Original subtitles

THE LITTLE SOLDIER

Narrator: I'm too old to play an active role.

It's time to think things over.

Geneva.

Lake Leman divides the city in 2 parts.

3 days ago, secret agents declared a deadly war open...

here on neutral territory.

$800.

I thought of myself suddenly...

Bruno Forestier...

a reporter for the French Information Bureau.

More Terrorist Attacks

Geneva Professor Dies Following Attack

They're at it again. Shit.

They're completely crazy.

Geneva, May 13, 1958.

Argon once wrote, "Painless May...

"June, cut to the heart."

"Love one another"

Things OK?

Someone called for you.

- You said I was here? - Yes.

I told you not to!

The sky reminded me of a Klee painting.

"Where do you come from?

"Where are you? Where are you going?"

What's going on, kid?

Hi.

Bruno, what are you up to?

A nice Paul Klee.

My date's nicer.

Who is she?

You're to take photos of her.

What if I don't want to see her?

She's chic. Come on.

I'm due at the Brazilian Consulate.

Go tomorrow.

I can't do it now!

Girls like lots of chit-chat.

Is it that Danish gal?

Yes. You know her?

Michel told me about her.

I bet you want to lay her.

She has a mouth like Leslie Caron.

No. I only screw girls I'm in love with.

I bet 5 minutes with her, you'd be in love.

How much will you bet?

- I don't know. - $50.

If you want.

$50 that I don't fall for her.

The first time I met her...

she seemed to be right out of a Giraudoux play.

Veronica?

Kill a guy from behind with a gun or a knife...

but not with a bomb.

Killing from a distance isn't honorable.

You don't know a thing.

What are you talking about?

What are you talking about?

Lachenal, the art prof killed yesterday.

His car was booby-trapped.

By whom?

The French.

What do you know about it?

You don't know what you're talking about.

It's irritating.

Students are all alike.

I know his daughter.

She's often at the ice skating rink.

You're right. It's terrible.

Aw, shit.

What's up?

This is a bore.

They thought I said "war."

I said it was the same thing.

She stared at me.

Good-bye.

For your photos, tomorrow at 5:00.

Where are you going?

A mystery.

You really are mysterious.

Yes. I'm a secret agent.

Veronica.

Shake your hair loose.

Here's your $50.

Where are you going? Is it important?

One never knows what's important.

I was still very young and foolish.

Blue skies? Rain? Who knew?

Up to now, my life had been simple.

A guy with no ideals.

And tomorrow?

I asked him for a light.

Again I asked him for a light.

At times I felt I was wasting my time.

Veronica...

did she have Velazquez-gray eyes, or were they Renoir-gray?

Alfred Latouche or his brother usually met me.

Maybe they'd been caught. And what about me?

- Hello, Jacques. - Hello, Bruno.

Get in.

Our antiterrorist group was financed

by an ex-parliamentarian who had been pro-Vichy.

How's it going?

OK. You?

Do you know Jacques?

That's him?

I don't know the other guy.

Your man?

No, the one in back.

Who's he?

If anyone asks, play dumb.

Good luck!

Bankers, parachutists, car salesmen, prodigal sons.

The secret war mixed men and ideas at a deadly pace.

Do we go or not?

We're good. It's 10 to 5:00.

If his car's there, stop by the fountain for Paul.

It's a '57 Nash convertible.

Well, Bruno?

What?

What are you thinking?

I don't know.

You're supposed to know.

What were you going to say?

Nothing.

Go on, say it.

I changed my mind.

What's that book?

"Thomas the Imposter."

Ah. Jean Cocteau.

Yes. Listen to the end. It's wonderful.

"William flew, leaped, and ran like a hare.

"Not hearing the shots, he stopped..."

"turned breathlessly.

"Then he felt a sharp jab in the chest.

"He fell.

"He'd become deaf and blind."

"'A bullet, ' he thought.

"'I am lost unless I pretend to be dead. '

"But for him, fact and fiction were one."

"William Thomas was dead."

It's beautiful.

I'd like to die like that.

Don't worry. Maybe you will. Soon.

What's gotten into you?

Why?

