"Letting courage
"be his only guide,
"albeit a very silent one,
"he decided
"not to intervene."
COURAGE - LET'S RUN
Already in bed?
Cigarette?
No.
What's your plan?
To smoke first and kiss me afterward?
Oh, sorry.
Who are we?
Beg your pardon?
I can't hear you with your hands on my ears.
Where are we?
In Amsterdam.
We're 2 strangers,
naked in Amsterdam.
What's your name?
Martin Belhomme.
What'll happen next, Martin Belhomme?
I don't know.
Take me.
What is this? Do you know them?
No.
-Maybe you should go and see. -Me?
The door is jammed.
Kick it in or something. Want me to go?
Oh no.
The door wasn't jammed...
I was.
Once again,
just when I'm about to brave sudden danger,
my own self prevents me from doing anything.
The cowardice I'd experienced since birth
had been passed down by my father,
who'd inherited it from his father.
And if I may be so bold, if my life were a film,
in order for you to understand,
we'd need to go back to a 1915 newsreel.
April 1915.
On the Champagne front, a French officer
paces up and down, trying to comfort his men
before the attack.
This is my grandfather, Lt. Yellowbelly Émile Belhomme!
On April 11, at 4:25 PM,
he and his men pitifully surrendered
to 2 young, dumbfounded Germans who had fired a burst by mistake
while cleaning a machine gun.
1936.
While young Farouk of Egypt
succeeded his father, King Fuad I,
while Margaret Mitchell published "Gone with the Wind,"
and while black athlete Jesse Owens
roused Hitler's ire during the Berlin Olympic Games,
in France, the Popular Front won the elections,
people festively occupied factories,
and Léon Blum arbitrated the meeting
between the CGT and the CGPF.
Before a learned assembly of bigwigs,
my father, Adrien Belhomme,
a smallwig plant owner in Issy-les-Moulineaux,
declared as everyone applauded:
We won't give in!
The following morning, he gave in,
giving the stunned workers pay raises
beyond anything they had hoped for,
even extending, in a moment of distraction,
paid vacations to match the length of school vacations.
Six months later,
a competitor acquired the bankrupt factory for a song
and my father became unemployed.
Meanwhile, I had begun my panic-stricken life
by ratting out fellow kindergarten classmates,
to everyone's consternation.
Belhomme!
By cowering before "the fittest,"
I earned a reputation as the school coward.
June 1940.
No matter how hard he looks, Hitler won't find us in Paris.
We're in Toulouse
hiding at the house of some Jewish friends.
Later on, my father became assistant carter
on a farm in the middle of France.
Until 1944,
our parents feared for a German or Italian air raid.
We were therefore the only children in school
wearing camouflage.
By "we," I mean myself and my little brother, Franckie,
a born miser.
This licorice'll cost you!
By age 8, he was dealing on the black market.
1948.
France got its colors back.
I was 20.
Nobody danced the cucaracha as well as I did.
That's how I came to intrigue Mathilda.
I met her at a nightclub where I played the piano.
She eyed me like Humphrey Bogart eyed Lauren Bacall
in "To Have and Have Not."
We danced
and hit it off.
Things went very fast.
She started following me everywhere.
Go away!
When you're done with this military crap,
drop the music career
and resume your pharmaceutical studies.
-Stop pretending I'm not here. -Please go.
Also, we're getting married.
Like lions going into battle...
Then Dad'll buy us a drugstore.
Like lions going into battle...
By the way, I'm pregnant.
What? One night...
Wait up!
But...
You're kidding me?
We'll all die standing
Whether from the south or north
Spilling our blood is an honor
We opened our drugstore and had 2 kids:
Pierre-Martin and Monica.
Did we actually love each other?
A 2-person survey would have given:
Yes: 0. No: 0.
No opinion: 2.
I'd dreamt of someone else, that is, of being someone else.
If only life hadn't decided otherwise.
-Why are you staring at me? -I'm watching you fatten up.
