One more glass...?
Pour it up. I've drunk stronger men than you under the table.
-Germans can't take much. -I've partied with all nationalities.
And more than that?
-So we're heading in to me? -I don't think so.
-Why not? -I don't have time for that reward.
-So, how have you been? -Why, fine.
-You haven't changed, Dagmar. -I can't say the same.
Play something cheerful. A samba. Can you dance samba, Willy?
-Let go. Someone could come. -Not at this hour.
Can't you hear that people are still awake?
-The good life. Just like that dancing salon. -Yeah.. they have someplace to go.
-You only have one thing on your mind. -No. This isn't natural.
You live at home. Your mother can't stand me.
Sure she can. See for yourself how easy it is to find a crib.
I've started up four chains and all of them have failed.
-Things will work out. -Yeah, when I get my basic pension.
-But what matters is that I love you. -I just wish I could appreciate it more.
Kiss me, Kalle.
-Let go. Someone's coming. -Dammit!
-She was in a hurry. -She seemed strange, no?
And then that goddamn light.
-Let it go. -What?
What you were thinking about. He's not worth it.
-There's no he. -There always is.
A man who's seen as much as I have won't be fooled so easily.
-Can I interest you in a sketch? -No thanks.
It's really nice. Sunset over the castle. Only 10 crowns.
Signed by the artist. See how beautiful it is.
Here. Keep the sketch.
Olavsgatan 13, 5th floor, Brink. We'll be there.
Nobody may enter, or touch anything.
-The ambulance is here. -Just pick her up.
It's not normal for women to commit suicide like this...?
Sleeping pills and gas are the regular ways. But she wanted to be sure.
Yes, and it went faster, I reckon.
She's in there.
Svensson. Does a writer named Wikner live here?
-Just across the hall. -Here's the death certificate.
Take the keys and bring them to the station.
Inspector Lövgren. May I come in?
Please.
Anders, can you come out? A man wants to speak with you.
-I don't have time. Tell him to get lost. -He's from the police.
The bigger the reason. I haven't done anything.
-I have a letter to Mr. Wikner. -Just throw it in the slot.
Impressive man, don't you think? At least he does.
-You seem unaware of what happened here? -Who shot whom and why?
Nobody was shot. But your neighbour, mrs. Brink, has committed suicide.
She hanged herself. Get out of bed so we can continue our conversation.
-Have you lived here a long time? -For three years together.
I had the apartment before we got married.
Pardon my tone. I didn't know it was so serious. You had a letter.
We found it on her desk... it's addressed to you and your wife.
There's no doubt it was suicide, but we want it confirmed.
She writes: "Dear neighbours..."
"I have just decided to end my meaningless existance."
"I have no relatives nor friends who are close to me-
-which is why i wish, in my right mind-
-to testament all my belongings to you, author and wife Anders Wikner."
"Do what you want with it. Sell what you have no use for."
"Money for the funeral can be found in my bankbook in the bottom left drawer."
"Sorry for the inconvenience. Stockholm 22/10, 1949. Dagmar Brink."
She writes that she didn't have any close friends. Weren't you?
-No, we didn't know her. -It's quite unusual.
To me, this is settled. It might be trickier for you, though.
The testament is not legally valid, since it isn't certified.
But unless any relatives make any claims, I wouldn't worry about it.
I'll take the keys so the estate administrator can come to me.
-A fuse must have gone. -There's no lamp.
-Do you think...? -Probably.
-Shouldn't we wait until tomorrow? -We're here now.
-That should make it more pleasant. -Pleasant is hardly the right word.
The desk is nice. We're keeping it. So you won't have to write in bed.
Nobody's going to make me write one word outside of bed.
The kind of books you'd expect. Mostly poetry.
Boye. Gullberg, Södergran...
-Should we keep the radio phonograph? -If I don't have to hear the radio...
There's lots of records. Both modern and classical.
-Beethoven and Tchaikovsky. -How did you know?
By her looks. She has underlined a poem by Södergran.
I shall be silent for the rest of my life
A speaker is but a yapping stream, turning on itself
A lonely tree I shall be on the plains
The trees in the forest die, yearning for storm
I shall be sound from top to toe with golden streaks in my blood
I shall be pure and innocent like a flame licking its lips.
