samaritan comes in to change the channel.
I dread Sunday.
No speech therapists, no shrinks,
no physiotherapists,
no visitors.
A skeleton staff.
Sundays are a long stretch of desert.
But today, Marie has nobly offered to take me to church.
I tried to tell her I'm not religious,
but to no avail.
People are praying for me all over.
Top of the list is my daughter Céleste.
And Marie, of course.
Multiple deities have been enrolled to help me.
I'm told they chant mantras for me in Nepal.
In Cameroon,
a witchdoctor implores the African gods.
I've promised him my right eye.
I can't deny my involvement in creating this vast spiritual network
to support my existence.
It's not admirable,
it's probably hypocritical,
but I'll try anything.
I'm very happy to see you here.
I visited you a few days ago, hoping to give you communion,
but you were asleep.
Yes, he was.
What?
Would you like to take communion now?
No.
-Yes. -Shall I bless you?
No!
Yes.
Lord, have mercy on Jean-Dominique in his affliction.
Help his body to heal.
Lift up his spirits.
-Guide him to faith. -My spirits are up, sir.
In the name of the Father...
You really got me.
"Fa"?
"Father"?
"There are..."
Father, there are monks in Bordeaux who regularly pray for me...
I'm glad to hear it.
...with unremarkable results.
We must be patient.
That's what the doctors say.
But Jean-Dominique, can I suggest something?
I will soon be escorting a pilgrimage to Lourdes.
Lourdes?
Marie and I thought you might like to come, too.
-That's a trap! -Miracles have happened.
It's true.
I've already been to Lourdes.
Let's stop and turn back.
I'm not turning back.
It's my car. I go where I like.
You said you wanted a dirty weekend!
-I didn't! -Yes, you did.
Lourdes is no place for a dirty weekend.
You have a one-track mind!
I want to see the Madonna.
I don't believe you.
I want to see the Madonna and drink holy water.
Spare me that.
-You can, too. -Very funny.
Do you good.
Impressive, huh?
I'll buy some bottles for the holy water.
I've had it. I'm leaving.
You shouldn't, it'll be good for a sinner like you!
Don't be so sure. It could be dangerous.
Someone healthy, devastated by the Virgin's appearance,
-is crippled for life. -You're awful!
Hello!
I've found my Madonna!
Forget about it.
Get out of my life! Go away.
Okay...
I'll buy it for you.
Madame has a good eye. That piece is one of a kind.
It was blessed by the Cardinal.
We got any more 31 8s?
Check the stockroom.
How much is it?
1 899 francs.
You don't say!
Haven't we met before?
I don't think so, sir.
I've got no change.
I can't make love with her watching.
I understand.
I'm not stating a fact. I'm complaining.
Let me turn her off.
She's one of a kind,
blessed by the Cardinal.
When we get back to Paris, we should split up.
Because of her?
Because of everything.
Okay.
You're right.
I'm going for a walk.
Turn off the light.
But not my Madonna.
Come on, Jean-Do.
Once you can say "L", you'll be able to swallow.
And say "Lourdes".
This okay? Are you comfortable?
"The Pressure Cooker" could be the title of a play
I may write about my experiences here.
I could also call it "The Eye" or "The Diving Bell".
You already know the plot and the setting.
A hospital room in which Mr. L., a family man in the prime of life,
is learning to live with locked-in syndrome
brought on by a serious cerebrovascular accident.
Ambitious, somewhat cynical,
heretofore a stranger to failure,
Mr. L. takes his first steps into distress.
We could follow this slow transformation via a narrator
who reproduces Mr. L. 's unspoken inner monologue.
I already have the last scene.
It's night, suddenly Mr. L., inert since the curtain rose,
flings off his bedclothes, jumps from the bed,
and walks around the eerily-lit stage.
Then it grows dark again,
and you hear Mr. L. 's inner voice one last time,
"Shit! It was only a dream!"
Get up.
You can get up.
Everything's fine.
"l want to remember what happened to me."
Should I ask someone?
No?
-Room 1 1 9. -Who is this?
I'm Claude Mendibil. I'm here with Jean-Do.