Stop teasing your sister! Or do I have to slap you?
Idiot!
I'm bumming one, pal.
-He didn't write that one? -Yes, they're all his.
Should be chilly now.
Champagne?
Not too much.
There.
Dad died in the spring of 1968.
His death caused Franckie a lot of sorrow.
And also some financial troubles.
Big brother!
Franckie!
Remember?
Remember him?
Of course I remember him.
We haven't discussed who'll pay what for the funeral.
I'm going to the drugstore.
I think it's best
if I pay for the flowers.
That way you can do as you please for the rest.
What do you mean by "the rest"?
I don't know...
Thinking about it is so painful.
There's the ceremony,
the announcements...
-The service... -Shut up.
Of course, the flowers are a daily expense...
Not necessarily.
I know a guy
who makes plastic geraniums.
You can put them on the grave and they last years.
On top of that,
they're now on sale.
Oh, big brother...
Franckie...
...are currently firing teargas...
Close up, Mrs. Berger.
Do you mind?
There we go! They're nearby.
...barricades are in flames. Firemen just got here.
Hello.
So sorry.
Sorry about that.
It's up to the French...
-Hello, sir. -Hello.
...to stress the importance of the decisions that were made.
Hey!
It's intolerable!
There are posters all over the neighborhood!
Hello, Dad.
A few guys and I started a volunteer group
to clean them up, but no politics.
We simply want a clean city. Operation Clean Paris.
This afternoon, we painted over 207 words and 28 slogans.
You wouldn't believe the things we read:
"When tomatoes fly, deans believe they're swallows."
That's not nice to professors who've devoted their lives
to their trade.
"Buenas noches," Doctor.
Good, the elevator's there. Bye, Martin, Pierre-Martin.
The real problem is money. Paint isn't cheap.
Jelly, semolina, pasta shells...
-Is Paris burning? -No, all is good.
-What are you doing? -Having fun.
-What about my books? -You never read them!
I'm running out of storage space.
Hello, chickadee.
Hello.
Thierry, a classmate.
-Hello, Thierry. -Hello.
How would I look asking guests,
"Voltaire, Acme Food, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Kraft?"
-You told me to stock up. -I never said that.
When you saw that de Gaulle was leaving for Romania,
you left to buy sugar in your pajamas!
We need more than sugar to weather the revolution!
I ran all over the place!
I brought up 30 bottles of oil with my bad back! I'm exhausted!
Noël came to give me another shot and you protest!
It's Franckie!
Franckie is the newscaster again!
How many times has it been since the strike started?
Following the President's address
on the referendum regarding college reform,
demonstrations once again went on all night.
-Barricades... -He uses his hands too much.
He can't help it.
...negotiations are about to start
at the Ministry of Labor, between employers, the unions
and the government. Still in Paris...
He said he'd see you after the news. Go now.
Who, Franckie?
He brought back some potatoes from the Meuse
and agreed to give you some for his godson's sake.
-Want to come? -Can't, choir practice.
But the ringleaders escaped capture.
All the observers are now asking
the same question:
Who are the people responsible
for the protests getting out of hand?
Who are the armed rioters?
Are they simple protesters?
Or are they experts from abroad?
Stay tuned. After the news...
-Hi. -What are you wearing?
Who cares? They only film the top half.
I can only jog at night now.
Let's go elsewhere.
That's all you brought? That won't be enough!
I'll lend you a kitbag.
They're a bit expensive. Belle de Frontenay variety!
I also have some soy.
By "some," I mean a lot.
You took your car?
No, with all this commotion...
There's the girl I was telling you about!
-What do you think of her? -She's pretty.
Hello.
This is my brother, Martin Belhomme.
Sylvette Goldoni, the new newscaster I mentioned.
Hello, Miss.
So what's going on Sunday?
Sunday at 9:15,
it's time for "B for Bible,"
Rabbi Simon Yipman's show,
followed at 9:30
by Father Lebalu's "Closer to You, God."