-High ideals. -Yes.
Why did she kill herself?
I would like to find those responsible for her death.
-Maybe it was her own fault. -No, and I'm going to figure it out.
-How are you supposed to figure it out? -"Girl with hyacinths".
-What do you mean? -It's her. From the newspaper.
-Who painted this? -Can't you tell? Elias Körner.
Elias Körner... So we'll start with him.
DEAD
DRUNK
Hello... anybody home?
Hello...?
-What is it? -I'd like to see Mr. Körner.
-What's going on? -Some man wants to talk to you.
-My throat is dry. Come back later. -He says to come back later.
-How much later? -When his throat isn't dry. Bugger off.
Morning.
Hey, there... wake up. Here's one crown.
Orders from Körner. Go out and buy three litres of milk.
-Mr. Wikner wants to see the banker. -Don't know him. Ask what he wants.
-It's about Dagmar Brink. -Let him in.
Wikner? You may sit down. Please keep it short.
-I'm expecting a visit. -I saw you on Dagmar Brink's funeral.
-Yes, so what? -Do you know why she killed herself?
No, I hardly knew her.
I went to the funeral because I'm an old friend of her mother.
So I saw - in the parish registers.
With what right are you prying in other people's private lives? Go away.
As you wish. Don't let me bother your guilty conscience.
Stop!
Sit down.
I only met Dagmar Brink on one occasion.
It was new year's 1946 in this room.
I was looking at a man shoveling snow on the roof across the road.
I thought: "Hell knows, if you're not enjoying yourself more than I am".
Then the buzzer rang.
A Mrs. Brink wants to see the banker. Dagmar Brink.
Tell her to come in.
-Good day, Mr. Banker. -Good day.
Please sit down?
What can I do for you?
As you know, my mother died 10 years ago, and since then I've taken care of myself.
It has been rough. I was hoping that it wouldn't have to come to this-
-but now I need 5.000 crowns. And I have nowhere else to turn.
-Excuse me, but why ask me? -You're my father.
I'm sorry, but neither of us can be sure about that. Unfortunately.
My mother was, and she never lied to you nor to me.
Dear Mrs. Brink. I regret to tell you, that when your mother and I were together-
-she was unfaithful. She admitted it herself.
Yes, once. When you were abroad for 6 months in the beginning of your relationship.
-She told you the day you came home. -You're very well-informed.
-Then you also know I forgave her. -Yes. But two years later, when she got pregnant...
...you took that forgiven mis-step as a reason to break up with her through a letter.
-You abandoned her when she needed you most. -I gave her 5.000 crowns to open a hairdresser's salon.
Listen to yourself. It was a loan, and she paid back every nickel.
You accepted them anyway, and those are the 5.000 crowns I'm asking for now.
Honestly, I can't see why I should give you any money.
But for the sake of your mother, I'll write you a cheque of 1.000 crowns.
-I said 5.000. -And I said 1.000.
-I still have that letter. -What letter?
A farewell letter to my mother, written one month before you got married.
To a lady "of your own class". Unfortunately, it's dated.
-Blackmailing is a felony. -You'd be worse off than me.
What are my guarantees that this situation won't happen again?
You'll get the letter back.
Here you go. I'm glad that your mother didn't have to live through this.
Yes, and that's thanks to you. Good day, Mr. Banker.
That was my first and only encounter with Dagmar Brink.
-Do you think she was your daughter? -I hope that she wasn't.
Then why did you attend the funeral?
-Attorney Ryhner is here. -Send him in.
I'm afraid I'm busy. Good day.
Applauding that would be charity.
-Is it Miss Wiklund? -Formerly.
Is it about a lawsuit or an old debt?
-You lived at Olavsgatan 13, no? -Yes, but I've paid the rent.
-Can we go somewhere and talk? -Yes, I'd like a gin & tonic, thank you.
There's a pub downstairs.
That one is mine. Put the bottles on the table, we're not going swimming.
-Where is Ekberg? -The manager went to the ticket box.
If he asks, it's 2½ in mine and 7½ in his.
Farewell to sense and sanity, as my husband likes to say.
But when it comes to him, there's not a lot to bid farewell.
I knew Dagmar Brink, but I don't have anything special to tell you about her.
But we met in a funny way, of course.