This is his father.
We've been expecting your call.
What do I do? Just talk?
Jean-Do can hear you. He'll answer.
You'll hear me saying letters...
Yes, Céline explained it.
Go ahead, Mr. Bauby.
Can he hear me?
Jean-Dominique? This is Papinou.
I'm sitting by the open window.
How are you?
Or is that a stupid question?
"Yes, it's a stupid question."
I miss you.
"I miss you too. "
It's impossible to talk like this.
I forget everything I want to say.
I remember.
I've sent you a present.
A surprise.
I've had a thought...
About us.
We're in the same boat.
I'm stuck in this apartment,
unable to use the stairs.
You try four flights of stairs when you're 92!
You see, we're both locked in.
You in your body,
me in my apartment.
Remember this.
In the top right drawer of my desk, there's a letter.
It states my last wishes.
It's in a file marked...
"Miscellaneous."
I have to go.
"Don't cry."
It's easy to say that,
but you're my son, for God's sake.
Goodbye, Jean-Dominique.
I nearly forgot.
It's your birthday soon.
I'll phone again.
Happy birthday.
It can't be easy to speak to your son,
knowing full well that he won't reply.
I thought you could use a change of scenery.
I have another surprise for you.
Close your eyes.
Close your eyes!
Now open them.
THE COUNT OF MONTE CRlSTO
You shouldn't have!
In two volumes!
Not a first edition, but still, pretty old.
Shall I read you some?
Which chapter?
We should try Roman numerals. We didn't plan for numbers.
What would it be in Roman numerals?
L, I, X.
It'd be quicker.
Next time.
Fifty? More?
Yes, more.
Nine? Fifty-nine? Okay.
Hold on... Here we are.
There's even an illustration.
This coincidence scares me.
"They both took seats beside him..."
"Noirtier sat in the wheeled armchair
"as he did from morning till night,
"before a mirror where he could see the whole apartment
"without moving, not that he was able to. "
"Sight and hearing were the only senses
"that still glimmered in his moribund frame. "
"...in his moribund frame."
That's me to a T, isn't it?
-It's not. -It is.
I scare people. I make them shudder.
Not true.
I shouldn't have tried to rewrite Dumas.
You don't touch a masterpiece.
It's fate. It's a lesson.
I didn't know that Noirtier was the man I'd become.
My diving bell drags you down to the bottom of the ocean.
Jean-Do,
I don't mind you dragging me to the bottom of the ocean,
because you're also my butterfly.
A declaration of love, my word!
When we finish this book,
we'll write another one about a long-distance runner.
Who knows? Maybe I'll take up running.
"l missed you at the bullfights this fall.
"Hope to see you there next year. Jean-Paul.
"Le Tango, Nîmes."
"Dear Mr. Bauby,
"concerning your request for a custom-fitted camper van,
"the company can deliver within six to eight months
"after receiving your order.
"Sincerely, Henri Raynaud."
That's good news.
This one's from Papinou.
"This is a present."
Look. A picture of you as a boy.
"Jean-Do, age 8, Berck-sur-Mer."
From Anne-Marie.
Jean-Dominique Bauby's room.
Who is this?
Céline Desmoulins. Who's this?
Inès.
I want to talk to Jean-Do.
Hold on.
I've put the speaker on.
Talk, he'll hear you.
I can't talk with you there.
You have no choice. There's nobody else to translate.
-Isn't the speech therapist there? -Not today.
My love?
I know I said I'd come.
I got to the station and then turned back.
I can't do it.
Please, forgive me.
Céline?
Can't you go out for a minute?
I have things I need to say to him in private.
I'm sorry.
I can't go out.
There's no one else. Wait, he wants to say something.
"One"?
"One minute"?
Okay, I'll leave. But not for long.
Are you there?
My darling...
I love you more than ever.
I want to see you, but not in that condition.
I want to think of you as you were.
I hope you'll pull through.
I miss you.
I miss you so much. I feel so alone.
I can't bear it.
I know you understand.
I think about you all the time.
I know you've got your whole family around you.
Do you want me to come?
I'm back.
Do you want me to come?