Because you're a pain in the ass, big boy.

We're thinking about Saturday.

What were you doing in Annecy?

I was hoping to take Veronica to Brazil.

I'm opening a painting gallery.

I was planning to buy 3 Modiglianis.

Lucky for me I don't have any.

With whose money?

I'll pay it back.

We're here.

"O, days of changing flowers...

"I recall the rose bowers."

Why was I obsessed by that poem?

Turn the radio down.

You know that guy who does that show?

Palivoda on Radio Geneva?

Yeah, that's him.

There he is.

I soon realized they suspected me of being a double agent.

Let's go.

His show's called "A Neutral Speaks."

That kills me.

You ever seen Palivoda, Bruno?

Before today?

Yes.

No.

- Take a good look at him. - Why?

Because you're going to kill him.

Why me again?

I got the order from Paris.

I'm just passing it on.

Jacques said it would be very easy.

Drive along next to him like now...

and fire...

when you're opposite him.

Roll up the window!

They're sure in Paris he works for the rebels?

I'm amazed. He's Swiss.

I'm not. It's less dangerous...

to talk on the radio than to fight.

The Swiss have never been very courageous.

Just look how they drive.

They even signal to pass a biker.

It infuriates me.

Want to go to the hotel?

No. To the office.

Is it true Latouche is dead?

Yes. They found him in a bathtub Tuesday...

at the Bristol Hotel. They'd cut out his tongue.

There was blood everywhere. Scared?

Shooting people isn't a joke.

We can loan you the car if you want.

It doesn't have Geneva plates.

It's too dangerous.

Why me and not Paul?

Because you're the best.

I don't want to kill Palivoda.

- What's wrong? - I don't know.

A moment ago, yes, but now, no.

I don't know why.

If I killed him, I'd feel like a loser.

That's unimportant.

Victory's better than defeat.

The Spanish Republicans' welfare is fine.

It's not mean. It's a thing to be proud of.

Benjamin Constant and Mme de StaeI lived there.

We chose you expressly to see if you're afraid.

Afraid? I'm not afraid at all.

I just don't feel like doing it.

I won't do it.

We'll make you do it.

You can't force me.

No one can force a soldier to kill.

What are you thinking? it's easy.

The Swiss know you're a deserter.

One little slip, you get sent back to France.

I mustn't lower my eyes.

No one'll get you out of an army jail again.

Kill him, or it'll be your turn.

Ask Jacques.

You'll kill me.

26 is awfully young to die, little prince.

If they force me, I'll kill, but not till then.

So that's what I told them.

Let me out. So long.

So I can count on you?

No. I'm a pain in the ass.

That's not funny.

Jacques!

What's he doing?

I felt it was important not to be a loser.

Next I phoned the Brazilian Consulate...

to ask about visas for a Frenchman and a Russian girl.

They were already closed. I'd call the next day.

At night, the starlit skyline is very moving...

both hard and mysterious...

in the likeness of mankind and what goes beyond it.

She pretended not to see me.

I didn't stop. I'd see her the next day.

Later I noticed a car tailing me.

I had trouble losing it.

"Now all is still.

"The enemy rests in the shadows."

Summer was coming, yet I felt it was winter.

Paul, what are you up to?

Her place wasn't bad.

I've just moved in.

It's not bad.

Yesterday I didn't see you, but I thought of you.

Now I see you, but think of something else.

Is this all you have?

Yes.

I thought you'd need lights...

Oh, no, no, no.

This is very fast film.

It's Agfa Record.

When photographing a face...

Iook at me...

you photograph the soul behind it.

She had deep shadows under her eyes.

They were Velazquez-gray.

Where do you want me?

Anywhere. Doesn't matter.

Do as you please, and I'll shoot.

I'll ask questions. It'll make it easier.

You seem afraid. Why?

Yes. I'm afraid.

You don't need to be.

It's like being questioned by the police.

She was less pretty than the day before.

Yes, yes, a little.

Photography is truth...

and cinema is truth 24 times a second.

Your name's Veronica what?

She didn't answer right away.

Veronica Dreyer.

You're a Finn. No, Danish.