It was on a Christmas eve, just before I married Viktor.
It was 1946, and we were sitting down here, the whole ensemble.
Ekberg owns both this pub and the theatre.
It's a tradition that we celebrate Christmas here together.
We sat over there. We were living it up. Laughing and singing.
Viktor was a bit cranky, because I had just passed him one sausage.
But that was the only quibble. Nylander recited "Clown Clopopisky".
As he always does after four shots. But nobody listened to him.
Except Viktor, who felt sentimental. And then Dagmar Brink came in.
And did his best circus number, and stood on his head, and then...
And that's it.
Are you alone? What will it be?
-Just the daily menu. -Sandwich or dinner?
-Sandwich. -Anything to drink?
Mineral water.
14 years old I believe that I was Just a girl and so happy because
Not a suitor as far as I could see But that was all the same to me
-What's the matter? Are you crying? -As a matter of fact I am.
-But why? -Look at her over there.
Like a lonely little sparrow. With no sheaf.
-It's not that bad, I think. -Oh, you have a heart of stone, Hugge.
Look at us, with our hams and sausages and our pâté.
She's nibbling on three dry sandwiches and drinking water.
-Invite her over here, then. -Such a good person you are.
-Why are you crying? -I'm thinking of "Clown Clopopisky".
You're drunk.
My name is Gullan Wiklund. I'm sorry to impose-
-but you looked so lonely. Wouldn't you like to sit with us?
-Sure, but I don't know anyone. -We're just revue actors.
-And it's Christmas. Come over to us. -Thank you.
Don't mind Viktor. He's had a few drinks too many.
Make yourself at home.
-There's a letter here. -A letter? Oh, it's from my friend!
I have a friend, if you see what I mean.
It shall be interesting to see what kind of figures he's treating me to this time.
He's sweet and nice but not very generous.
You'll be lying there. It's very comfortable.
I'll be...? A cheque for 1 000 crowns!
Now he's so over the hill that he can't tell how many zeroes he jots down.
Light some candles and make it cozy.
Excuse me. I'll just read what he wrote.
Well, I never...!
What is it?
After eight years. Farewell on grey paper. "Thank you for the time we've shared."
"As you understand, you can no longer count on my financial support."
And guess what his excuse is? He's become a grandfather.
I bet he's found someone younger and prettier. "I've become a grandfather!"
Well, that's just great. Who will pay for the apartment?
-Do you want to take it over? -But what about you?
Don't worry about me.
Viktor, it's Gullan. The answer is "yes".
I said, the answer is "yes".
Don't cry over that. Now he's crying over that too.
Yes, you know that I love you. Yes, I do. Go to sleep.
So Dagmar and I lived together, until I married Viktor.
We didn't see each other much. She got a job at Ritz' bar and I was at the theatre.
-One could never figure her out. -In what way?
-Can I pay? -One moment.
There was something rather odd about her. She was difficult to reach out to.
She was locked inside her own head. But we were very different, of course.
-You don't know from where she came that Christmas? -No, she never wanted to say.
But I overheard the address when she called the moving company.
It was Höglundsgatan 37. I've forgotten the name.
Come in, god damnit!
-What the hell is it? -I wanted to see Mr. Körner.
Elias, the idiot who tricked me into buying milk, he's here.
-So it's him? -Yes.
That was damn funny.
Did you hear? Elias Körner, laughing. Have a sip.
No, I'll be back later.
Too posh to drink straight from the bottle? Goddamn clean-cut...
Clean-shaved philistine! Get out of here.
Don't come back.
He was right. You are a clean-cut philistine.
But you write like an analphabet. What does it say here?
An analphabet can't write at all. But you're one, since you can't read.
Yes, what does it say? It's not easy when you're writing in bed.
-"Anthropomorphizing", it says... -What does it mean?
Anthropos means human and morph figure. It's Greek.
-Nobody will get that. -Yes, those who are supposed to will.
-Ah, what is it now? -Find something to drink. We're having a visitor.
Is it impossible to get some peace of mind here? Not even a bottle to yourself.
-Good evening. -Step inside.
Anders... this is Captain Brink. Dagmar's former husband.
Wikner... please come in.
I saw your names in Dagmar's death notice.
It's none of my business... but how did she die?
