All language subtitles for The Tulse Luper Suitcases. Part 1 - The Moab Story

I think you're just pooping and

snooping. Just pooping and snooping, Mr.
Looper. Mr. Looper.

With a pair of first class. Quality
class binoculars.

Made in Germany. Made in Germany.

Good morning, Mr. Luper. Good morning,
Mr. Luper.

Luper. Luper. Luper. Mr. Luper. Open
your mouth.

I am the station dentist.

Open your mouth. The dentist de la gare.
Open your mouth.

When I blow the whistle, you must run
and climb the barrier.

Imagine it's a garden wall.

There is treasure on the other side.

Are you ready?

Watch for the dog.

Hip, hip, hip, hooray, the sun has got
its hat on, and it's coming out today.

Can you truly, Mr. Luper, can you truly,
Mr. Luper, put a book that says, put a

book that says you truly, Mr. Luper, put
a book that says man evolved from the

eggs in a little hot sheep's suitcase
along with the Holy Bible?

Good morning, Mr. Luper. I am the
station master. Good morning, Mr. Luper.

I am the station master. Good morning,
Mr. Luper.

I am the station master. Good morning.

I am the station. Good morning, Mr.
Looper.

I am the station master.

Good morning, Mr. Looper. I am the
station master. Good morning, Mr.

Looper. I am the station master.

Teddy?

Teddy?

If we wanted to see the Tulsa-Luca story
as fiction, it could be told as an

episodic narrative of a man and his
prison.

The story starts in 1921 when Looper was
10, and perhaps it is still not

finished. Looper was last seen and heard
of, we believe, in 1989.

If he were to be alive now, he would be
92.

Get a pair of knickers off the line.

Take them to Parkingdale. It's even hard
to do.

Don't touch me, Mrs. Warwick.

I'm Florence. Nice and girl. Picking
flowers for the dead.

They're not poppies, Missy Bridgestone.

The corn blowers.

It's to remember them. It's to remember
them. We will remember them. We will

remember them. In the evening.

In the evening.

When the sun goes down. When the sun
goes down.

When the sun sets.

In the west.

We will remember them.

Always. They were trotting, Mrs. Warren.
A trotting.

Taking back home. To England.

Count Luther said, so there won't be
another war ever, ever again.

Let's go to Dippy's farm.

Let's leave him for the Red Cross.

He'll be along shortly.

We can't leave him. He'll get captured
and taken to Berlin. They'll make him

eat black forsythia. And he'll get fat
still.

How do you know about black forsythia?
See my father, he's going to get it.

Leave me, Charles.

I want to be dead.

Whatever for?

I want to be a martyr.

Only a grown-up cat needs to be a
martyr.

It's martyr.

So you can't leave it to Jewish.

Leave it to Welsh.

You're Jewish, David, but you've lost a
piece of your willy. Pass the Red Cross

to find it. They'll be along shortly.

I'm Welsh!

Shut up, David. Who could be
Welsh-Jewish?

Can't he tell?

We're nearly there.

I'm Dover! I'm Dover!

Hop stand!

Hop star!

And the Brandenburg Gate.

And the Badenburg Cake.

I'm going to sign your name.

Every episode recorded in Looper's life
history is associated with a prison.

And perhaps the first significant
imprisonment Looper would have

remembered happened on a Sunday
afternoon in August 1921 in Tulse

Looper's birthplace, Newport, on the
River Usk in South Wales.

The events leading up to that
imprisonment started when Looper and his

close friend, Martino Nocivelli, ran the
gauntlet of the back gardens to write

their names on a red brick wall at the
end of their street. You shouldn't have

such a long name, Toss.

You'll be pricking so across before
you're finished.

You've got to do it properly, or all the
world will see.

And now I'm going to make the return
run.

Tossie! Tossie!

Watch out or you'll get us caught,
Marshall. Ready, steady, go. Cut low.

I'm in.

Pull.

That bloody boy's in the bloody war
again.

Come away from the window, either.

Showing all he's got to Mrs Warren.

She's athletic, she'll likely choke.

It's a bloody garden wall.

It's a bloody garden wall. It's a bloody
garden wall. It's a bloody garden wall.

It's a bloody garden wall. It's a bloody
garden

wall.

You know, I'm pretty dumb. I don't agree
with you either, but let me put him up

again. And forget about the bloody war,
child.

It's bloody over.

I want to bloody forget it.

We all want to bloody forget it.

Misery, longing, sacrifice, grief, and

evil.

I'll dump out the evil.

Dump out the evil.

Never let it happen again.

Dump out the evil. Gone and bloody
forgotten. Dump out the evil.

Bloody glory.

Dump out the evil. Bloody Sunday.

Dump out the evil. Bloody afternoon.

Dump out the evil. Dump out the evil.

Bloody afternoon.

As an adult, Tuls Looper was to become
almost by default a writer.

Maybe he was always to see himself
primarily as a naturalist. He was

trained as an archaeologist.

Perhaps it is important that he is
primarily seen as a collector.

He said of himself that he was a kind of
clerk.

He reserved a special admiration for
collectors, dictionary makers,

encyclopedists, and those who tried very
hard to put all the things of the world

in one place.

under one system.

He enjoyed making lists.

He collected and collated and classified
names, images, events, experiences,

characters, people, prisons, suitcases,
lumps of coal.

We could say that there were 92 lumps of
Welsh black gold in Lupo's first bag

suitcase. Each lump of coal,
representing by its silhouette, surface,

or texture, a hill or mountain, to be
experienced later in Lupo's life.

What are you doing in there, Kelty?

Go away, bloody busy.

Lupo was not a mountaineer, and we
probably exaggerate the mountain aspect.

Let us just say...

that each lump of coal, substance of his
father's earnings, his parental

community, his childhood mythology, was
a symbolic landscape he was later to

find as a traveler somewhere in the
world.

His collection of landscapes start with
the hills he climbed when he was a boy

along the River Usk, and they progress
in his first trip abroad to the desert

mesas of Moab, Utah, U.S. of A.

You weigh a bloody ton, Fatty Arbuckle.

I brought my sweetheart.

Find me Tiger Lily.

Mine's got no clothes on.

Only because he's going for a swim.

Too cold to swim in Denmark.

You live so far away, you'll never meet
her.

Tiger Lily is the daughter of a
magician.

She wears shoes on stealth. She smiles a
lot. That's because she's Chinese and

inscrutable. The reason mine doesn't
wear a bathing suit is because she's

half fish.

She looks like your mother.

I quite like your mother.

She's got big breasts.

What are you going to be later on,
Loopy, if you grow up?

Not a coal miner.

Not a soldier.

I'll go abroad.

I'll stay at home and eat ice creams.

And watch you do things from a distance.

You can send me postcards.

I want to find things.

What sort of things?

Things people have lost.

Like what?

Suitcases. You want to work in a lost
property office? Lost cities.

People. Men. Women.

Women.

I want to kiss lots of girls. So do I.

So do I. Plump girls who eat lots of ice
cream.

You'll end up in jail.

Like this one.

Is this a jail?

I expect there'll be lots of jails.

Do you like being a prisoner, then?

My father's a prisoner. No, he's not.

The things he remembers.

The bad things.

You mean the gas?

And being in love?

With your mother?

Is that being a prisoner?

Sort of.

What sort of chin have you got, Luppy?

Average.

What sort of eyes have you got, Luppy?

Pretty hell, Marty.

The normal sort.

I need to get it right.

I need to remember.