No...
What's on the agenda for us on Sunday?
I recommend the Star Pub at 1 PM,
to meet up with my brother and his friends.
Good times ahead!
At 3:50 PM, a movie.
This time, it's a slasher,
"The Ghost of Wall Street." Goose bumps are on the agenda.
FUCK THE POLICE
LONG LIVE YOUTH
DUCK THE POLICE
Bravo!
-Join us! -Come! I'll take your bag.
No! Not my potatoes!
What's the big deal, students?
-I'm no student. -What are you? Rogue elements?
Come with us!
Come on!
We have the power! We have the power!
My potatoes!
No! Not the red one!
-Why not? -It's new!
-Who cares? What's it to you? -Nothing.
And so it was my turn to be on the frontline.
Throwing projectiles before my distressed family...
Martin!
...at my car.
My own car that I'll be repaying
for the next year and a half by monthly installments.
Dad!
-Dad! -Martin!
A question kept popping into my mind,
which could be on a school exam.
It went like this,
"Am I hitting rock bottom
"or am I soaring upwards?"
Strangely, it's in this cramped elevator
that I heard the call of the wild.
I didn't have time to buy a ticket.
That's not the problem. We're not leaving.
-If I pay, can I sleep here? -No.
What can I get you, sir?
Rum.
-This leaflet is blank. -They all are.
They're not leaflets but mirrors.
They make you reflect.
-The same. -Yes, sir.
What does it mean?
It means what you want it to mean.
If you have nothing to say, then it means nothing.
Sorry. And my martini?
-Coming up, sir. -Sorry what?
Excuse me?
Nothing. I dropped my cigarette.
Martin! Martin!
Will you shut up?
They're not all blank.
I wrote one this afternoon. If you have a minute...
"Individuals, take a stand against class individualism
"outclassing downgraded classes
"while distorting the balance of the unbalance they create."
-It's terse. -I prefer the blank ones.
-Want some to give out? -I don't know anyone anymore.
For the first time since I was born,
I have no idea where I'll sleep.
In that case, I can take you with me.
-Where? -To some people's.
Wait up. I should buy some flowers.
Relax, it's a dormitory.
In that case, could I ask you
to make a small detour?
Stop!
A man lay dormant within me. And that's no exaggeration.
In conclusion, though this might seem affected,
I would say that's when I broke with my fate.
But I'm wasting your time.
No, I just couldn't hear because of my helmet.
-Will it take you long? -Only a minute.
I'm entitled to my share, after all.
Can you watch him while I go get his food?
Want some cocoa?
Where's my suit?
A friend is wearing it. He has a job interview.
He'll bring it back tonight.
-Cocoa? I only have one mug. -No, thanks.
Not to be self-centered,
but what am I to wear in the meantime?
Just look through the pile.
Has anyone seen Fanta?
Thanks.
You noticed that he didn't take your money or keys?
Yes.
I need the scores now. My plane's leaving in an hour!
They're not even mine!
-I promise to send them back. -I bet!
-Where'd you see it? -Excuse me.
Nice, huh?
I prefer big hogs, but I guess it's OK.
-Christophe! Can we go already? -I can't.
I have a meeting with the medical students.
You said you'd take me, so I canceled the taxi!
No need for drama. I couldn't foresee this.
Can you take her?
I'll give you the registration.
Could you? Thanks.
Can't you go a bit faster?
Sorry, it's still cold.
Bike rides are great in this weather.
Yeah, that feeling of wild freedom...
Over there, it looks like the sea.
-You're going to Amsterdam? -I'm going to Amsterdam.
I won't ask you why.
No, you won't.
To Amsterdam.
Please tell the man over there to stop staring at me.
The one in black?
Yes.
Do you know the boarding time for the Tunis-bound flight?
Sorry to bother you, maybe you don't speak French.
I do, but I don't know.
Just check the postings.
On that board behind me?
Thank you, sir.
Thank you very much, sir.
I'm off.