-She... -Killed herself.
-Yes. -I almost knew it.
-So you know why she did it? -No, not at all.
But I'm not surprised. She was that kind of person.
She was different. Hard to get close to.
Even though we were married for 4 years, I wasn't sure what she thought or felt.
-But I suppose this doesn't interest you. -Quite the opposite.
Her persona is very interesting to me.
It's hard to think about the fact that she could have been alive-
-and the two of us married, if I hadn't opened that letter.
It was a few months after we got married.
I came home early one day. We lived out in the suburbs.
There was a letter to Dagmar. It was sent from Paris.
She was at the dentist's in town. Shortly before dinner she called.
She said that she'd be late and that I shouldn't wait for her before eating.
I had already been glancing at that letter for a couple of hours.
So I gave in to the temptation and opened it.
It was a love letter from someone named Alex.
It was all too evident that they had loved each other-
-and that he still did.
I was sealing the envelope when I heard the door open.
-Hi. You ate, I suppose? -Yes.
So where's the "thank you for dinner"-kiss? Or is there none because I wasn't home?
Let me look at you. Did something happen? Has Adelsvärd taunted you again?
No, but it was a bummer having to have dinner by myself.
That's the sound of a newly-wed. Can you tell that I'm swollen?
No... be quiet, please.
According to L'agenzia Stefani, German vanguards marched into Paris today-
-through Port St. Denis.
When the Germans entered Paris, the city streets were empty.
Most remaining inhabitants stayed inside or in the shops.
The blinds were drawn, and deadly silence...
-What are you doing? -It's appalling.
No worse than when they entered Brussels, Amsterdam or Warsaw.
-They're vile. -But damn good soldiers.
That rotten and corrupted France needs some cleaning up.
-You sound like a nazi. -I admire them, as an officer.
But I don't sympathize with them. Please, let's not discuss politics.
No, let's not.
-Dagmar...? -Yes.
Could you answer me honestly? Have you loved someone before me?
-Why are you asking me that now? -I know so little about you.
Enough not to have to ask that question, I think.
You can love someone without a relationship coming out of it.
I don't know why you're bringing it up, but I'll give you an honest answer.
I have never a loved a man before you, Stefan.
I don't understand why she lied to me that time.
And you never told her that you had read the letter from Alex?
That would have equalled divorce.
She would have forgiven me cheating on her-
-but never reading one of her letters.
I burned it the same evening, but it didn't help.
I couldn't forget that she had lied to me.
It changed everything between us. I couldn't trust her anymore.
And she could tell... well, I'd better be going.
Thank you for listening. It felt good to speak out.
-I haven't done that before. Good night. -I'll follow you out.
-Do you think she was unfaithful? -Do you?
-No. -Why not?
-She wasn't that type. -She lied about Alex.
Not necessarily. We can't know for sure what that letter said.
A jealous and suspecting man is not to be counted on.
But I do know, that she loved Alex.
Do you? How could you know?
-I'll tell you tomorrow. Sleep now. -You're joking.
Believe what you want. You won't hear it tonight anyway. Turn off the light.
Good night.
-Anders, coffee's ready. -I'm on my way.
I wonder if that Elias Körner is sober today?
Hi... did you sleep well?
-Must you read the paper at the table? -If I don't, you will.
-Are you in a bad mood? -No. But I've been dreaming about that damn Alex.
So, will you tell me now? Hey?
Will you tell me now?
It was in the beginning of our relationship... February, 1947.
As usual, you had been too lazy to walk me home.
-Can I come in for a second? -Not now. I was on my way to bed.
Oh no, you weren't.
-What's this supposed to mean? -I don't like to pry in other's business.
But when it comes to suicide, I consider it my obligation.
Can't we sit down?
You sit. I prefer to stand.
Why did you want to do it?
Why would I tell you? I don't even know your name.
Britt Söderberg. Advertising director at Langes publishing company.
-I live across the hall. -Dagmar Brink.
Please, Miss Brink. Sit down.
Mrs. Brink. I was married once.
Drink this. It's calming.
So, won't you tell me? Not for my sake, but for your own.
There's nothing to tell. I just can't take it anymore.
I'm sorry... it's over now.
I'm of the hopeless kind, that asks too much of life and people around me.