I'll make sure you grow broad and kiss
lots of girls.

Like your mother.

And as a course, you don't have to kiss,
but I might kiss you.

Who are you bloody talking to in there,
Tuckery?

And find things, of course.

And be a prisoner.

If you really want to.

Thank you, Marty.

No problem.

Think nothing of it.

I owe it to you.

Consider him.

If you're talking to yourself, that's
the first sign of trench fever.

Bloody Nockevelly.

The eye dyes a fair weather allies.

The eye dyes a fair weather allies. Get
out, Martino.

Get out, Pat.

Tell him. He's in solitary.

He's in solitary.

And you boys can both forget the bloody
war.

It's bloody over.

I want to bloody forget it. We all want
to bloody forget it.

Gone and bloody forgotten.

On a bloody glorious, bloody Sunday,
bloody afternoon.

Go on.

Get out of here.

I'm in prison.

And I'm bloody busy.

I'm in prison.

And I'm bloody busy.

What's friendship for, Martino?

You wanted to share the punishment?

You feeling guilty too, Martino
Nocabelli?

Okay.

Just eat the ice cream.

Go on, lick it.

What are we supposed to be doing?

Is this character building?

No, it's nothing.

Lick, lick, lick.

Come on, lick, damn it. Stick your
little tongues out and lick the stuff

off, you assholes.

Hey, what's your language?

Is this provocation so necessary?

No! Your cock is creak. Who are you
calling a creep, jerk?

Shut up!

Rip the stuff up. Stick the cone on your
prick.

Tulse Looper, with his friend and
associate Martina Nockevelli, went to

Utah to look for lost Mormon cities in
the deserts around Salt Lake City.

Looper was fascinated by the newest and
most successful religion of the West and

how the Mormon settlers had grafted new
mythologies onto the old.

His experiences in the Moab Desert
influenced his concerns for landscape

exploitation. He began to consider two
projects.

The first had the very simple idea of
recording verticals in a landscape in a

way that showed the grid systems they
suggested and demonstrated the

intervention of man on the natural
environment.

He called the project Vertical Features.

The photographic and filmic evidence he
collected and edited back in Europe on

the project was damaged or lost in the
1950s, only to be remade in the 1970s by

admirers as a contentiously argued set
of films called Vertical Features Remake

The second project influenced by
Looper's stay in Moab concerned a fake

anthropological fiction, a saga that
documented the gradual invasion of a

section of peaceful riverside landscape
by ferocious predatory colonists.

Perhaps Looper saw his friend Nakaveli
as the natural inhabitant

of peaceful water, some sort of...

indigenous minor river deity.

And the threat of the predatory bacillus
to his person could be compared to the

aggression of a conquering army of
dangerous enemies on a peaceful

community. The substance of the film,
later made from Looper's research in the

1960s, called Water Rackets. It's quite
unselected about which body you're

supposed to choose from.

Machiavelli, indeed, on his own
admission, is supposed to have bathed in

a Moab desert stream and contacted a
form of permanent history.

though it's difficult to find any such
stream whatsoever in the Moab Desert,

and the effects of the dysentery were
often auspiciously timed to offer an

excuse for Nocabelli's sudden absence in
situations that he found inconvenient,

unsympathetic, embarrassing, or simply
hostile.

The year of Looper's visit to the Moab
Desert was 1934, and maybe both

projects, Vertical Features and Water
Rackets, suggested a presage of what was

to come in Europe, and also of what was
to come in Looper's own life.

The day that this 16mm footage was
filmed was to be a Looper day of

reckoning.

Looper prized a collection of love
letters written by his father to his

mother from the battlefields of Flanders
in the First World War.

These letters soon became a collective
item. They changed hands at ever

-increasing prices.

The first sale was made illicitly in
Oslo.

What's your name?

What's your name? Mr. Peeper. Mr.

Peeper. Peeper.

Toth Looper.

Where are you from, Mr. Toth Henry
Purcell Looper?

Where are you from, Mr. Toth Henry
Purcell Looper?

England. England?

England?

So, Mr.

Toth Purcell Looper, you don't wear
makeup, do you?

What the hell are you doing so far, far,
far from home? What the hell are you

doing so far, far, far from home in our
happy community?

God-fearing, God-loving, God-happy
community.

This is the Hockmeister Ranch House in
the desert outside Moab in the summer of

2002. It was here in May 1934, some 60
years earlier, that Looper began his

series of adventures with the
Hockmeister family.

Much of what we know about Lupus'
adventures in Moab comes from Martino

Nocavelli. And Martino's idea of the
desert, any desert, was literary.

It started with Egypt, and therefore
meant pyramids, palm trees, and the

fringes of the Sahara.

And he had certainly seen pictures of
Mexico, and dreamed of Spanish-style

haciendas, surrounded by flowering
cactus and olive trees.

Martino pieced together his accumulated
desert knowledge and came up with a

mixture of Luxor and Mexico, influenced
by reproductions of the

characteristically over-colored Maxfield
parish calendar illustrations on his

grandmother's bathroom wall.

Don't you have women of your own at
home?

Well, there are some, it's true.

So what would you be looking at here on
private property?

I could have a friend who tries to keep
himself very clean, and I could be doing

some research about the bathing habits
of the indigenous peoples of Utah.

Leupold, therefore, walked out of the
desert, leading his white horse down a

dry gulch, fringed by date bombs.

Not exactly a Salt Lake City image, but
so what?

Joseph Smith himself could have been
happy with such accumulated imagery.

It was, after all, not so very far from
the melange of biblical dreams that he

had invented for his newly minted
religion.

You wouldn't be looking for a child
bride, would you?

Apple tit, hidey plant, a dimple pink
fanny for a private bedroom spanking.

Shut up, you dirty mouth.

Why's that, Delky?

Can't you remember those hurdy-gurdy
Nicolette days? Oh, my God, he is

larking up for a showdown.

Tell him, Julian, tell him to douse his
head, preferably in broken glass.

Naughty, naughty, naughty.

I'd be looking for lost cities.

We haven't lost any. How come you want
to find what we haven't lost?

You see, I think you're just pooping and
snooping. With a pair of first-class

quality glass binoculars.

Made in Germany. I bought a map in Salt
Lake City, which marks out several lost

Mormon outpost towns between Moab and
Salt Lake.

God-awful places.

Hostile Indians.

No water.

Scorpions.

Metallic rocks.

Hot as hell.

They were, after several years,
abandoned.

You a claim jumper?

Hell, he's just a peeping Tom snake,
wanting to exercise his prick, looking

at other men's women washing their
pretty bodies.

You're from England, yes?

You got trouble brewing there in
England.

I'd like to know, you see, because our
people are from Germany.

And I think your people and my people
aren't seeing eye to eye at the moment.

Isn't that true?

Could be. I think it sure is true.

If you should have real trouble, would
England win, Mr. Loopy?

Well, it'd be one last time. We could do
it again. You think so?

And what would your position be, Mr.
Loopy?

I'd fight.

You would.

Why is that?

Why?

To stamp out evil, of course.

Stamp out evil.

Stamp out.

That sounds aggressive, Mr. Roper.

As a God-fearing community, I'm sure you
would understand very easily what I

mean.

I doubt you'd fight.

I doubt you'd fight at all.

See you, uh...

You look and sound really, really,
really green to me, Mr.

Tulsi Looper.

So green, I don't know why you're
exercising your prick time looking at

women washing themselves in private in
our beautiful American Mormon desert of

Salt Lake City, Utah, America, USA,

the universe.