I'm back, lnès.
"Each."
"Each day..."
"Each day l..."
"Each day I wait for you."
I didn't hear. Can you say it again?
I didn't hear.
He said, "Each day I wait for you."
Sorry, Jean-Dominique. I need a seat on this plane
or I'll miss my flight to Hong Kong.
Have mine.
I'll take the next flight.
Thanks.
Have a good trip.
It's not Hong Kong you're going to. It's Beirut!
You all right, Mr. Bauby?
Don't worry.
I don't usually remember my dreams.
Only bores tell people their dreams.
But I can't shake this one off, for some reason.
I'm afraid.
The sense of doom wouldn't leave.
It took what I can only call a miracle to lift my spirits.
Believing in personal miracles is risky,
it makes you feel self-important.
But still, I must report
that something miraculous occurred.
I began to sing.
I grunt, I sing.
My hearing is weak.
Sometimes I think I can hear my heartbeat.
I tell myself it's a butterfly's wings.
I'm making undeniable progress.
I may have butterfly hearing. I look forward to the future.
Soon the summer will end,
and I'll begin my first autumn in this hospital.
My life is here.
A constant repetition.
Here.
How's it going, pal?
He's talking!
You can talk!
He sings songs, too.
Come on, sing a song for Laurent.
Please, Jean-Do. Or for me.
Are you okay?
Is he singing?
He's not singing.
I have pneumonia.
Just when I thought...
Like a sailor seeing the shore disappear,
I watch my past recede,
reduced to the ashes of memory.
What a return!
That's our office!
And that couple. I know them. What are their names?
That's my car!
My new car.
Where's the horn?
Dad!
Get down. Let me hug him.
See the car?
T oo cool!
You okay, Théo?
Had a good week?
Can we go to the theater?
To the "theatah"? Yes, if you like.
And eat oysters?
You eat oysters now?
We're going to eat. I promised Théo.
Don't bring him back too late tomorrow.
Bye, Dad.
Let's go!
Can I sit in front?
There's nowhere else to sit!
I'll give you a ride all by yourself.
How about this!
How's the team?
The team's good.
Do you shower afterwards or what?
We shower and pack up our gear.
Got any hair on your dick?
Not yet!
When I was young, one kid wouldn't strip...
He showered in his clothes?
They took him off the soccer team.
His dad threatened to punch the coach,
but he didn't.
The mother calmed him down.
Finally, nothing happened, but the kid had to leave the team.
Not your problem.
No, luckily. Showering in your clothes...
Say the word, I'll punch...
What else is new? Is Mom okay?
Yeah, she's okay.
Recognize that road?
It's the way to Aunt Diane's.
Aren't you... Isn't it hot?
I'm not hot.
We could have...
Could...
It's gonna rain.
I'll stop the car.
I'm gonna stop.
Dad! What's the matter?
Run back to the house! Call your mother!
"l had time for one last thought. 'Have to cancel the theater.
"'We'll be late in any case.
"'We'll go tomorrow."'
"Then I sank into a coma.
"Does that make..."
"Does that make a book?"
"For Théophile, Céleste and Hortense,
"wishing them lots of butterflies.
"All my thanks to Claude Mendibil,
"whose vital role in writing these pages
"is spelled out within them."
She was a hard-working girl from the North of England
If she could only hear me
Here's what I'd say to her
I was always there.
You know that.
The reviews are fabulous. Want to hear them?
"The man who dictates in silence.
"Deprived of speech and motion,
"Jean-Dominique Bauby had to learn to speak with one eyelid
"to write The Diving Bell and the Butterfly,
"a shattering visit to the castaway
"who haunts the hospital in Berck."
Signed, Bernard Chapuis.
"A deeply moving book."
Bauby, 43, a renowned journalist,
family man and free spirit,
was planning a book about female revenge...
Jean-Dominique Bauby died on March 9, 1 997,
1 0 days after the publication of his book,
"THE DlVlNG BELL AND THE BUTTERFLY".
for Ferdinand CHESNAlS, 20
Jack SCHNABEL, 92, Jean-Pierre CASSEL, 74