I want them to be good, and real and kind...
...and when they aren't, I take it very badly.
And I never learn. After each strike, I get up, naive and hopeful-
-with the same demands. And then I take the next strike.
I'm like one of those dolls you played with as a child-
-with a leaden weight under the feet.
But it happens that they break.
Surely there's someone who hasn't let you down.
Yes, one... but that day might come-
-and then I don't want to be around no more.
-So it's over for now? -Yes, the doll is back on the feet.
-Ready for the next strike. -Try accepting life as it is.
And not having so high expectations?
And you have one. Isn't that enough?
-We can never have each other. -Don't be so sure.
No, in this case I can be completely sure.
I'm going to bed now. Thank you for coming over.
-You don't have to worry. You can go. -I'd rather see you in bed first.
Can you take a sleeping pill? Go to bed.
Then call for me and I'll see you to sleep.
As you wish.
I'm done now.
-Did you take the sleeping pill? -Yes.
-Can I take care of the others...? -No.
-Should I stay here until you're asleep? -Yes. I would like that.
Fall into slumber like a sweet little girl.
-Can I hold your hand? -Of course.
It's been a long time since I went to sleep like this.
Now the church bells are chiming downtown. Can you hear them, Alex?
Sleep now.
It's good to be alive. Don't you think?
Yes.
Never leave me, Alex. Promise me.
I love you so much. All too much.
Why did you never tell me this?
I thought it was none of your business.
So she lied to her husband. But it doesn't make sense.
-It doesn't fit with her character. -I don't think so either.
Alex was apparently the love of her life.
How could she be so sure that they could never have each other?
Maybe he was married, or dead.
But she feared that the day would come, when he'd let her down.
No, dead he wasn't. 'Til later. See you at dinner.
This is what she looked like when I got to know her.
Well, it's how I saw her. I called it "Girl with hyacinths".
That was stupid. I should have called it "Miss Lonely".
The first time I saw her was at Ritz' bar. It was the spring of '45.
She played there. Never had I seen a person who looked so lonely.
Well, not counting the mental patients on Beckonberget.
But that's another story. I was at the beginning of one of my cycles-
-and I had been staring at her all night long.
-Can I buy you a glass of red wine? -I'm on my way home.
No, don't be. For I'm asking you in the nicest possible way, little Miss Lonely.
Sit with me for a while. You see, I'm just as lonely as you.
Come here.
You don't have to say anything. I just want to look at you.
I know that you think that I'm a creepy bloke.
How could a fair and tender fairytale princess like you...
A fairytale princess who plays swing... Just a thought.
How could she find me anything but ugly and repulsive?
Look at my nails.
It looks like drunk snails tried to crawl in under them to hide.
But they failed to do so. My poor little snails.
To be sickened by oneself and hate oneself - yes, that is easy.
"That is very easy." Do you know who wrote that?
If you will model for me I'll tell you.
There are so many pretty things I want to tell you about, little Miss Lonely.
Let me paint your portrait. It's quite an honor to be painted by Elias Körner.
One day I will be up there with the big names... the big and lonely.
Let's settle it.
You will come to my studio...
Höglundsgatan 37...
Monday 24th...
Let's say at 11? Then this cycle will be over.
You will be surprised at how different I am.
-Say that you will come. -On one condition.
-Which one, Miss Lonely? -That you get rid of the snails. Good night.
So, what do you think?
-Artistically, it's excellent. -Don't you think it looks like you?
Yes... and yet not. I'm not that deep and mysterious.
It's more of yourself than of me.
Oh no, you're exactly that lonely girl.
The one who waits for something that she knows will never be.
No, you don't know it yourself, or you don't want to admit it.
Isn't it beautiful and soothing...
... to look at a rainy town through a window...?
Soaking tin roofs... a lonely umbrella in a doorway-
-and the huddling pigeons on the windowsills.
Rain...
It makes me think about my mother.
I guess I wasn't what she had hoped for.
-Were you often lonely as a child? -Yes.
So was I.
So she quit her job at Ritz and moved in here.
We didn't want to get married. Neither of us believed in marriage-
-and deep down we both knew that it wouldn't last anyway.
But we never admitted it to each other. Poor soul.
She didn't know what was coming. What I was like at my worst.