You know what?

I doubt you even have a prick to
exercise.

Let's take a look.

For God's sake, Percy.

I told you, do it.

We're having our breakfast.

Jesus Christ, Percy.

Don't you worry that there are here
ladies present. This seems plenty.

We're all here, I got the necessary. How
could you possibly interest us?

You got one, Mr. Luther?

An English prick, isn't that sweet?

We could make it sweeter.

A nice, sticky deck for the flies,

the bees, the bugs, the ticks, and the
mosquitoes of the American

Colorado desert, Utah, USA.

At the Ventimiglia railway station on
the French-Italian border, 23rd of

August 1941, an incident occurred that
was scarcely reported but of

significance in a bizarre statistical
event.

The station was an important border
crossing for international political

activity and the clandestine illegal
movement of refugees and deserters.

Amidst the busy activity between the
Rome-bound 1515 Express and the Venice

-bound 1537 slow train, a young man and
a young woman, both without passports,

were arrested.

They were told to strip.

There were gunshots.

The body of the young woman was abused.

The clothing of the lover was later
collected in two matching suitcases.

Can it be entirely coincidental?

that 17 people who witnessed the
shooting died violently within three

months of the event, an incident totally
unassociated with the station execution.

Well, Mr. English Looper.

How do you like American?

Enough.

How do you like German-Americans?

I haven't met too many.

They would have to open their mouths for
me to recognize them by their accent.

Well, you seem to like German-American
women.

When you said you were looking for ghost
towns, were you telling the truth?

You weren't looking for anything else,
were you, Mr. Looper?

You said you were interested in Sodom
and Gomorrah.

That wouldn't be a coded interest in
Finn, would it, Mr. Looper?

You know, women, luxury, greed,

minerals, gold. You weren't interested
in gold or anything

like that, were you, Mr. Looper?

In these hills.

this desert.

No.

Have you heard, Mr. Looper,

of the uranium?

Yes.

You weren't looking for uranium, were
you, Mr. Looper?

Were you?

Mr. the looper.

Around here.

Around Moab.

Uranium.

Atomic number 92.

Unobtainable in pure form, but a
geologist knows where to look.

Symbol the big U.

U for useful.

Utah, United States of America, and

utopia.

Uranium smells nicely dirty, like

semen. Tastes nicely greasy, like blood.

Powerful metaphors, eh?

Have you seen any?

Smelled any?

Tasted any?

If you were to be interested, I could
patronize you. I could patronize you.

I'm the way to subsidize your searching.
I'm the way to subsidize your searching.

We could buy you a decent hat.

Feed you up. We could buy you a decent
hat.

I'd like to see a decent belly on the
man.

You know, like he's just three months
pregnant.

Centers him.

Gives him gravity.

Sets off what could hang beneath.

How would you like that?

You're not a great talker, are you, Mr.
Looper?

The sun is in my eyes.

The insects are biting. I am not a
geologist, and my trousers are around my

ankles.

Yes, you're right.

We're bad hosts.

It's not a characteristic among Mormons.

kept you long enough from your important
investigations into the ghost towns

of Mormon inheritance.

Feel free to go, Mr. Looper.

Feel free.

It's a long way and almost any direction
from here.

I could give you a lift.

Suit yourself, but I don't think you're
going to get anywhere special much

before it gets really black, dark night.

Heathstroke.

Many foreigners suffer from Heathstroke.

No hat.

They say there are animals still up
there with bad teeth, bad breath,

and bad manners.

You can tread on some curly creature
warming itself angry under the hot sun.

It can get cold at midnight.

Snowy cold, you know.

Shivery cold.

We're not wearing much.

As we all know this.

You've caused me more than enough
trouble already.

You think so?

You smell kind of sugary.

What does it feel to have all that
sticking between your legs?

You better not mark my father's car seat
with your sweetness.

Father?

I'll leave you guessing.

You'd better sit on something.

How about your shirt?

Good morning, Miss Hartmeister.

Get out of the car, sir. We're arresting
you for sexually consorting with a

minor. That is not true at all. What?
That you are not sexually consorting or

that she is not a minor?

We have evidence.

Or are these yours, sir?

Then I presume this belongs to you,
Batchanar Meister? Yes, indeed.

I think they may be mad.

Oh, mister, I would rather be walking on
the moon than be in your shoes.

Perhaps he's already been walking on the
moon, Tartar Stringley.

At the time of Hitler's visit to Rome in
May 1938,

A postcard correspondence reconstructed
in 1987 revealed the existence of a

Vatican archive of censored material in
the cellars of the Victor Emmanuel

building. Three German officers in
charge of security discovered a suitcase

of pornographic items over which,
apparently, there was an argument in

which an Italian soldier was killed.

An inquiry was ordered, but the suitcase
with its contents disappeared to be

rediscovered in the Victor Emmanuel
building in the mid-1980s.

During the making of a film called The
Belly of an Architect, whose original

scenario about architectural fascism had
been written by Luper in 1945, at the

time of his imprisonment in Rome.

Perhaps Luper was, and could be still, a
natural prisoner.

He once said so himself.

He suggested that there might be
something in his makeup that always

predisposed him to be a prisoner.

But then he said, was that so unusual?

Luper got to know and recognize a great
many people who were all prisoners of

one thing or another. Memory, time,
nostalgia, place.

A relationship, an obsession,

money, sex.

He suggested that everyone has a jailer.
It was not a boast or a criticism or a

compensatory remark by a man whose
prison was for the most part very self

-evidently physical.

It was a given.

For Looper, it was so self-evident, it
was hardly even a fact.

Facts become fixed because they are
noted.

Being a prisoner is such an everyday
state of affairs.

It's not even noted.

We're trespassing your fine one dollar.

Looper once said that if being a
prisoner was the human condition, then

he had better get used to it.

Use it.

Make something of it.

Looper was interested in making being a
prisoner an art.

And now for the serious charge.

What's that?

Warriorism.

Is that a special Mormon crime?

Could be.

It's like theft with the eyes heated up
by sex.

And is your passport in order?

No bail.

No bail?

No bail.

Just think, where would you eat and
sleep tonight?

It's okay.

We might live in the desert, but God
gave us water.

We are always liberal with water.

Is there anything else in there?

A fish.

What sort of fish?

For tonight's supper.

No, they're not drowning, just taking a
bath.

A white, smoky trout with scouse.

What's that?

Peas mash with... Red peppers, a little
dewy cabbage, and a splinch of gut-rot

whiskey to make it tart.

Moth Fender had a way with fish, not so
common 1,000 miles from the sea in a

riverless desert.

In her youth, Moth Fender had had a
reputation as the insect woman, the

devout Mormon lady with the bugs.

She was no frightened victim of the
seventh plague of Egypt.

Now she had a reputation to pit.

The Mormon elders came across the
Atlantic in a submarine from Palestine.

Joseph Smith set them up in Kentucky.

Then eventually Brigham Young brought
them west, leaving the sea far behind

them.

And they arrived at Salt Lake City.

Because the lake was so big and so
salty, they believed they'd hit the sea

again.

It always wanted to remake Palestine in
the Holy Land.

You know, a new Judea by the sea, U.S.
of A.

They believed that they had the right
sort of landscape here to do it in.

Sense of landscape is very important to
Mormons.

So they built some handsome cities in
the desert.

Most of them have vanished now.

For a long time ago.

Where did he get that from?

From my mother.

And her mother before her.

You know, none of us fenders and
hollises have ever seen the sea.