Immediate boarding
for Air France flight 801 to Amsterdam, gate 4.
Which way is Holland?
North.
Helmet!
Nice!
What's new since this morning?
Nothing. Everyday life. Like you.
What did I want to say? What are you doing now?
Now? Going home, why?
Out of curiosity.
I thought we might take a ride by the canals.
Or maybe by the tall ships.
See how fast she goes, our hair blowing in the wind.
Stop right there. I'm exhausted.
It's almost 2 AM, so canals and ships...
Don't waste your breath.
But if you want to make love, that's fine by me.
That was a few moments ago.
My whole life was like this hallway.
That's why the door
a gorgeous woman asked me to open
will remain forever closed.
Stop bothering the woman, son!
OK, son? You want me to get angry?
Is that it, son?
I asked you a question!
Do you want me to get angry?
-You're not hurt, are you? -No.
Just a few bruises.
Come here.
-Do you often make love? -No.
This was my first time.
-Something on my face? -No.
Your face is open.
Time for you to go.
What?
It's not like we're getting married or anything.
You came. That's nice.
Everything was perfect.
Go back to Paris
and return Christophe's bike.
What do you do in life?
I don't know.
Want us to say goodbye?
Sure.
Bid me farewell.
I borrowed this bike from a friend. Here's the address.
-Can I count on you? -Sure.
Thanks, there you go.
You! You haven't left?
No, but it's a long story.
I wanted to say hello
because you've been so kind to me.
It's only normal, between French expats...
Come in, have a seat.
Thank you.
When are you going back? Now?
Two possibilities:
driving all night, which has some advantages,
of getting up early tomorrow morning...
On the other hand,
it looks like it might rain...
There goes my voice!
-Phonia, it's a question of... -What?
Nothing, sorry.
I want to stay with you.
Here?
I've got a 3-month contract here.
Sorry, but I never want to leave you.
But that's not how things work.
You must have a wife, kids... Besides, we met only yesterday.
One doesn't usually fall in love with old friends.
Ready, Éva?
Yes, yes.
-Where'll I find you after? -Everywhere.
-Oh no! -You're not free?
Yes, that's just it.
My trench coat!
What the...?
What happened?
Hurry!
Does she live alone?
-Who, my ex-wife? -Yes.
Last time I saw her,
she was living in with a doctor by the name of Noël.
So you're a writer... Novels?
Detective novels.
Name some titles.
"The Red Hand," "Mrs. Berger's Crime,"
and "Who are these snakes for?"
I read that one!
Don't ask me what I thought, I have a lousy memory.
What?
-Did you see him? -Who?
He's coming this way.
-The guy from Orly Airport. -What guy?
The one who was staring at you.
-He's doing it again. -Where is he?
In the street.
I'd never have recognized him.
What's he doing?
-Sitting down. -"Sitting down"?
I don't believe it!
Thanks. Ask for the bill.
-Want coffee first? -No, no.
I didn't even notice him on the plane.
What's he got against me?
People are just... It's not their fault.
Have a taste.
-He's gone now. -But he's over there.
-Don't look at him. -He's the one staring.
-Ignore him. -"Ignore him"?
-Don't start a fight. -You're dead set against it?
Absolutely.
Let's leave.
What?
When I fall in love,
I usually fear for the safety of my beloved.
But this time, I fear for my own.
I was crazy about the woman lying against me,
yet the evening was a nightmare.
In the morning, while my beauty slept,
I headed for the bathroom to go wash up
before she awoke.
What time is it?
Slept well?
My photos! I told them I wanted breakfast at 9!
-What photos? -I have a photo session at noon!
-You have plenty of time. -I need to get my hair done.
Morning!
Go!
Open up and ask them for an extra cup for you.
Wasn't there a knock?
-Wasn't there a knock? -No.
Excuse me.
-I said it was over! -Never!
I hate you!
Oh, sorry...
I have no idea what you said!
Give it here. Can you bring another cup?