No. I'm Russian...

but born in Copenhagen.

Are you with your parents in Geneva?

No. I'm alone.

A foreigner speaking French is lovely.

Where are your parents?

They were shot during the war.

Huh. Shot by whom?

That's no concern of yours.

By the Germans?

By the Russians, then?

That doesn't concern you.

Why won't you tell me?

That's just the way it is.

Hold your hair up.

Veronica's charm was herself...

the fall of her shoulders...

her anxious look...

her secret smile.

It's strange. My father was also shot...

on Liberation Day.

Drieu La Rochelle was his pal.

Don't be afraid. Don't remain motionless.

What would you like me to do?

I don't know. Whatever you want.

Light a cigarette...

take a shower.

I don't think so.

No? Why?

She turned suddenly.

You never take showers?

I said whatever came into my head.

I'd like to take shots of you showering.

You really don't want to?

No.

Why?

Because it's idiotic.

Afraid I'll see your body?

What do you mean, idiotic?

What are you thinking right now?

Move a bit.

Do you ever think of death?

She looked so anguished.

And suddenly I had the extraordinary sensation...

that I was photographing Death.

Then all became normal again.

Have you dated lots of boys since coming to Geneva?

Yes.

Why?

Just asking.

I bet you've posed in a bathing suit.

No. Never.

Now what are you thinking?

Are you thinking about me?

Yes.

What are you thinking about me?

How come you won't answer? You're afraid.

Pull your hair back.

Hold that record jacket up over your face.

Do you believe in freedom?

No.

Would you be afraid to kill someone?

Oh, you annoy me.

Do you have any brothers or sisters?

Yes. I have a brother.

What's he do?

He's in Moscow.

He's a student at the Stanislavsky Theater.

The Russians are always studying.

What?

Russians are always studying.

Odd that you wanted to be an actress.

She lighted a cigarette and asked why.

Why?

Actors just shuffle along.

I have contempt for them.

You tell them to laugh... they laugh.

Tell them to cry, they cry.

Tell them to crawl, they do it.

I find that grotesque.

I don't see why.

I don't know.

They're not free people.

- Look. - What?

"An actor."

Yes. It's by Klee.

Do you like Paul Klee?

Yes.

It's not important how others see you...

but how you see your own face.

Did Paul Klee say that?

No, I did.

Do you have a record?

Yes. What would you like?

Some Bach?

No. It's too late.

Bach's for 8:00 in the morning.

A Brandenburg at 8:00 is wonderful.

Mozart?

Beethoven?

Too early.

Mozart's for 8:00 in the evening.

Beethoven's music is very profound.

Beethoven's for midnight.

No, what we need is some Haydn...

some good old Joseph Haydn.

What are you thinking?

Same thing as you.

Do you know what a test is?

No.

It's a drawing to discover a person's character.

I'll do one for you.

I often used this on women.

They love to play games like little girls.

So you suggest playing children's games.

Do anything you want, anything at all.

Just finish the drawing.

Did Hugh tell you about our bet the other afternoon?

When you gave him $50?

Yes.

No.

You don't know why I gave him $50?

No.

You do it, too. I'd like to know your thoughts...

OK.

also.

You'll see.

"I love you."

Jacques and Paul were parked in front of the Century.

I pretended not to see them.

Veronica and I talked about art.

She insisted Gauguin was a greater painter than Van Gogh.

She was obviously wrong.

Who's the girl?

A cover girl.

Are you staying with me or not?

I don't know.

I don't know, Bruno.

When we left Club 58...

you remember?

You took my arm.

I shouldn't have?

No.

Why not?

Because it made me want to sleep with you.

Now you seem to be saying that's impossible.

You shouldn't give your arm to men you don't like.

Good night.

You think it'll work?

Sure. Bruno's a coward.

Then Paul took my car.

He and Jacques put the Swiss police on my neck.

Go on! Go on!

Go on!

My Pontiac!

You schmuck! My Pontiac!

Stop! Stop! Police!

It's a German song.

Shall I translate?

"O, radiant dawn,

"radiant dawn!"

"Too soon you announce my death."