What's it like?

You seen it?

If I had something to draw with, I could
show you.

With Looper's arrival, Ma Fender came up
with three ideas in one.

Certainly, learn about the world's
water. That was a straightforward

desire.

Pleased a foreigner who looked like the
angel Moroni, and who knows, pleased the

angel Moroni himself.

And delight in her long-lost,
much-maligned prodigy, Ruby Hockmeister.

Ma Fender took a suitcase out from under
her bed and made a grand presentation.

Looper was certainly up to the task of
making a homage to Ma Fender's three

ideas all at the same time. They
belonged to Ruby.

She was a drawer.

Never stopped.

Percy burnt all her drawings.

Seven-tenths of the Earth's surface is
sea.

Nine-tenths of the human body is water.

We're all born in amniotic fluid.

To accompany our highest emotions when
we laugh and we cry our eyes water

You would have thought the most
intelligent animal on the planet ought

to be a fish There's a theory that apes
learn to swim and since you don't need

body hair in water too much drag Early
man came up out of the water a million

years later having lost its body hair
Joseph Smith said much the same

The original baptism.

There was a time when Luper compared
himself to the snail.

Snails are remarkably self-reliant.

Luper studied snails.

The snail is hermaphrodite, carrying its
own house, its own suitcase, its own

prison. It was prepared to live
anywhere, almost.

The environment has to be just a little
damp.

Not too bright, not too much sunlight.

Snail-like moonlight.

Ideal prison condition.

Looper dreamt up a project where the
snail was acknowledged as the catalyst

of the world, breaking down the world's
unwanted material, making itself

responsible for cleaning up the planet.
This material was later incorporated in

the 1980s in a film called A Zed and Two
Morts.

But Looper also had to concede that the
snail was the ultimate bourgeois.

Always living at home, but living at
home anywhere.

Since he did not have a home for any
great length of time, Looper's home and

shell were his suitcase.

Particulars, height.

Six foot.

Weight? Twelve and a half stone.

What are stones?

175 pounds. Give me your clothes. They
need a wash in iron.

Hair color?

Fair.

Religion?

No religion.

Come on, I'll give you a second chance.

Religion?

No religion.

No religion? A heathen, pagan monkey
man?

Not necessarily.

I once was a Methodist till I could see
their method. And then I gave up.

What have you done to yourself?

We scared you?

Honey.

Honey? Do the English piss honey?

I've seen worse. When Tom and Joe went
bare- Shut up, Ma.

Take them off.

I just won't ask why you waste the
honey, honey on your John Thomas.

So, trespasser, womanizer, peeping Tom,
scribbler, defacer of Moab, Joe,

property honey-pisser, and a pagan...

Heathen Monkey Man.

I'll see if I can find you a pair of
towels. No, Heathen Monkey Man's wearing

my pants.

Your crimes, Looper, get worser and
worser.

Stand up against the wall so we'll all
be able to recognize you in hell because

unlike you, I'm a religious man.

But I like being evil too much to even
want to go to heaven. And I want to

recognize you so I can whip you for
having no religion and being a pagan

Heathen Monkey Man.

Give him a W for weekend prisoner, PT
for peeping Tom, and

initials, TL.

As in, I have only one T.

Well, use V for voyeur.

What's that mean?

Someone who watches when he shouldn't.

Which is a good definition of a
photographer.

And the number?

Add a few knots so it won't look as
though we're underemployed.

That looks dangerous.

A real felony.

A bit much for a kid with such a baby
face.

Pagans are dangerous. They push forward
all manner of unwanted freedoms, free

thinking, free love, free politics, free
milk.

Free milk?

And don't go taking advantage. Don't you
go thinking you're so important. We've

had a real shooting gallery of hoodlums
in here. Make mincemeat out of your

puny...

We're not so short of some real good
sinners.

Too much foreigners is not comparable
scene.

Why are you gripping that suitcase full
like that?

What you got inside, it's full of holes.

Mrs. Fender says that you're interested
in the lost gold of the Mormons, the

suitcase for the lost gold.

You'll lose it through those holes.

Do you believe in all that stuff?

Could do.

All right, Mr. Fender.

I want to see the man you arrested.

No way. We have orders from Mr. Percy.

I can deal with Mr.

Percy.

Can you deal with me?

my photograph taken too, Joe, Mr. Master
Singer.

You can do that.

Now you are beginning to really look
like young lovers.

Now you are beginning to really look
like young lovers.

And I've photographed them all.

Special rate for loving couples.

You could, you could just in some case,
call them marriage photos.

Guarantees of assault to show two people
having taken the vows.

Though many don't work out so well.

I have photographed all.

Major,

sheriff,

counselor,

mistress, wife, proper wives, improper
wives, secondary

wives, polygamists, bigamists, alopels,

adulterers, and their children. Many,
many children.

Sick and well and dead. Not so pretty.

Middling pretty and so pretty they are.
Unbelievable.

Little angels.

Take your sister along, Ruby.

Careful now, Joe.

Beautiful. Beautiful.

Beautiful. Careful, Joe.

That child, that child was accused of
profanity. Impossible.

Impossible. I took so many photos of
that child.

The lens became fixed with their image.

Now, I'd like to see those photos very
smartly, Mr. Mastersinger.

And while we wait... Please, you're
dead, Mr. Fender.

I guess it'll still be warm.

Why the hell did you do all this?

Isn't it obvious?

I wanted to get you safe somewhere where
we wouldn't be deserved.

We're better than the sheriff's nest.

I'm falling in deeply. I have to
explain.

It's okay.

There is no explanation.

And you don't have to get excited about
screwing a child's bride because I was

18 last April.

April 1st? I'm an April Fool birthday
girl.

Ha!

Now you know what this means.

It means my daddy was very, very
patriotic. A truly patriotic man.

A true American making me a true
American girl.

I was conceived on the 4th of July.

You still don't believe me, do you?

Don't fret yourself.

Mormon women are minors to outsiders
till they say otherwise.

You English grow up slowly.

Mormons live in the present tense.

Joseph Smith was a present tense man.

You gotta live that way because...

Tomorrow's hell, which will be as boring
as sitting in the hot desert with the

snakes and the drunken Indians.

You've got a mighty taste of that
already.

And heaven, well, heaven's gonna be
hell, too.

Sitting about at a man's world, sharing
his unwashed needs with the otherwise.

Okay, now kiss my ass, Englishman.

Ah, now that's something you can't put
into your suitcase.

I was washing.

That water supply runs on to Creeley. It
is their drinking water.

I doubt it. It's full of stomach worms.

The Creeleys have drunk that water for
30 years. Their eldest is now 93.

As an ignorant alien... You have gone
and pissed in their drink. I was

washing.

Oh, my, oh, my.

Out of the desert cometh the Savior,
leading a white horse and extended with

honey. Is your name Moroni?

You ever been to Europe, Mrs. Fender?
There's plenty of sea in Europe.

Are you planning to go there?

Okay, I could take a few hours off. Is
it far?

We could take the Cameron Highway.

I must be back for supper. I've got a
broth on a slow boil.

Get dressed.

I'll let you out the porch.

I'll lock Tommy and the John, but you've
only got five minutes. He's learned how

to pick the lock. He's learned how to
pick the lock.

Is this stupid?

What are you doing?

He'll be seen as hostage. Fender won't
shoot.

Just even know where Europe is?

You're a geography snob.

She's my mother's cousin.

Mormon women have great sisterly love.
It surpasses all male understanding.