Besides, he doesn't have the nerve to kill you.
"Kill me"?
He's the love of my life. Nay, I'm the love of his life.
"The love of your life, nay, the love of his life"?
Drink up, I'm in a hurry.
I left him, it's over.
I changed my locks, but he keeps breaking down the door.
He follows me everywhere, threatens me...
This is so hackneyed! Why am I boring you with this?
You're not boring me, but how is this so hackneyed?
-We argued on the plane. -He was on...?
He's trying to drive me crazy, but he's the one going nuts.
This is the second breakup, he knows it's for good.
So he's desperate. Thank God it's Sunday!
"For good, so he's desperate, thank God it's Sunday"?
Because he has to leave for work.
Telecommunications Ministry.
Think he'll come back to Amsterdam every weekend?
No, he's leaving for Guadeloupe till December.
-Let's never bring him up again. -But...
I said never again! He's gone and forgotten.
But when you kissed me for the first time, at Orly,
was it just to make him jealous...?
You can stay if you like.
I like being with you.
Stay.
Counting that morning,
how many weeks did our "aventura" last?
My memory is muddled,
for we lost track of time.
Still, there was a lingering apprehension at first.
You can't eliminate toxins of the soul
with simple mineral water.
At first,
I couldn't help checking for the sleeve cutter's return,
especially on Sundays and public holidays.
Pastry?
Éva had been right.
The sleeve cutter popped up only in my dreams.
We were indeed alone. We were free.
And we both felt 20 years younger.
But I needed money to live on. Drugstores and labs
turned me down for want of diplomas,
so I became a bicycle repairman for a while,
but she was my sole concern.
Finally, thanks to a newfound friend,
I was able to sidestep union security
to get a job at the dockyard
at a fairly good salary.
Docker! A noble but early-morning profession.
Yes, sir.
A great place to meet people,
but not the best for pursuing pharmaceuticals studies.
The job is especially hard
on those who like singers who keep late hours.
-You OK? -Fantastic.
We will have been the first lovers
to suffer from jetlag without ever taking a plane.
I know, we weren't the only ones!
But we were unique,
like all the others.
Be back Wednesday...
I'd told Éva I was doing research for my next book.
She thought it only normal.
Be careful!
Nothing ever surprised her.
Just kidding!
When she went to Paris
to see her mother and her record company,
I wrote entire pages
of an English book I was translating
very liberally.
I'd sneakily leave crumpled pages on my desk,
so that she would find them
while I feigned a writer's tired sleep.
Naturally,
I'd prepared about 2,500 files for all the questions
she might potentially ask.
But she didn't ask any.
As for her, she was the daughter
of a field officer and a librarian from Dunkirk.
She'd devoted her life to juvenile delinquency
before branching off into variety shows.
It was a simple destiny, in stark contrast
to her extraordinary beauty.
What threw me off at first
is how gaily she said she loved me,
whereas for me, up until then, the words "I love you"
were a somber affair.
I'd learned to laugh in my childhood,
but for lack of practice, I'd forgotten how.
But with Éva, who laughed so freely,
it was all coming back.
Yet one day,
my mirth flew off in downtown Amsterdam.
I'd been buying French newspapers to read up on myself.
It was bound to happen:
They were officially searching for me.
Mathilda had placed an ad: "Martin, come back.
"You have some explaining to do!"
My first instinct was to tear up the paper,
but at that very instant,
I knew I would tell Éva everything.
I don't believe you! What's gotten into you?
This isn't funny. Why are you lying?
We were happy together.
Why this fake striped-suit pharmacist getup?
I love you as you are.
I know your novels are bad.
I read whole pages while you were sleeping.
I don't care.
Like you, it makes me laugh.
It's totally you,
like that tiger head on your oversized jacket.
But that look on your face right now, that's not you.
What're you after, Martin?
If it's me you're after, don't do this.
Go back to the hotel.
Don't wait for me here every night.
Go back and write.
Let me have her!
Let me have her.