"Soon the trumpets will resound..."

"and then..."

"I shall have to leave this beautiful life."

7:00 in the morning.

A handful of snapshots taken from around the world...

pass by me like bad dreams...

Panama...

Rome...

Alexandria...

Budapest...

Paris.

The bad dream continues.

"We entered the war as if entering school."

So began Bernanos' novel "Humiliated Children."

Fear Destroyed This Couple

I lit a cigarette.

This morning I feel like a little boy. Why?

Asking questions is more important than finding answers.

Veronica.

Give me a drag.

I'm hungry.

I had a nightmare.

I was in a theater.

I met the devil during intermission.

And he was very well-dressed.

It was truly him...

with hairy legs and horns.

And he had a thigh wound...

a big red scrape.

It was awful.

Yes? Who is it?

Where are you going?

Go back to sleep.

God, she was beautiful.

I wondered if she was only pretending to sleep.

Police.

Are you Bruno Forestier?

Yes. What's wrong?

Put on a coat and come with me.

No. I've done nothing.

Don't play games with us. You're wanted in France.

Yes, I deserted. But my papers are in order.

Get your coat. We'll see.

All right, I'm coming.

He seemed quite serious, the inspector.

"Hit-and-run," the papers said.

In time, the perpetrator...

would be turned over to French authorities.

As I didn't know anything yet, I denied everything.

There. You see?

Sir...

please?

- You shouldn't have fled. - I wasn't there.

Oh, so it's a Frenchman?

They try to get away with anything!

Were you there or not?

Never look down before a cop.

You don't know?

What an ass I was.

But... the gentleman has witnesses.

In that car!

I understood too late...

the crap had begun for my not killing Palivoda.

So... are we going to the station?

I had lost my first major battle.

So, are you going to file charges?

A tremendous feeling of Ioneliness settled through me.

Maybe freedom began with remorse.

- Where'd you go? - To get cigarettes.

You didn't take a bath?

I didn't feel like it.

A woman's shoulders are very pretty and noble.

You're odd this morning.

Yes. I'm becoming a coward.

What?

I'm becoming a coward.

It's strange. When I look myself in the face...

I get the feeling I don't match what I think is inside.

In your opinion...

what's more important, the inside or the outside?

It was a beautiful object...

black, mysterious, incorruptible.

It's what cameraman Raoul Coutard called...

the law of the big hassle.

Each time I was ready to fire...

an unexpected event prevented me.

And each time the coast was clear,

I hesitated several seconds...

and again it was too late.

It's especially difficult, if it's not your profession,

to try to kill a man several times.

It's like fouling up a suicide.

After a while, I became fed up.

I don't think it was the act of killing someone...

that upset me.

That's happened before.

No, it wasn't that.

And I've always thought...

conscientious objectors were fakes.

Simply, each act has a right time and a wrong time.

Paul's always as frisky as a cub scout.

He and Jacques are full of ideas...

of secret plans.

Nothing stops them, not even a wild idea...

like making me kill Palivoda in front of 36 people.

Accused of being a traitor...

for me to strike down an enemy was my only way out.

When I drew my revolver, I felt Paul aim his at me.

Bruno!

Hey, Bruno!

How's your Danish lady friend?

Shit. They're leaving.

What are you doing?

You do work for them.

Me? Not at all.

OK, are you dreaming?

I'm fed up. Go to hell.

Now with both the French and the Arabs after me...

I was done for sure.

Yes.

No. I'm going to take a bath.

I'll see you later at Club 58, if you want.

Why?

I can't stay here.

Tomorrow I'm going to Zurich.

I'm catching a plane to Brazil.

Veronica...

why don't you say something?

I don't know what to say.

Tell me lies...

and that you're not sad that I'm leaving.

I'm not sad that you're leaving.

I'm not in love with you.

I won't join you in Brazil.

I won't kiss you tenderly.

I packed and went to Zurich.

They were no longer Geneva's lights, but more like Rio's.

And I wondered if I was happy to feel free...

or free to feel happy.

Hello, Jacques?

It's Paul.

Be careful, big boy.

Yeah.

Today the tragedy is politics.