And geography.

Martin, for God's sake, stop the truck.
What are you doing?

Eloping with a foreigner.

Who's he?

Martino Nocovelli, son of an Italian ice
cream seller.

Drive slowly.

I often get carsick. Don't worry, so
does he. Move this thing faster. Martin,

for God's sake, stop the truck. What are
you doing?

She'll be back before eight. She's got a
brothel.

What the hell are you stopping for? They
got my wife.

I can't meet them.

I have to snap at the petrol fire for
six months.

Jesus, a break out of kidnapping and
you're watching fires.

A fire is greater on the Richter's Gate
than any old woman kidnapped.

Any old woman you watch at Tongue Master
Singer or you'll be any old

photographer. Martin, for God's sake,
start the truck. What are you doing?

Eloping with a foreigner.

Who's he?

Martino Nocovelli, son of an Italian ice
cream.

Drive slowly. I often get carsick. Don't
worry. Stop and see.

It's okay, sweetheart. This is fine.
Stop the car. I can stop a truck back.

My mother's cousin lives on the corner.
I could pick up some Wurzels and corn

jollet for Tommy's breakfast.

You and yours were a jolt to the system
passion. You made him. And up no end. I

thank you kindly.

Bye. Bye. Bye. Bye. Bye.

Never before were mine so strangely
willing.

Yeah, but now I see what one in break
can do. Look at me.

It's got me loving you madly. That
little kiss you took.

Jesus!

What's the matter?

My stomach?

Too many cherries.

I've got to run. No, I won't. I told
you.

Percy! Well, well, well.

It isn't all this personal.

Let him go.

I'll punch him!

Percy!

I could make you a bargain.

This man is a professional mad dog.

They all believe he killed his sister
because he caught her rubbing herself

against the hitching post they tied you
to in the yard.

Sex?

Any hint or smell or talk or mention of
sex to this man?

is the quick fuse to madness.

He's a little jealous.

You may recall his reasons.

You are screwing his wife.

His wife?

Crazy, isn't it?

As if you didn't know.

But forget Percy.

The real evil is that man in the car.

Remember his name.

Lefranic. Julius Lefranic.

He's going to Europe.

Holland.

Belgium. Germany.

You watch him for me, and I'll protect
you.

Then and now.

All right.

That looks like an easy bargain.

I may never see you again.

Or him.

I should make it your business to see me
again.

Or else the mad dog goes loose.

If I make a bargain with you, how do you
know I'll honor it?

I don't.

But you know.

It seems like you're buying up my
future.

Well, if I just now have to take a
beating for the present, then my future

belongs to no one.

Suit yourself.

Face the future with a broken neck.

I'm going to make sure no part of your
miserable body touches a woman again.

Get in the car.

Get in!

The only little pleasure I get and you
can't provide and you've got to have a

threshold over it.

Who the hell do you think you are? Shut
up!

If you're not intimidated by the stick,
perhaps you'll be interested in the

carrot.

This is a present for you.

Mormons are very physical.

They take an eye for an eye and a tooth
for a tooth.

They also believe in visions.

They all saw you coming out of the
desert leading a white horse and wearing

bucket-top boots.

Joseph Smith wore bucket-top boots.

And Brigham Young was the only one
allowed to ride a white horse.

And for me, I was so impressed I took
you for the angel Moroni himself.

If you want to stamp out evil, then
you're in my pay. Remember that. Joseph

Smith was keen to stamp out evil.

Stamp out the evil! Stamp out the evil!

Stamp out the evil! That's hard-core
money.

should be going home.

Don't you?

Now?

We'll all grow to love you in the end.
We'll all grow to love you in the end.

Sinistone people should take it slowly.

Sexual activity adds digestion.

Faire l'amour, c'est bon pour la
digestion.

And I promise, we have to make it last
an hour.

Oh, it's a challenge, I doubt I'm up to.

Or is this some financial requirement?

For you, I'll strike off the first
candidate.

The ink on task, the waiting time, the
extra.

I wonder what the extra should be.

This breakfast might be more expensive
than I am. Not if you charge according

to party weight.

Don't tempt me, huh? You might not be
able to afford a tea. Eat.

Luper was writing for a living.

as unofficial Belgian correspondent on
natural history for two English

newspapers, The Times and the Manchester
Guardian.

It was undoubtedly a cover.

Belgian natural history be neither
exotic or especially different from

English natural history.

He was really collecting material on the
rapidly gathering brutality in Europe.

It is not absolutely certain who came to
arrest Looper in Antwerp.

But of the company, three and possibly
four of them had auditioned to become

his permanent jailers.

They were to haunt his life.

I'm going to get the papers. Do you want
anything?

He was an angry young man. No, no, no,
no, no, no. Wrong time, wrong place. I

am 56 and I could be Irish.

My mother slept with Isaac Singer. No,
no, no, no, no, no, no.

Wrong time, wrong place, wrong writer.

Singer wasn't even a playwright.

He was a singer.

That's a joke.

Captain never told jokes.

He could never be a writer.

He looked like a butler.

Meg's brother wouldn't recognize any of
them.

I have been to China and I've seen the
Great Wall.

That's got to be a lie.

It's a good try.

It's a little desperate.

Can you speak German with a Czech
accent? I speak only Gaelic. Hey, my

part's taken.

Shit, I've never liked Beckett anyway.
The Irish are too much for the awkward

squad. I'm a Romanian, a nation that
understands all the anxieties of the

Czech soul. Bucharest is a thousand
miles from Prague.

And probably 2,000 miles from Dublin.

Like Kafka.

I had to learn German to be understood
by the world. The world?

I wish it was easy to be understood.

I'd learn German.

My part's taken.

That was Kafka. We are looking for a
Becker. I can do Becker too.

Nothing happens.

Nobody comes. Nobody goes.

It's awful.

Tell him to think.

Give him his hat. His hat?

He can't think without his hat. Give him
his hat. Me. After what he did to me.

Never. I'll give it. Tell him to go and
fetch it. It's better to give it to him.

I'll give it to him. You must put it on
his hand. Tell him to take it. It's

better to put it on his hand. I'll put
it on his hand.

What's he waiting for?

Shut up!

The old Beckett lived in Paris.

Which figure would you most like to work
with, Mr. Pinch?

Well, you know, I couldn't care less.

It's up to you.

I mean, do I have to eat and sleep with
him?

Does he snore?

Do you have stinking feet?

Do you wash your hands frequently?

You like women?

You have 11 children.

All from one woman.

Beckett didn't have 11 children.

We are departing a little from the
original.

Beckett is just a guy.

No new teeth.

I could be an out-of-work undertaker in
a previous role.

There's a little side interest in
selling guns.

The Irish like guns.

I could be a retired butler.

Gentleman's butler. On hard time.
Undertakers are never our word.

Nowadays, more people are dying than
being born.

If you can have 11 children, you should
know. We could dress you up as an

undertaker. Do the right of horse.

Beckett never rode a horse in his life.
That was Joyce on the Dublin Sounds.

Beckett was an Irish fairy.

That was Wyatt.

I saw Esau sitting on a seesaw. How many
S's in that?

I'm not fussy.

Now they could take turns.

Where's Luper gone?

Got to get me croissant, pretzels, hot
chocolate.

Where's she sleep?

Next door.

They're like dogs. They're like dogs.

That great staying power.

What do you mean great?

You can see what they eat. You can see
what they eat. You can see what they

eat. It's the depression.

The depression. The depression.