I can't live without her.
I just can't.
I just can't!
I beg of you, sir.
I'm at the end of my rope.
Let me have her.
She's mine.
She's mine!
Come, sir...
Get a hold of yourself!
Be a man!
So you'll give her up?
Sorry, that would be too hard.
Listen, I'll give you an hour to leave town,
otherwise I'll get mad...
You don't get it.
I'm the one giving you an hour to leave.
Otherwise I'll kill you both,
which would be a shame.
Because I love her.
I'll think it over. Where can I reach you?
No! You won't think it over.
You're leaving, and fast.
Fast!
MY LOVE, MY LIFE IS IN DANGER
"My love,
"my mother,
"whom I spoke of briefly,
"suddenly fell ill..."
A knife at my throat
had led me to write that desperate letter.
But what would I say to Mathilda?
And to everyone else?
I had a brilliant idea.
I wouldn't say a single thing.
He's been there for about 45 minutes,
doesn't know who he is or how to got there.
Hey, mister...
-No ID? -How would I know?
What about this?
-Are you Martin Belhomme? -Who?
-He's back! -Who?
Whaddaya mean, "Who?"
-Martin? -Hello, ma'am.
We went to your home address,
but we were told to bring him here.
You know this woman, right?
Hello, ma'am.
"Hello, ma'am"?
-Where'd you arrest him? -We didn't arrest him.
He was sitting on a suitcase in Iéna Square, completely lost.
You don't recognize me, Martin?
What about me?
Hello, Mother.
-Hello. -Not in front of customers!
-Some Pulmolls, please. -Just a sec.
You can leave him, officers.
I'll call a doctor.
You don't recognize him either?
He's your son, Pierre-Martin!
This is your daughter. Monica!
They're vacationing in Portugal.
They failed their exams.
No, no!
She's my fiancée!
You know her from TV.
Sylvette Goldoni!
No need to shout, he's not deaf.
You can go, I'll clear up.
Maybe we could trigger a flow of memories
by showing him something akin to Proust's madeleine?
It's always worth a shot.
Remember the chocolate porridge she made you?
Your old granny?
Seems you ate 2 bowls, on top of your feeding bottle!
And remember the toy horse on wheels?
When we lived by Toulouse.
You must remember Picotin?
You do, don't you?
You do!
I feel faint.
You don't remember St-Jacques St.?
The brunette at the hardware store?
The one who smelled of turpentine!
Of course you do!
I'll have Pierre-Martin and Monica come back.
He'll still need to be hospitalized and tested.
Amnesia can block more things than just memories.
Remember Liberation,
when the Americans marched into the village?
The "Americans"?
The Americans...
We'll perform a funduscopy, an EEG, and a scan.
You'd hidden in the cellar,
because the neighbors' wolfhound had escaped.
The Americans got you out with teargas.
You don't even realize that I'm your little brother?
No.
If you don't remember anything at all,
you probably don't remember...
...the million francs you lent me
for the apartment on Henri-Barbusse St.
You can't possibly just remember that!
No.
Anyway...
The tests seemed to work, that's the main thing.
We can't push him too hard. He doesn't remember a thing!
How are you, Mathilda?
What? Oh yes, he's doing much better.
Much better.
It's partial amnesia, so he has flashes of memory.
We were watching an old movie, and he told us at the start
that Gloria Swanson would kill William Holden,
that he'd drown in her pool.
It's been about a year.
The other day we showed him photos of his dad,
and he thought it was Léon Blum!
So you see... What?
Obviously, we don't let him handle the drugs.
We put him on cash duty.
Noël thinks it does him good to focus on numbers.
No, besides that, just the same old routine.
-No, that I don't know. -How nice of you, Martin!
No, I don't know.
-You shouldn't have! -But it's Sunday.
Hello, Noël.
-Got the pastries yourself? -Huh... Yes.
He went out and bought pastries all by himself!
Morning!
He's back.
He got lost last time.
You start too fast.