No, not for me. Napoleon.

Listen, Bruno...

Let... let me talk!

I'm calling to say your car's at the Century.

My head hit the ground so hard, I lost consciousness.

I forgot to count the stairs to know where we were.

Who did you call in the garage?

Are you going to torture me?

Are you scared?

Of course I'm scared.

His passport.

Who issued this passport?

The French Consulate here?

There's an Arab joke about a guy...

who calls and says, "Allo?"

The other guy says, "It's Ali."

- Do we strip him? - Yes.

If I'd yelled, they'd have hit me again.

Better to just take it.

Who is he?

I don't know.

And him?

Never seen him.

Jacques Aurelian Mercier.

Ex-volunteer in Indochina.

Disappeared after a trial for dealing in piasters.

Reappeared in '57 in Rotterdam...

when the freighter Aramis was blown up...

in '59 in Frankfort...

when Professor Dietrich was assassinated.

And now he's in Geneva.

He's the one you were phoning.

What number did you dial?

What was the number?!

I didn't care whether I told them or not.

I simply didn't feel like it and said so.

They asked me to work for them...

but refused me an advance, so I said to go to hell.

Him, too... Alfred Latouche...

he refused to talk.

And so did his brother Etienne.

You want the same?

Poor Etienne. He'd lowered his head to protect his throat...

resulting in his catching the razor full on the chin.

I hope you're brave.

This'll be tough.

I don't know if I am... but we'll see.

Take him to the bathroom.

Get up!

One is soon stricken from the world of the living.

And being a realist...

it's the sole privilege of the dead.

What privilege?

To no longer die.

Torture is so monotonous and sad...

it's difficult to talk about it, so I'll barely mention it.

What number did you call?

Are you afraid?

Why are you doing that?

Sometimes you have to...

make your way with a dagger.

A spark can set the entire plain ablaze

In Budapest, I'd already seen torture.

I wondered if I'd be able to bear it.

Now my moment had come.

The faucets.

I know that others endured worse...

but I never encountered any martyrs or screams...

so I can't discuss it.

I only know I forced myself not to yell...

and soon stopped struggling.

Think of anything, quick, anything to avoid the pain.

The sea, the beach, the sun.

Think so fast you can't think of anything.

Write to Veronica! Quick! Don't think about the pain.

Quick! Write a letter. Faster yet.

Beat the speed of pain. A letter to Veronica...

better than the one Desnos sent his wife.

Veronica...

What happened?

You passed out.

Did I cry?

Why do you ask?

What's going on?

He asked if he cried.

I wonder why that interests him.

Because it's important.

Between torture sessions, we had great political discussion.

They said I was an idiot with no ideals.

And like all organizations with specific goals,

they tried to indoctrinate me.

"The French also tortured.

"Prisoners awaited in obscurity either prison...

"or the result of their attempts to escape...

"that is to say, a hail of bullets in the back."

Djamila's fiance...

died that way.

There's no doubt that strength is superior to intelligence.

You have to be strong, it's true, to resist strength.

I again thought of other things... vacation, Brittany...

bicycle rides, girls with flowers.

Why didn't I give up the phone number? I can't recall.

Out of dignity? I don't even know what that means.

The phone number.

When I was worn down, I screamed for help...

but I didn't realize I was so weak...

I couldn't be heard two meters away.

When I thought I was screaming, I was barely murmuring.

I wondered what the shirts were for.

Palivoda?

It's Cavalier FK.

Air doesn't penetrate cloth soaked with water.

It's impossible to breathe.

"A revolution's leap forward is like a ship...

"already visible on the distant horizon.

"It's like the sun's disk...

"whose rays..."

"already pierce the darkness.

"It's like a child...

"who's soon to be born."

Did he tell you the phone number?

No. No. Nothing yet.

But with this, we'll learn something.

No, no.

We don't want to leave any marks.

Why did I want to commit suicide?

I should've given them the information.

That's how the French got themselves so disliked.

I put the blade between my teeth...

because I couldn't manage with my hands.

For better or for worse for me, they came in too soon.

Then...

then came the electricity.