Nationalist. Nationalist. Spy. Spy.

Nationalist. Spy.

Nationalist. Spy.

Imports aliens.

Rabid. Imports aliens.

Rabid. Imports aliens.

Rabid. Now, I am that.

I speak almost the same language as you
do.

My mother was a concessionaire. He may
speak a little English, but his father

was an Italian ice cream seller.

Mussolini is an ally.

With such a sweet, poofed background, we
are compatible.

We are compatible, physically and
politically, both ways. In both ways? It

is a perfect fit, which you have
interrupted.

Oh, God.

I recognize you. I recognize you. Behind
your new short... Fascist haircut.

Fascist haircut.

Stefan Figura, how's your mother? Shut
up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

Shut up.

Shut up.

Shut up.

Stefan Figura, how is your mother?

Shut up.

Listen, when will he be back?

When it feels like it. When it feels
like it. When it feels like it. When it

feels like it. When it feels like it.
When it feels like it.

I've hit

Martino Nocaveli was sometime literary
critic for the London News Chronicle,

and his eccentric, spinetic reviews
frequently castigated two particular

literary discoveries of his.

Kafka, who he had read in German, and
Beckett, whom he had read in French.

He hated and was frightened by their
reductionism.

He had been stood up without a hint of
apology by Max Brod, Kafka's publisher

in Prague, and insulted by Beckett.

whom he had met at a literary luncheon
in Dublin.

Beckett had urinated over his shoes in
the gentleman's toilet. Oh, my goodness!

Snake man!

I want a bed of my own, so I don't have
to sleep with my two sisters.

Bloody bastard.

Idiot. They're four and two and filling
nappies.

I want to eat off a plate and not a
metal table.

I don't want to wear goddamn underpants
on my balls and scratch the pieces by

canvas trousers.

Hear, hear.

Good morning fastidio. Good morning
fastidio. Good morning. Mr. Luper Good

morning fastidio. Good morning. Mr.
Luper Good morning fastidio. Good

morning. Mr. Luper Clean money for dirty
newspapers

newspapers lie.

Including the ones you write for.

You think so?

I like their lies. They're harmless,
which I'm afraid is not the case of some

of the others.

Mr.

Luper, excuse me.

Not at all personal, but I'm forced to
have new allegiances.

I beg your pardon?

Perth Looper was a prolific scribbler.

Proposals. Agendas.

Plans. Scenarios.

Projects. Propositions. Schemes.

Astrologically, he was an Aryan.

Astrologically, he was an Aryan. So
little of the plethora of handwritten

and typed texts ever reached completion,
leave alone publication.

Others much later were to do that.

Many, so many texts. So many texts.

Were dropped into the lost property file
of Looper's myriad of hiding places.

Under his bed.

On the proverbial top of his wardrobe.

Under the stairs.

In the attic.

Even in deliberately rented book
depositories.

Looper rarely threw anything away, but
filed it. If you can call it filing.

Certainly after his first trip to
Holland and Belgium.

In suitcases.

In suitcases.

He had bought. Very cheaply. From the
lost property offices of the Grand

Central Antwerp Railway Terminal.

Suitcases. put aside for him by Factor
Dure. By Factor Dure, the proprietor of

the Antworth Station newspaper kiosk.

Looper, without any consciousness of
what he was doing, had prepared a

mountain of raw material for an army of
patient typists, paid by the hour from

nine till five, to weary their fingers
and damage their eyes, deciphering his

ephemera.

Van Huyten insisted everything should be
prepared for inspection on typescript.

That way, he supposed, looper secrets
would be exposed.

But Van Huyten ignored a problem,
because the busy eyes of 50 Belgian

stenographers searching the manuscripts
of a potential English spy was not what

was required at all.

Van Huyten narrowed his field to one
woman he believed he could trust,

because she was his niece's adopted
daughter.

This woman's name was Sissy Colton.

It's more of your English scribbles,
Frau Kopitz. Frau Kopitz, we sympathize

with you. Your delicate fingers should
have to waste their energies on this

alien filth.

Why, thank you, Esau.

And give my regards to your wife and to
all the little Esaus, however many there

now may be.

What do you want to know?

Everything. What do you want to start?
Genesis?

This is a little excessive, isn't it?
Just so I tell you the story of

creation. And then there was night.

And then he separated the land from the
sea. All this and we haven't got to the

flood yet. All aliens are detained.

All English are detained.

A journalist. An alien. An English. He
perfectly fit all three categories.

Owls. Owls? Owls. Owls.

Name? South Looper. Age? 26. What do you
want to know? Genesis.

This is a little excessive, isn't it?
Just so I tell you the story of

creation. And then there was night.

And then he separated the land from the
sea. All this and we haven't got to the

flood yet. All aliens are detained. All
English are detained. A journalist. And

English. Good morning, Mr. Looper.

Morning.

For you.

I am the station master. I am the
station master. And also chief

commissioner of the Antwerp National
Socialist Confederation. Good morning,

Mr. Looper. This is my adjutant, John
Palmerian. He's the station doctor.

And dentist.

Good morning, Mr. Looper. The dentist.
Open your mouth.

Why am I arrested?

Not arrested.

Merely detained. I am the station
master. Temporary arrangement. Temporary

arrangement. We can see how.

We just need a few days.

We just need a few days. To investigate
your friends, your contacts, your

manuscripts. What do you eat? How do you
breathe?

What do you look at out of your bedroom
window? That sort of thing.

When the English write about natural
history, it's always a...

Open your mouth. Are you sending
signals?

Please, come again.

Are you sending ghosts, Mr. Looper? Are
you making observations for the enemy?

What enemy?

But how can I conduct a serious
interview if you fill his mouth with

medical instruments all the time? You
were seen swimming naked in the North

Sea in November.

Good morning, Mr. Looper. In Belgium,
this is not normally seen as the

activity of a sane man.

But perhaps the activity of a spy.

Charles Luper was getting used to the
introductory characteristics of arrest,

detention and imprisonment. He
endeavoured to be truthful, ordered and

consistent. He, after all, regarded
himself as a master clerk.

But there were limits.

And irony, if not outright sarcasm,
crept in.

Arrest, detention and imprisonment could
be a game for him if it was a game for

his jailers.

I'll tell you what I was doing.

I was searching for uranium.

Off the coast of Belgium.

As you can

see at this time, I have many duties in
running this happy, sun-killed termite.

We'll meet the 2031 Express from Berlin,
platform 8, carriage 5.

Dismissed. Capital of this evening.

The heck, the heart, the body, rocks
with excitement to be alive at this

time.

I have 24 passenger trains a day running
due east. 18

trains exactly on time into Germany.

Six trains to Berlin straight into the
rising sun.

Thank you.

What is that all?

I thought we confiscated over a ton and
a half of the stuff.

It's what we have translated so far.

It will take time.

26 trains a day running south.

The story of an architect pushed from
the roof of the building he just has

completed is not uncommon.

18 of them passing Paris.

Welshmen are supposed to confirm to five
characteristics.

It was a timetable of good strains, gold
wagons, and cattle

trucks.

Philistinism. Self-education.

Great penny kettle trucks.

Up to 196 a day. It's a curious fact
that even left-handed

people wipe their backside with a right
hand.

My station is at luck.

Everything on time.

Every day.

I am the hour hand.

Palmyra is the minute hand.

God could time his universe by my
station clock.

We know, Mr. Looper, that that is
clearly a subject that you don't have a

written opinion on.

How could you write off time and travel
and transportation for me?