I can never finish a sentence.
I forgot what was I saying.
That they'd transferred you without asking first.
To sports!
I know nothing about sports!
Remember?
Oh right, of course not!
That's TV for you!
I launched a solidarity strike, for me,
but no one joined in.
-Are you listening? -Yes.
I was heartbroken!
They just abandoned me.
If you saw what it was like in the sports department...
We're off.
-Good night, Dad. -Good night, Monica.
Don't forget: milk and fruit!
Mom left you a note.
Good night.
-Bye, Martin! -Bye, Thierry.
-Bye, Dad. -Bye...?
Pierre-Martin.
We're at the stadium... at Des Princes Park.
That's No. 7
running, running,
who's about to shoot into the ball...
To pass it to his friend, No. 8,
who shoots and passes to one of his friends...
He got it with his hand...
No, that was the goalie's hand.
Everything's going great for now.
The score is 0-0 for France.
Now back to the studio.
I'm Franckie Belhomme.
I can now confirm the death
of Éric de Chalamond.
The new Telecommunications principal private secretary
died in a helicopter crash when the blades caught
in telephone wires.
De Chalamond started out as an embassy attaché in Madrid
before heading the international commission...
We're free!
Any news from that young blonde...?
You know, the young blonde I happened to run into...
I drove her to Orly, as a favor to you.
Just out of curiosity.
Éva Silver?
I think she's still singing.
At one point, I declared my passionate love for her,
but she told me to get in line,
then I lost track of her, as I'm fairly elusive myself.
-Right... -You should've asked Sénéchal.
Who's that?
The one you lent your suit to.
He wrote arrangements for her, so he might know.
-Where can I find this Sénéchal? -292-29-22.
It's me.
You got dressed?
What a woman!
Women are great, huh?
-That's how women are. -No questions, no nothing!
I should've asked how much.
"How much" what?
It was nice seeing you again.
Let me know next time you want to make love.
In 2... 4 years.
How's that?
You'll drop by and we'll go to a hotel.
Will 200 f do? Here, take 250 f.
-What's this for? -A little present.
"Present"?
What's your name again?
So now we can ask you...
Where were you all that time?
Why "now"?
Because your memory is back.
But in what state?
Those times are too dark for me.
I see the traveler hasn't found all his baggage.
I'm alluding to a play by Jean Anouilh.
A man has lost his memory...
Yes, I know.
Directed by Régis Bulo, probable broadcast in October.
Don't miss it!
Three separate checks here?
Yes...
Here's yours, my love.
And yours.
When'd you get your memory back?
A few weeks ago.
-You've lost weight, no? -Dunno.
Well, I'm off.
Bye, gorgeous.
Bye, Franckie.
Bye, Franckie!
Oh right... Bye, my love.
-See you later. -Bye.
A carafe?
You're married now, you could pay for her!
Separate ownership of property!
Speaking of being married,
is it true you're divorcing Mathilda?
No, she's divorcing me.
But she and Noël both deserve it.
It had to happen sometime.
So you're living alone in your studio apartment?
And how is that working out?
Great.
I wanted the bookkeeping to be finished for noon!
It's 6:20 PM!
And am I supposed to put away those boxes myself?
Just answer the question! Am I?
-No, but I had no... -No what?
-Hello? -Hello.
Whaddaya mean, "hello"?
How'd you find me?
Through Christophe, like you.
-Where are you? -In Paris.
But what were you thinking...?
-Why are you calling me? -Because...
I felt like seeing you.
Hello?
Hello.
Why'd you leave me without a word in Amsterdam?
It's so hard to explain...
-Didn't you see my note? -No, what note?
But when you left, I bumped into Éric at the hotel.
-"Éric"? -Yes, Éric.
He told me everything.
That you had a razorblade and wanted to kill us both...
He said that "I" wanted to kill you both?
Is that why you disappeared?
Well, yes,
since he told you I'd lost control...
I was afraid of what I might do.