A guy I knew brought the material.

Now I remember. He's the one...

who gave Veronica a puppy the first time we met.

OK, it'll work this time.

Electricity's very simple.

They attach electrodes anywhere on your body...

and turn on the current.

You don't die, but you're maimed.

Remember what Lenin said...

that in a revolution, there are no easy tasks...

nor easy methods.

Everything's valid in all aspects of the struggle.

The revolution's victory is certain.

It will triumph.

Then they told me to get dressed. I was exhausted.

I thought about jumping out the window.

If we were on the ground floor, good. If not...

What are you thinking about?

I'm thinking about Pierre Brossolette...

how he died.

It was in '47 at Gestapo headquarters.

He'd been tortured for 2 months.

They'd put out his eyes.

One day they took him to a room to question him again.

He'd suffered so much he knew he'd crack.

He sensed there was a window in the room.

So as they questioned him, he moved near it...

little by little...

groping.

And when he touched the glass...

he threw himself through it.

Luckily, it was the first floor.

Veronica had told me she worked for the Arabs...

but that she would flee to Brazil with me.

Excuse me. Have you seen my pal Forestier?

Miss?

No.

OK. Thanks.

He's surely there.

Then why wouldn't she tell us?

I don't trust her.

Why would you rather die than talk?

They'll kill me anyway. I don't know.

Luckily, it was only the first floor.

You look nicer without makeup.

I watched her sit down.

I liked the way she lit a cigarette.

That's not true.

Yes, it is.

Why is it empty?

Because I was leaving.

I was going away.

We didn't dare look at each other.

There aren't any marks.

No. Just a burn here.

They were very careful.

Due to the UN, Cairo surely gave them orders.

No one came to ask about me?

Yes, just as I came in.

I saw your friends again.

Which ones?

They came yesterday...

on behalf of the French Consulate...

the thin one who looks like an elevator boy...

and the other one... a gigolo.

Who are they?

It's Paul and Jacques.

I'm sure of it.

We're the ones who killed Lachenal.

Why did she turn her back?

No. I find that idiotic.

Palivoda, yes...

but Lachenal had done nothing.

He thought the Algerian war was unfair.

But that's all.

Yes. I don't know.

You always say that.

I'm listening.

Mohamed Messousa...

16 Chapelit Street.

Where can I call you? Why not?

OK, big boy. You call us.

In exchange for 2 diplomatic passports,

I gave him the Arabs' address.

Tell the photographer to see Paul.

In your files...

do you have a girl named...

V... Veronica Dreyer.

Veronica Dreyer?

Call me back. Veronica Dreyer.

And what about me?

Why do you work for the rebels?

Some political conviction?

It's difficult to say.

Little by little...

I just became exhausted. but at any rate...

I decided that the French are wrong.

The others have an ideal.

But not the French.

It's very important to have an ideal.

Against the Germans, the French had an ideal.

Against the Algerians, they don't.

They'll lose the war.

You think so? I don't.

Yes, I do.

Today everyone hates the French.

I'm very proud to be French.

But I'm also against nationalism.

One defends ideas, not territories.

I love France because I love the films of du Bellay...

and Louis Aragon.

I love Germany because I love Beethoven.

I don't love Barcelona because of Spain...

but I like Spain because Barcelona exists...

and America because I like their cars.

I don't like Arabs because I don't like deserts...

nor Colonel Lawrence...

nor the Mediterranean or Albert Camus.

No, I like Brittany. And I hate the south.

Breton light is very soft...

not like in the south.

And the Arabs are lazy.

But I have nothing against them.

Or against the Chinese.

No, I'd like to ignore them.

But today it's terrible.

If you calmly do nothing...

you get hell for doing nothing.

We do things without conviction.

It's a pity to make war without conviction.

Why is the Vatican anticommunist?

He's an odd pope, this one.

All men are brothers.

I'm not a brother to train conductors in Peking...

nor in San Francisco.

A priori, I don't care about them.

Maybe someday...

I'd like to know what's become of Sasovotsky.

He's not automatically my brother...

because he has eyes and ears like me.

And vise versa.

There are objects, I don't know...