Think of it, Looper. A pale bee and
horse takes and cannot bear.

It's not bad for a third-class prisoner
under bathroom arrest.

Luther agreed.

He was amused.

He enjoyed order, numbers, playing with
time.

He wrote the stationmaster of Antwerp
railway terminus 100 stories about time

travel and transportation.

The stories often received information
about torture, aggression and the

problems of hiding a facial scar with a
moustache.

Oh, good idea, Limbaugh.

Consider the publicity.

Right indigenous men run to art.

That's all the newspaper at school you
want to be hearing.

Most Belgians want to live in Paris.

And those that don't would like to live
in London.

Don't spoil it. That's why I don't want
you to wear a uniform.

Look, Belgian, you have just the body
for a uniform.

Like a column.

Undifferentiated. And you should grow a
moustache.

Like all our cadets.

A red one.

Stop! Hey!

Hey, what the hell are you doing? You
shouldn't try to engage us, you stupid

idiot!

Go on, go on, find a bandage, get a
cloth, stop the blood.

Jesus!

Jesus!

Jesus! Jesus!

Jesus!

What the hell?

I'm sorry.

I'm a regular traveler.

I never expected to find your guards
here. My guards? Are you your guards to

take this man into my office at once?

I take the names of all these witnesses.

It's true, sir.

The Hogmeister Mormon family from Mohab,
Utah, newly affiliated representative

members of the American Fascist Party,
arrived as an honored delegation in

Antwerp, wealthy Belgian city of
diamonds and jewels.

It did not go unnoticed that of all the
many fracturings of Protestant Christian

religious sects, the Mormons were
curiously exempt from the antagonisms of

European fascism.

for more than five minutes.

You are a dead dentist.

I've got to wake up completely
pain-free. You hear that?

Jesus.

I don't like the smell of gas.

Or dead pus, for that matter.

Gatter some of this about.

I am completely terrified of the smell
of gas.

That's a very small...

An expensive bottom.

I can do better.

French contraband.

Imported.

Requisitioned from illegal travelers.

Passable. Now chuck it about before you
turn that stuff on.

Now give me one.

Now I'm watching that clock.

Two ticks over the five minutes and
you're a corpse in a messy white gown.

Papers. Trousers.

Trousers, trousers, trousers.

What the hell is Belgium to get your
trousers down? There is no such language

as Belgium.

Get your smelly trousers down, you wop.
Yeah, Passion was brought up in the Utah

desert.

But she has the sweetest kernel.

She has the sweetest kernel.

Clean. Move on. She was not brown.

Quite the same.

Small, but, uh, clean.

Move on.

It's roses, peaches, apricots in the
desert. All imported.

Who are? Really? These are all illegal
immigrants?

No, the fruit of the desert.

Papers.

And your trousers.

Come on, I can't wait all day whilst you
fiddle with yourself.

Yeah, I'm a lucky man. Yeah.

Mormon woman, I got the key to the
world.

Aren't Mormons allowed more than one
wife?

You see, men, we died early in the
desert.

Too many women, not enough men.

Come on, you know how to undo your
button. What about you?

Second wife?

Third wife?

Negotiating, negotiating, negotiating.

Hey! Hey!

Hey, you come back here, you Belgian
bastard!

Shit! Our men are at the, uh...

After school, guy?

It was a waste of time trying to do a
school book. Hey, you!

Come here.

Okay, let's see the monkey.

With pleasure, let's see yours.

You dirty sod.

It's a fair request.

Hey, whose side are you on? I'm doing
the asking. No, you're doing the

shouting. This is my cousin.

Cousin or no cousin.

All right, get moving, get moving, get
moving.

Hey.

Yes? Women wearing trousers is an
offense.

Let me see your papers.

Paul Marion, as a favor, I will show you
my wife.

As a favor?

Spanish descent. I'll show you my wife.

I thought you said you had a German
father.

Yeah, I did, I did, I did.

You see, the unmarried are the
underprivileged.

Fox and Fox and Fox again. You'll see.
Are you a man?

You see, if you're not a man, prove it.

Because, you know, your passport could
be fake.

I see. I think you've taken this one far
enough. Come on, Palmieri. What are

these uniforms for?

They wouldn't touch it.

I want more proof.

Nice.

Thank you.

You see, I think that there's only one
conclusive proof, don't you, Paul Mary?

And that means off with the trousers and
let's see the entrance to hell.

No. Come on, come on, come on, come on,
come on!

Get back! This is a police checkpoint.

Get your papers out.

Well, I can't see a thing.

Come on, we can't see what you got to
show us.

Come on, Flemish bitch, I want the only
proof that'll convince me, convince us

all. No!

all they've taken.

I've been waiting here for four days.

I need a clean shirt and a bath.

I have a wife.

Two children.

Let me phone her.

She'll be going frantic.

Let me send her a telegram.

Home for dinner, darling. Home for
dinner.

Home for dinner, darling. I've been
waiting here for five days.

I need a clean shirt and a bath.

I have a wife and two children.

Let me phone her.

She'll be going frantic. Let me send her
a telegram.

Home for dinner, darling. That's all I
need to say.

I've been waiting here for six days.

I need a clean shirt and a bath.

I have a wife.

Two children.

Let me phone her. Let me... She'll be
going frantic.

Let me send her a telegram.

Home. Home.

Dinner.

Done.

I've been waiting here for... For seven
days.

I need a clean shirt and a bath.

I have a wife and two children.

Let me phone her.

She'll be going frantic.

Let me send her a telegram.

Home or dinner.

Done. I've been here for eight days.

I need a clean shirt and a bath.

I have a wife.

And two children.

Let me phone her. She'll be frantic.

What the hell? What the hell? What the
hell? What the hell?

What the hell?

What the hell?

Bloody hell, Percy. What the fuck are
you doing?

And who the hell's your friend?

In uniform.

Smiling his socks off with his...

Gun held up so tightly.

This is Paul Marion.

He's a friend.

He's an admirer.

And he is a fellow officer.

Fellow officer?

He's a dentist.

Well, of course he's a dentist.

How do you know he's a dentist? I have
intruded.

That's right, you have.

But what the hell?

You've seen the inside of my mouth, so
what the hell have I got to hide?

Lying on your dentist's... Slab for half
an hour in a room full of slow clocks.

Time ticks so swiftly when you're
amused.

What does that mean? It means that this
is the second time that sleep in the

dentist with bedfellas.

What?

What is that smell?

Don't you like it?

I can't stand it, but I'm covered in it.

Must be a hotel specialty, mustn't it,
Paul Marion?

A cover for all the bad little smells of
the Belgian National Socialist Party.

Have you been buying my wife perfume,
Paul Marion?

That? That is the same as adultery in my
country, Paul Marion. Oh, showing off.

Utah again, Percy.

Now, Percy is a patriot.

Well, I think we all should be patriots.

Standing there in his U.S. of A.
dressing gown on inside.

I buy your perfume.

You do not buy my wife's fucking scent.
Jesus, the master perfumer speaks in

line. Don't fucking tell me I'm alive.

The scent is very, very personal.

I bet it is. Try sniffing Percy's
armpits when he's been drinking.

I buy the smells. Oh, leave him alone,
Percy. He's only the dentist.

But guess who I've seen today?

I've been watching you, Paul Marion.

We all will.

I like being watched.

I've just seen the man from the desert.

The guy with the honey, honey prick.

Paul Marion, you better go.

My wife's dreaming. Dreaming?