I said it was over between us. You thought I was lying?
Yes, since he was always underfoot!
I didn't realize you were the violent type.
-But I am. -Martin...
You think I'm some kind of a brute?
Is that your wife behind you?
No, that's Mrs. Berger.
-Did you see him again often? -Éric? Never!
-May he rest in peace. -Absolutely.
-Is that your wife? -No, the bookkeeper.
-Where are you? -Right here looking at you.
But where?
Here.
At that moment, I thought I knew everything about her.
But I knew nothing yet.
Now I do.
At first, life was easy.
Her life had remained simple and artistic.
She lived in a small place in the 15th borough.
She'd given me the key so I could wait for her there.
But she didn't want me to move in,
nor to move in with me.
Éva was one of those women you had, but never owned.
She often had to go away for work,
sometimes for 6 days running, sometimes even a week or 2.
I don't like goodbyes at train stations.
Go before...
Train #313 for Lisbon will be departing at 7:50 PM.
Difficult separations...
Martin!
-Why'd you come from that way? -I took an earlier flight.
...followed by passionate reunions,
where we threw ourselves into each other's arms,
a celebration of pharmaceuticals and song.
Speaking of celebrations,
I was a witness to Mathilda's wedding.
They lived long and had many children,
since Noël already had 3.
Good move!
Big gin!
You?
A complete disaster!
This is gonna hurt!
Let's see.
Brace yourself.
You say I don't cost you much...
But now you'll have to pay up.
It comes to exactly...
548 francs.
You're in the woods now!
Marry me.
-You don't love me enough? -I do!
Till the very end,
happiness seemed to intimidate Éva.
Bug off, kid!
Take your time, why don't you?
You look gorgeous, Éva!
Hurry, hurry!
Marne, her official address,
was a charming town outside of Paris.
That's where we exchanged our vows.
I remember Éva's exquisite pallor
when she had to answer the mayor.
She turned toward the window and answered "I do" so weakly
that the magistrate was forced to ask,
"Pardon me?"
I should've said no. Now you'll leave me.
Oh?
I love you, Martin.
You must believe that all your life.
I love you.
-I couldn't doubt that today. -Yes.
Whaddaya mean, "yes"?
-Turn left. -Why?
Please.
I won't be long, I'll explain later.
I love you.
Mom!
"Mom"?
Dad! Dad! Mom's here!
-Where were you? -"Dad"? "Mom"?
He means nothing to me, you have to help me!
Of course he means nothing, but who are you?
I've tried to leave for years, but he scares me.
I tried to tell him this morning...
That's why I was late! I've never loved you so much.
-I love you! -But why neglect to tell me?
Those kids!
I knew you'd be upset, but it's only 2 kids!
I love them, but they're yours!
Now you know why I didn't want to get married.
Éva!
Did you tell him?
Éva!
-He knew about Éric? -Are you nuts?
Éva!
I guess next to him, even Éric...
-But he never married you? -No, he's married with kids.
Why not just tell him you were getting married,
that you'd met someone...?
Because I'm scared of him! Don't you know what that's like?
I love you, but you have to tell him.
I don't have the strength, but you will.
Yeah...
Éva!
-Morning, Martin! -Morning, young man!
Where's Mom?
Looking for Betty. She's hiding.
I knew I'd find you there!
Scoot!
And now she's running away!
Five days! Just the two of us.
My love!
Be right there. What time is it?
Time to get going.
Don't bother yourself!
At my proposal, we'd postpone
informing this poor guy of his loss.
Contrary to certain women,
Éva had taken a husband under her lover's nose.
We celebrated every one of his absences with abandon.
She loved me, I loved her.
As for the rest,
nothing or no one could get between us.
Cynical happiness, yes,
and certainly cruel for poor, clueless Charley.
But it was all about the survival of the fittest,
and I was taking full advantage of it.
After all, you only live once. If you're lucky!
COURAGE - LET'S RUN
Translation: Baribeau & Blinn Épilogue