One likes them, but not others.

Or colors.

For example, I hate dark red.

It's the same with men.

We can't be made to love them all.

As Guitry said, "We no longer know where to love."

She looked at me.

I think women should never be more than 25.

Men become more handsome as they age.

Not women.

It's greatly unfair for a woman to age.

And I've noticed something strange.

Women, when they commit suicide...

they always leap...

under a train or out a window.

They're so afraid that they'll mess up the attempt...

that they throw themselves forward.

That way, it's impossible to turn back.

Men never do this.

Men rarely jump in the subway.

Women rarely cut their wrists.

It's both brave and cowardly of them.

Yes. I don't know.

Life says women are right...

but gives death to men.

Death is what's important.

Van Gogh said we'll use death to go to a new star.

There's something more important than ideals...

but what?

There's something more important than not being conquered.

I wish I knew what, exactly.

Pathetic.

At school, I admired that word.

Now I despise it.

"Taciturn."

There's a beautiful word.

Like "guild."

I'm lost if I don't pretend to be lost.

I think everyone has an ideal.

But everyone is missing something more important.

I'm sure that God doesn't have an ideal.

There's a very, very beautiful saying.

Whose is it?

I think it's Lenin's.

"The future esthetics is ethics."

It's a beautiful saying, very moving, too.

It reconciles the Left with the Right.

What do Leftists and Rightists think?

Today what's the revolution for?

The Right wins, then applies Leftist policies.

And the other way around.

I win or lose, but fight on alone.

In the thirties, young men had a revolution.

For example, Malraux, Drieu La Rochelle, Aragon.

We have nothing.

They had the Spanish Civil War.

We have no war.

Aside from ourselves...

our own faces, our own voices...

we have nothing.

But maybe it's important to recognize the sound...

of your own voice...

and the shape of your face.

On the inside, it's like this...

but when I look at it, it's like this.

You look at me but don't know what I'm thinking...

and never will know what I'm thinking.

Right now, a forest in Germany.

A bicycle ride.

It's over.

Now... a cafe terrace in Barcelona.

Now... it's already over.

I'm trying to delimit my own thoughts.

And speech. Where does speech come from?

Maybe men talk endlessly like goldminers...

Iooking for the truth.

But instead of digging in rivers...

they dig in their thoughts.

They eliminate words of no value...

and end up finding one...

just one... just one golden one...

and already all is silence.

Why do you love me?

I don't know.

Because I'm crazy.

Who are you calling?

French Information Bureau.

Hang on.

OK. Give him to me.

Hello? Who's this?

Who is it?

It's Bruno.

Who is it?!

Bruno!

What's wrong?

I don't know. Bruno!

Bruno Forestier!

Wrong address?

Maybe they moved.

We've just spoken with Paul.

Paul found no Mohamed Messousa at that address.

So no passports for me and Veronica...

unless I kill Arthur Palivoda.

OK. Come over now.

Brilliant.

Yes.

Thanks. You're great.

OK. See you next week.

You're right, Paul. A girl.

Alone, in town.

Is either a whore or an informer.

She must know the Arabs' address. She must know it.

Lock the door. You never know.

Do they know you were tortured?

Yes.

I'm glad.

The police found my Chevy on a Swiss highway.

When will you be back?

I have to find Palivoda.

Maybe tonight... or tomorrow.

That's a cute dress.

Yes. It's a present.

From the guy who gave you the puppy?

Did you sleep with him?

He dated me a long time.

It's not important.

But it is.

See you soon.

See you soon.

Who is it?

It's Bruno.

Who's there?

Bruno!

It's you, Bruno?

Bruno!

Bruno Forestier!

The rest happened fast, and the situation...

which seemed very complex became very simple.

While I went to meet them...

the French hid Veronica in a villa on the lake...

and tortured her badly...

to get the Arabs' address.

I didn't know it yet.

Jacques said he'd give me Veronica and our passports...

once I'd killed Arthur Palivoda.

At times you must make your way with a dagger.

It was after killing Palivoda I learned Veronica was dead.

One thing I've learned is not to be bitter.

I was just glad to still have so much time left.