Yes, I'm dreaming. You brought a bloody
Belgian dentist in my room to watch me

sleeping. I'd better be dreaming. Shut
up!

Get out, Paul Marion.

Yep. Get on the scent, dentist man.
Thank you, Percy, for the...

Excitement. You damn coward!

He got me into an ambush with his Jew
boy cousin. I doubt it.

But he's a man who knows his death
smells.

Ether, ammonia chloride, xylone B.

I can't stand gas.

Can you stand gas, Percy?

Gives me nightmares.

I'm interested in becoming the ideal
jailer. And what's that when he's at

home? He's never at home. He's always at
the jailhouse. Jailhouse is his home.

And the jailer's as much a prisoner as
the prisoner.

The ideal prisoner and the ideal jailer
are interchangeable.

Am I the ideal prisoner? You're a spy
and an enemy of Belgium.

Nothing takes improving.

Now here's an imperfect jailer.

I would like to word with the prisoner.

I know him.

I'd like to speak to him in private.

You see, it's a domestic matter.

Go on, get out!

I see you still have your little
suitcase.

What's in it this time?

And that?

If I've typed it, you said it. What the
hell are you doing that for?

Order. I'm trying to incriminate Mr.
Looper.

It seems to me you're trying to
incriminate us.

And you should try to be more careful.

How come you got all these little sand
bottles in your little suitcase?

I never put them there.

How come you got all these bottles of my
wife covered in the damn...

How come?

You bastard!

How come, Percy, you and I always
conduct our affairs like gentlemen?

How is it you have the energy for all
this pent-up friendship?

Is it the uniform?

Oh, the hell of kicking a bound man.

Look

at

the mall.

How the hell am I going to keep this
beautiful station in order with foreign

lout like you let it loose?

I am not a foreign lout.

You just watch your tongue, Frenchie.
But it's better and better.

Me, Belgian, France, always around the
country.

But a considerable sight more civilized
than you come from, Yankee.

I am not a Yankee, you stuck shirt.

Just why do you want to defound this
dog?

This English spy and his Jewish friends?

Start. He's got more manners.

Prove to me you're not a Jew, Mr.
Station Master.

How are you going to defend your fascist
honor?

You cunts. You little Americans.

Shit!

You're a ghast in a foreign country,
Percy.

You cannot go around beating people up
like you can in Utah, USA.

You're lucky, sir.

Your wife knows a good dish.

We found him!

Found who?

Remember him?

That pearly-teeth English boy with the
smiling eyes and the bulging pocket?

Pocket?

He's here!

They got him for upsetting the Belgian
Coast Guard.

Who's that?

Just some homework.

What's he been doing to upset the Coast
Guard? Making sandcastles?

A Dutch fat whore.

Mind of a sewer, body of a baby, ego
like a tank.

She thinks she's from Soviet Mata Hari.

Her body smells of carp.

She has so much backside and frontside,
she doesn't know which side she's on.

But she knows this hotel like a postman.

I bet she delivered a French letter in
every room.

She's obviously made a big impression.

On the bed springs.

She eats like a sperm whale.

Mouth all gaping white.

She's a monstrous vulva. But a nice
little rectum for an orifice that's used

to excess from within.

I knew you'd find something to like. I
sometimes wonder, Passion, how you think

you got born.

Mother probably wondered that too, too,
too.

Get him moved.

Got who moved? The Englishman.

In a room next to mine.

Drive the guard.

Ming the guard. Kill the guard.

Jesus,

what has he got?

You know what he got. You know what he
got.

And what about Percy?

He's out talking to you like a center
dentist.

Who is this?

My daughter.

Your daughter?

How did she get here?

You see?

They all ask the same question.

I'm sure she's not being anatomical.

Pleased to meet you, senora.

Senora. Jesus, she's not royalty,
Gretchen. And she's not Spanish.

She's German-American.

It's a new patriotic breed.

So patriotic they lust after the enemy.

Thank you. My father has a proposition.

He stops you to the station, master, for
illegally soliciting on his station.

Or... You get me the keys to... Or...
You get me the keys to... Or... You get

me the keys to... That doesn't sound
like a very... You get me the keys to

his prime prisoner. Mr. Looper, no
contest.

How do you want me to do it?

Can I wear a disguise?

Je peux porter un déguisement?

How do you know Looper is Van Huyten's
prime prisoner?

Like most people? I read newspaper.

Mr. Looper writes in the London
newspaper.

And appears in a Belgian newspaper?

What? Belgian newspaper?

What?

A famous English journalist helps the
Belgians in their investigations.

So, I can get to wear a disguise.

You'd sure to be recognized.

You could derail a train or seduce the
jailers. Derail a train is simple.

But I can't stand those two idiots.

One is so itchy, and besides, I believe
he slept with my mother.

The other one, so polished.

Sophie

was

the source of information for this
incident, and Martino was her greatest

current interest.

Martino always had a predilection for
plump women in light underwear wearing

guns. Oh, that...

Don't bother.

Bound to make it worse.

Guilty!

Okay, Marty.

What have you learned to mop floors?

Sophie's got the bathroom key.

Isn't she clever?

There surely is. We have a plan to get
you out of here.

But first, you've got to tell me
everything that's happened.

Well, first you get me out and then I
tell.

No, first tell, then escape.

Bloody El Marti.

Oh, bloody.

It seems Martino got his way.

But Martino Nocivelli was a great
inventor of tales.

He might well have embroidered the
stories about the retrieval of the keys

to find a way to equal the sensational
details of Luper's imprisonment.

If he wanted to be the Martino Nocivelli
Boswell to Pulse Looper's Dr. Johnson,

he was not averse to inventing some
back-up, long, tall storytelling of his

own. What are you doing? Taking notes.

Oh, excuse me. The Moab worm.

It would appear... The Danforth railway
station was a stamping ground of

ambiguities, and although we might wish
it otherwise,

Luper might not have been the centre of
them, considering the big events about

to affect Belgium from across the German
border.

But consider that there were two Luper
lookalikes, one trapped in a bathroom

and one trapped in a lost property
office.

Luper had always told Martino that
looking for that which was lost was to

be his lifetime ambition.

Here, he had perhaps almost found
himself.

It must be said that in the station
records, it was sometimes difficult to

distinguish which looper look-alike was
which, and this confusion, of course,

was to certain people's advantage.

I've been here for seven days.

It's Sunday, for God's sake!

What have I done but jumped off a moving
train? What have I done but jumped off a

moving train? You're right.

You're right, my folks.

Now, let me go.

I'm hungry.

Feed me.

A sausage.

An antwerp onion.

The station seemed to be a stage for all
manner of mysteries, imaginary journeys,

ambiguous incidents, and open-ended
conspiracies.

To provide a background to capture an
ideal, elusive likeness of Luperon

Celluloid, a photographic representation
of this man for various purposes, some

of them political, some of them sexual,
some of them symbolic, to aid and abet

these conspiracies.

There always seemed to be an excess of
willing women, slapped faces, cleaning

fluids and dubious dentistry.

But some characters were beginning to
outlive their usefulness, though we do

not know whether there was a series of
conspiracies or one big conspiracy to

get rid of these undesirables.

The man is a liability.

He's the wolf.

Not the fox.

He has too long to live.

He dribbles when he's excited.

He's subtle, but an avalanche in name.

He's a monster.

A monster.

And we just don't need such monsters,
Eric.

They belong in the sea.

Or... the morgue.

Or...

in an American war.

We put him in a Russian novel, a railway
novel about impotence.