We were happy on and off. There could be months without me touching a bottle.
But then it came. I could be away at daytime and she had to run around town-
-only to find me in a reeking watering hole-
-or with booze pushers in some basement in Old Town. Or at the police station.
It can't have been nice to take care of me at those moments.
Would you like to undress and wash a stinking, unconscious carcass?
She did that.
After three cycles in a year, she was as washed up as I was.
Come and eat.
-I can't. -You will try.
-You and your nagging. -I'm not doing it for myself.
Then why don't you get out? Realise that I'm a lost cause.
There's no use in fighting it. I just end up pulling you down with me.
Why don't you leave, before it's too late?
-I love you. -It's just something you tell yourself.
Nobody can love me. It's just pity. And I don't want that.
You and your Good Samaritan-inclinations. Your compassion chokes me.
I can't stand the look in your eyes. That eternally forgiving look.
-It could be so good. -Yes, if you left.
-No, if you did. -So that's what you wanted.
You want to put me in an institution, but you can forget about that.
I know all about those places and their meddlesome nurses and doctors-
-who have so many patients that they can't even remember your name.
There's a doctor in Switzerland who has opened a clinic with new methods.
He has cured all his patients, but it takes half a year.
And that's where you want me. Who will pay for that trip?
It costs no more than 8.000 crowns.
No more than 8.000 crowns? Where the hell would I get that?
Can't you get an advance down at the salon?
I have a fixed salary of 500 crowns a month. It's hardly likely.
But if you can get the last 5.000, I'd be happy to go.
-Do you promise? -Yes.
-Where are you going? -Never you mind.
-What are you looking for? -A letter.
I hope I won't have to use it.
Whether you believe it or not, she came back that same afternoon-
-and laid out five of those bills in front of me.
I wondered where she got them from. She wouldn't tell me.
There was nothing to do but pack up and leave. I had made a promise.
I came home after six months, disgustingly sound and healthy-
-choking on fresh air...
With rosy cheeks, bursting with creativity.
The happiest months of our life together followed.
We hardly went out at all. We stayed home at evenings-
-listening to radio and reading books. Once in a blue moon we went to the movies.
I didn't touch a bottle.
I never met any of my drinking buddies and I painted like a maniac.
Allow me to show you one of the results...
-Well, what do you think? -I'm not an expert, but...
-A tad banal, isn't it? -No it isn't.
It's as mindblowingly banal and devoid of life as a painting could ever be.
But I didn't see it. I just kept painting.
And suddenly it was Christmas.
Lacking money, as usual, I brought a couple of paintings to one of my regular customers.
He was a know-it-all, and he told me the truth.
It was quite a scene. I told him to go to hell and left.
I walked out on the street, leaned some of the paintings against the concrete wall-
-and looked at them. It struck me that the man had been absolutely right.
It was early one Christmas morning.
Is it Kjell? It's Dagmar.
Merry Christmas... I suppose Elias isn't with you?
So he isn't...? We had decided that we...
Oh, here he is. Say hello to Maja.
Merry fucking Christmas!
And Christmas tree and tinkering lights...
And nuts... and raisins...
And Christmas Pig with an apple in his mouth.
And a sheaf, and Christmas presents... Well, isn't that dandy.
"To Elias, my love, from former Miss Lonely."
What can it be? A home-knit scarf or a pair of slippers?
And I know what's in this package. It's a nail cleaner.
And children singing on the radio.
Why don't you say something? Say that I'm an asshole, a scumbag.
5.000 crowns shot to hell. Where did you get them, by the way?
Is little Miss Lonely a blackmailer?
Such cruel methods against old lovers to make the new one healthy-
-so he can... paint many new paintings.
That one got its worth. Now I can breathe again.
Do you understand what you have done, in order to make us "happy"?
You have crippled me as a painter. But I'm not dead just yet.
I wasn't put on this earth to make us happy, but to paint.
And that's what I'll do.
So what now? Now it's no good anymore.
And little Miss Lonely is departing.
Just go already, and take the scarf, and the nail cleaner...
And the marzipan pig and your goddamn church made of plaster.
I'm through with you, and your kind.
You inane wretches with your false notions of happiness!
What the hell do you know about happiness? You who don't even know suffering.
Good for you, that you don't even realise-
-how damn hollow and empty your lives are.
Because if you did, you would kill yourselves!
Good riddance, little Miss Lonely!
I drank for two days straight until I passed out.
When I woke up, she had fetched her things and left.
On the table laid the keys and a ring I gave her sometime.
The only gift I ever presented to her. We never saw each other again.
You think that I was a bastard, of course, and that we shouldn't have parted like that-
-but that is also the only thing that I regret.
I like my snails. We belong together.
Now there's a meaning to what I do.
-The portrait isn't for sale? -No, it isn't.
It's my best work, but that's not why I want to keep it.
But wait. I made a couple of sketches before that.
I have them somewhere here.
This is the best one. Take it.
-It's too kind of you. -I don't want money.
It wouldn't feel right.
-Who is it? -Willy Borge, he used to be popular.
-Dagmar has one of his albums. -I can't believe it.
I know that guy. We went to secondary school together.
-He was a sleazebag even then. -Did he take some girl away from you?
Oh God, no. That's the silliest thing I've ever heard.
-When was he popular? -Around the start of World War II.
-And she had a whole album of his? -Yes, so? Lots of girls do.
-What are you after? -Borge, Willy. Advertising assistant.
-It must be him. -Oh, you can't call him up.
There's no harm in trying.
Is it the Willy Borge who went by the nickname "The Pea"?
-Oh yes, it's "The Pea" speaking. -I just wanted to ask you a question.
You never knew a girl named Dagmar Brink?
I can't explain over the phone. Can I come over to you?
I'm on my way.
I first met her at one of those awful charity concerts at Blue Hall.
It was in 1943. I performed there. One used to be a popular singer.
She was selling some sort of badge... One moment.
This is a good one... tonight? Well, it's hard to say now...
There could always be a better offer, you know.
Can I phone back...? No, I just mean...
This could take a while.
I know.
I don't mind them being stupid, I just wish they talked less.
Come again? No, I don't have a girl over here.
Why must women always be so jealous?
Great, she's crying.
Guess I'll have to pull the plug.
Dagmar, you said... well, long story short-
-I bought all her badges, and when the soirée was over-
-I suggested that we should go to my place and listen to my latest recordings.
Well, I don't think they're any more romantic than you do-
-but the girls usually like them, and that's the main thing.
I made sure to always give them an album as a present.
This album contains my best recordings. I would be happy-
-if you would take it as a memory of this evening.
-Like how many girls before me? -None, Dagmar. I swear.
Deep down I'm a very lonely person.
Lonely, and an incurable romantic... which is why I'm lonely, I guess.
Our generation is afraid of romance.
We'd rather jump out a window than acknowledge our need for tenderness.
-Maybe we don't have a need. -Sure we do. Don't you?
I suppose I do... but I don't feel it for just anyone.
-You mean me...? -Among many others.
-How long have you been married? -Three years.
-Why are you unhappy? -I should go now.
No, don't. I won't ask any more questions like that.
-Are the walls thin here? -No. Are you going to scream?
No.
-Continue. You play well. -There's no continuation.
-Why is that? -I lost my inspiration.
What was his name?
You're mistaken. There was no him.
That's what's wrong with you. You have never really loved anyone.
-Haven't I? -Not happily, at least.
I can see it in your eyes.
-Will you call for a car now? -I could make you so happy.
Call now.
Believe it or not - I called for a car and even drove her home.
To the suburbs... I, who never drive girls home.
So it wasn't one of your more successful nights.
Quite the opposite. You'll think I'm crazy-
-but I'm glad that nothing happened. It remained a nice memory.
-I don't have too many of those. -Was that the only time you met her?
Oh no, but it was another year until we met again.
I had done a tour for the conscripted and arrived at the train station, pissed off.
-Dagmar, why are you standing here? -I just said goodbye to my husband.
What a coincidence. Let's spend the evening together. Is this your bag?
This month has been a drag and now I'm making up for it.
How do you like my cocktail cabinet? Snazzy, eh? 950 crowns.
But then again, it was a limited edition.
-What would you like to drink? -I think I've had enough.
But a glass of champagne at least? I'll get it cold in a minute.
-Not for me. -As you please.
So how long will your husband be gone?
Forever... we're getting divorced. We decided it today.
You don't say...? Well, that can happen.
-I guess it feels strange? -Yes.
-I'm glad I'm not the reason. -But you are.
What are you saying?
When I came home that night after the soirée, my husband was waiting for me.
Oh, darn. Well, there you go.
One figures what he must have thought.
He should have known me better.
But he never trusted me. I wonder why that is?
So you were modest for nothing that time.
-Not for me. -I mean for his sake.
A more cynical man might say that we've got one on hold.
That's what I was thinking about when you appeared at the station.
You don't say? Are you sure that I shouldn't put that champagne on cooling?
-No, but will you call for a car? -What are you saying?
I'm sorry to disappoint you. It was a mistake to come over here.
Dagmar, you can't walk out on me again.
I have missed you. I've been thinking about you every day.
-Don't you understand that I love you? -You know that's not true.
There's just one person you've always loved. Yourself.
Why would you hurt me like that?
Don't be melodramatic. It doesn't suit you. Call for a car now.
There was nothing left to do, but at least she had to drive herself home that time.
-And you gained another memory. -You can have too many of those, too.
-She was a peculiar girl. -Why? She didn't love you.
Actually, she did, and that would manifest itself later.
Don't tell this to anyone, but the reason that she took her life was-
-that she was unlucky in love with me.
The night before it happened, a friend called me.
He had found two fine ladies at Aldon's Bar.
I hurried down. One was a redhead.
Dagmar playing there didn't bother me at all.
The females were lookers. Two Swedes who had just returned from abroad.
We sat a couple of hours and filled ourselves up.
When Dagmar finished playing, the redhead yelled at her-
-because they went to school together, and we kept going at my place.
-Wasn't it atrocious? -It wasn't that bad.
-Bénédictine or cacao? -Is there no cognac?
I got by quite well. My German has always been good.
-So you worked for them? -Yes, it was that or hell.
It's easy to sit here and frown and talk about opportunism.
-Here's a cognac. -I've always liked Germans, anyway.
-What did you work with? -This and that.
Nothing for your clean little fingers, I can assure you.
But when you're knee-deep in shit, you're not afraid to touch it after a while.
-Another glass? -Pour it up.
I've drunk stronger men than you under the table.
-Germans can't take much. -I've partied with all nationalities.
And more than that?
-So we're heading in to me? -I don't think so.
-Why not? -I don't have time for that reward.
-So, how have you been? -Why, fine.
-You haven't changed, Dagmar. -I can't say the same.
Play something cheerful. A samba.
-Can you dance samba, Willy? -As long as I'm holding you...
-I'm crazy about red hair. -Even if it's fake?
-I hope they'll leave soon. -Are you sleepy?
-No, are you? -No... do we really have to wait?
-It would make a better impression. -Right now, I'd like to make a bad impression.
In that case...
We had barely closed the door before she stopped playing.
When we returned, she was gone. And the next day, dead.
-It's unfathomable. -That's the story.
She may have loved me from the beginning without knowing it.
When she saw me in someone else's arms, she realised and it was too late.
I should put the plug back in. There could be an order on the way.
-So the mystery of Dagmar Brink is solved. -Poor Anders. Are you bummed?
Yes, I am. I wish that I had never got involved in this story.
Humans never cease to amaze. Or disillusionise.
A woman who I thought was one in a thousand...
-...was just a run-of-the-mill person. -I don't think she was.
Then again, you haven't met Willy Borge.
If you kill yourself over him, you're an average person at best.
The mystery that never was is solved. We've found out everything of importance.
There's nobody left to ask. I'm having a cup of tea.
-There is one. -Who?
The red-haired girl she went to school with.
Whatever she knows doesn't change anything. I never heard her name.
-I'd like to get ahold of her. -Call Borge. "The plug" is connected.
My name is Mrs. Wikner. My husband forgot to ask about something.
The red-haired girl who was at your place with Dagmar...
What was her name?
-What did you call her? -Alex.
Her real name was Alexandra, but I forgot her last name.
It doesn't matter. Sorry to bother you.
Alex, I love you so much. All too much.
We can never have each other.
There's just one, who hasn't let me down.
But that day might come. And then I don't want to be around anymore.
Did you find out her name?
No, he had forgotten.